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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360955">A Melody of Second Chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEnigma/pseuds/SecretEnigma'>SecretEnigma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Melody of Second Chances verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Prime, Transformers: Prime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And By Long Time, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Forgive The Old Clunky Writing Style, Gen, I Mean I'm Still Writing That Setting, Megatron is EVIL, More characters than in tags, OC main cast, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Predacons, Six Years of Writer Evolution on Display right here, Someday, Takes Place on Cybertron for a Long Time, Team as Family, We'll Get to Earth Someday, no beta we die like men, robot gore?, some gore, this is an old fic, world-building</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:01:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>465,743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEnigma/pseuds/SecretEnigma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things on Melody Traver's list of things to do and see, going to an alien planet embroiled in a civil war was not one of them. Also not on her list was waking up as a totally different species, having her family become involved in said civil war, or falling in love with one of said aliens.</p>
<p>However, fate rarely listens the personal preferences of eighteen year olds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arcee/OC, Chromia/Ironhide, Elita One/Optimus Prime, Jazz/OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Melody of Second Chances verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. *How Things Were</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, full disclosure up front: This is an old fic. I've been writing this for six years and I'm still not done, and at over 500k words I had zero plans to crosspost this on Ao3, because I LIKE to edit my stuff when I crosspost, and if I waited until I edited each chapter of this before posting on Ao3, it would take me another 6 years minimum to actually get it up here. But fanfiction.net has FINALLY succeeded in ticking me off to the point I no longer want to post anything on there, so if I want to continue and finish this story (which I do) then I need to move all my stories over here.</p>
<p>SO. My plan is to just- bulk post this in all its six-year-old-me glory so that I can then focus on writing new chapters again and edit/revamp chapters at my leisure. Chapters that have been edited/revamped will have this * in the chapter title somewhere, chapters I have yet to edit/revamp will not.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A song, if done correctly, was like an audible extension of the soul. Sadness or happiness, tragedy or good fortune, every song had a story to tell. Even if that song did not have words to go with its melody, it was the melody itself that mattered most. Words could be misinterpreted, twisted, lost. But the internal voice of the song could not, it always sang true no matter what key it was played in or where it was heard.</p>
<p>Perhaps that was why her parents had named her Melody, to remind her that even if she changed on the outside, or said words she didn’t mean, her own actions would show just what kind of song she really danced to.</p>
<p>Of course, she enjoyed dancing to many songs, such as the one she was currently pirouetting to in the small, well cared for backyard of her home. The battered and well loved stereo perched on the back porch crackled slightly as it trilled the high notes of the female singers, building up to the climax of their song. With perfect timing made possible only by a thousand and one repetitions, eighteen year old Melody Travers leaped into the air, legs flaring into split just as the stereo blasted out the highest climactic note, her arms extended to the sky, hands held in delicate positions. The song faded away as she returned to earth with a soft thump and slid into a ballet-style bow.</p>
<p>“Bravo Madam! Bravo!” Melody jumped in surprise and whirled to face the porch, where the speaker grinned at her mischievously.</p>
<p>Upon seeing who was clapping and cheering, her face lit up into a smile, “Michael! You’re back!” Melody practically flew up the steps to bodily tackle the tall, broad shouldered twenty one year old.</p>
<p>Michael laughed and returned the enthusiastic hug, “Hey Melody, miss me?”</p>
<p>Melody laughed and pulled out of the hug to lightly smack him on the arm, “Of course I did! Do you have any idea what the twins are like when you’re gone? It’s worse than handling a bag of cats!”</p>
<p>Michael raised his eyebrows, “Oh, so, you only miss me because I can entertain the twins? I guess you won’t be interested in what I brought you then.” Melody crossed her arms over her chest and mock-pouted. Her two different colored eyes went wide and babyish in an attempt to soften his mood. Michael chuckled and covered his eyes, pretending to be mortally wounded by her puppy eyes, “Okay, okay! I’ll give it to you! Just spare me!” Melody ceased her pouting and smiled at her big brother, lightly brushing a strand of honey-colored hair from her face as she watched him dig through his pockets for something. With a triumphant noise, Michael pulled a small package from his inner right jacket pocket and handed it to her, “For you, my lovely femme friend.”</p>
<p>Melody giggled at his use of the transformers term as she carefully unwrapped the mystery packet. The paper wrapping fell away and she gasped, “Oh, Michael, it’s beautiful...” With gentle hands, Melody grabbed the slender chain and lifted the deep blue stone into the air.</p>
<p>Michael smiled at his adopted sister’s wonder as she examined the small trinket he had found during his trip. The engraved chain glinted with a dull copper-gold sheen that accented the rough sky blue stone clasped firmly in its middle. Reaching out, he took the necklace from her hands and motioned for her to turn around. She did, and he gently lifted her blond curls out of the way and began to fasten his gift around its recipient’s neck, “I’m glad you like it, Star. I may not be able to buy you a dance studio or a karaoke machine, but I figured this beauty would look real nice around your neck at the recital tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Melody turned back around and lightly touched his gift, “I love it Michael. But are you sure it wasn’t too expensive?”</p>
<p>Michael laughed, “What? You say that like a board member’s secretary’s assistant’s assistant doesn’t get any pay at all. Please, it wasn’t any trouble as long as you like it.”</p>
<p>Melody rolled her eyes, “You do realize that Zip and Track are going to murder you if you didn’t get anything for them, right?”</p>
<p>Michael wrinkled his nose, “How dumb do you think I am?”She opened her mouth and he added hastily, “Don’t answer that. Where <b>are</b> the twins anyway?”</p>
<p>The unmistakable clatter of sneakers against wood and a youthful scream of outrage had both of them groaning and running for the far right corner of the backyard fence. A wild brown mop of hair appeared over the top of fence, followed swiftly by bright blue eyes and a muddy face as its owner scrabbled madly to get over to Melody’s side of the barrier, “Hurry, hurry! He’s almost on us!”</p>
<p>The dirty eight year old cried out in triumph as he managed to swing a leg over the fence and perched on top of it. Melody watched with narrowed eyes as the mischief maker reached down and began pulling his accomplice to safety. Soon, two identical boys were perched on the fence, calling insults and jeers to someone Melody couldn’t see. The first boy called down, “Not so tough <b>now</b> are you? What’s the matter? Can’t take on a pair of <b>real</b> warriors?”</p>
<p>The second boy piped up unhelpfully, “Yeah! A steak will make those go away no problem!”</p>
<p>Melody growled upwards, “Skyler and Samuel Travers, get down here <b>right now</b> or I’m pushing you back over that fence to face Matthew.”</p>
<p>Both boys started guiltily and looked down at her. Skyler grinned shyly, “Oh, uh ... hi Melody! Hope we didn’t, uh, interrupt your dance practice or anything.”</p>
<p>Samuel nodded in agreement before waving to the glowering Michael, “Hi, Hardwire! When did you get back? Did your trip go well?” Michael merely crossed his arms over his well toned chest and glared silently.</p>
<p>The twins glanced at each other, “w’ bi tro?” asked Skyler.</p>
<p>Samuel nodded his head, “tely.”</p>
<p>Melody rapped a fist lightly on the fence to get their attention, “None of that. Climb down before Matthew’s parents see you, or worse, call ours.” Knowing that trying to run would only make things worse, the two identical trouble makers clambered down to stand in front of her, their hands automatically linking for comfort as they stared up at her with puppy eyes. She stared at them for several seconds, ignoring the sounds of chaos emanating from the neighbor’s side of the wooden wall. Finally, when she had decided that the twins were squirming enough, she asked, “What did you two do this time?”</p>
<p>They glanced at each other briefly before Skyler muttered, “Ma tr’ cap So an hu hi. S be hi up.”</p>
<p>Michael held up a hand, “Ah, ah, ah! In English you two, not twin speak. What did you do to Matthew?”</p>
<p>Samuel scowled and blurted, “He started it! He came over and captured Soundwave and threatened to take him apart!”</p>
<p>Skyler added stiffly, “Yeah, so we staged a rescue mission.” As proof of his words, Skyler held up the small, battered Transformers toy that had been the pairs’ pride and joy for years.</p>
<p>Melody felt some of her anger wash away at the sight of their beloved toy and crouched down in front of them, “Is that all you did?” She asked softly.</p>
<p>There was a pause that told her everything she needed to know. She sighed, “Guys, I thought we discussed this. Just because Matthew is a bit of a...”</p>
<p>Skyler supplied flatly, “Slagging spawn of a glitched scraplet?”</p>
<p>Melody shot him a stern look and pointedly ignored Michael’s snicker, “I was <b>going</b> to say, ‘a bit of a jerk’ but that doesn’t mean you two get to lash out at him or be just as much of a problem as he is. You are better than him, and being better means you can’t simply march over there and beat him up for taking something that isn’t his.”</p>
<p>Skyler puffed out his chest, “Hey, Matthew threatened to hurt Sound, so we returned the favor.”</p>
<p><em>Oh, for the love of-!</em> Melody looked up helplessly at Michael, silently pleading for him to talk sense into their little siblings. Michael nudged her gently out of the way and crouched down so he was at eye level with the twins, “Could you two have gotten Soundwave back without hurting Matthew?” He was answered with a petulant shrug and a reluctant nod. Keeping his voice soft, he continued, “And what does Optimus Prime say about autobots and violence?”</p>
<p>The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity before Samuel muttered apologetically, “He says that autobots only use violence as a last resort for when nothing else works.”</p>
<p>Skyler sputtered indignantly, “But, but he also does anything it takes to rescue a teammate!”</p>
<p>Michael stared levelly at Skyler, “Yes, but no more than what is necessary. You could have gotten Soundwave back without getting into a fight, but you beat up Matthew anyway. You two intentionally broke one of the most important rules of the house and now you are going to have to be punished for it.” Standing to his full height, Michael held out his hand, “Give me Soundwave.”</p>
<p>Skyler scowled and clutched at the toy, “No! No fair! Not gonna!” Seeing his twin putting up resistance to their fate, Samuel immediately started shouting as well. Melody, knowing what would come next, dived for Skyler. The muddy child dodged her tackle and ran for the house, his sibling hot on his heels.</p>
<p>Melody spared just enough time to glower at Michael, “Nice try, Doctor Phil. But they’re decepticons this week.”</p>
<p>Michael shrugged, “It was worth a shot anyway. Let’s get them before they leave muddy footprints on the ceiling or something.” As they ran after the twins into the house, Melody mused silently, <em>Why do I get the feeling that we’re going to wish they did? Then again, what could they do that would be worse than that?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The answers turned out to be, yes, muddy footprints on the ceiling would have been preferable and yes, two eight year olds trying to escape punishment could do much worse things than mud on the carpet or walls. All four of them stared down at what remained of the antique porcelain teapot in mute horror. The twins had smacked into the shelf holding it in their mad scramble for the hall and knocked it off of its home to an untimely demise on the floor.</p>
<p>After what seemed like forever, Skyler whispered fearfully, “Mo’ i’ go t’ ki’ u’ is sh?”</p>
<p>Samuel nodded slowly and whispered back, “May w ca fi i’ bef sh com ho?”</p>
<p>Melody swallowed tightly, her mind too occupied with the clay corpse to chastise the twins about using “twin speak” when others were present, “I don’t suppose you bought a replacement hundred year old family heirloom teapot on your trip?”</p>
<p>Michael stared grimly at the million pieces of brown pottery, “Nope.” The silence that followed stretched for a long time, nobody wanted to say anything that might make the situation worse somehow.</p>
<p>Samuel looked up at the “adults” in the room, “What do we do now?”</p>
<p>Michael sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, “Start cleaning up I guess. Twins, you two get a broom and a dust pan. Melody, can you help me sweep up the pieces?”</p>
<p>Melody nodded and crouched down to carefully begin gathering the larger pottery shards into a pile for sweeping, “How long before she notices it’s gone do you think?”</p>
<p>Crouching next to her, Michael shrugged slightly, “No idea. With her instincts, it probably won’t be long. Maybe long enough to run for our lives … maybe.”</p>
<p>Melody couldn’t help but giggle at that, “Laura goes bowling every Tuesday remember? She’s got a killer aim.”</p>
<p>Michael gingerly placed another piece on the growing pile and pretended to consider this, “You’re right. In that case we might have just enough time to beg for mercy by offering ourselves as eternal servants to do her laundry washing.” Melody gave a weak smile at his joke.</p>
<p>It was almost amusing to talk about Laura Travers that way. Not because she was cruel or nasty, quite the opposite, their adopted mother was a very kind and caring person, if a little bit odd. Normally Melody wouldn’t have been too worried about the twins breaking something in their mad scrambles. Sure, they would be scolded and punished, but it would be a guaranteed fair punishment. But Laura’s heirloom pottery was different, the pottery had <b>always</b> been off limits.</p>
<p>The one time previously that the twins had almost broken one of the delicate tea cups, Laura had thrown a fit of cataclysmic proportions. After that, none of them had so much as looked cross-eyed at them for fear of what the action might spark. Now they were going to have to find out what happened when one of her priceless antiques was shattered into a myriad of irreparable pieces.</p>
<p>Michael’s puzzled voice broke through her thoughts, “The twins are taking an awfully long time getting those cleaning supplies.” Melody looked up in mild surprise. It was true, they <b>were</b> taking a long time.</p>
<p>She stood up slowly, feeling strangely worried, “Zip? Track? Where are you two?”</p>
<p>The answer came faintly from the kitchen, “We’re in here, Star! Trying to figure out the funny smell!” <em>Funny smell?</em> Something unidentifiable began gnawing at her stomach. Some primal instinct in her body screaming <b>danger-danger-danger</b>. She hurried to the kitchen, Michael following close at her heels.</p>
<p>The twins stood side by side in front of the gas stove, noses in the air and sniffing curiously. They had the cleaning tools in hand, but had obviously been too puzzled by the “funny smell” to continue their original task. Skyler looked up at her, “Smell it? I think it’s coming from the stove. It’s making a hissing noise too.” Melody lifted her nose slightly in the air and sniffed, noting the afore mentioned hissing sound as she did. A heavy sweet smell hit her nose, reminding oddly of trucks and cars. <em>What in the world?</em></p>
<p>Horrid realization struck her just as Michael ran forward and grabbed Skyler yelling, “Gas leak! Everyone out! Outside now!” Adrenaline jolted through her system and her heart pounded as she immediately grabbed Samuel and ran for the front door. A tiny part of her mind tried to remain calm, <em>it’s only a leak, no need to panic just yet. Just get outside to a safe distance and call 911. Don’t panic, stay calm, the twins need you to stay calm!</em></p>
<p>Just as they reached the front door and Michael was yanking it open, Samuel stopped, “Wait! Prowl is still in my room!” He turned and started to fight Melody’s grip, “I’ve got to get him!”</p>
<p>Michael reached out and yanked Samuel through the door, “No, you need to get outside to safety!”</p>
<p>Samuel and Skyler both began fighting, they loved the small police car transformer almost as much as Soundwave and refused to leave him behind. Melody abruptly shouted over the noise, “Stop!” Crouching swiftly down in front of the twins she asked, “Where is Prowl?”</p>
<p>Michael was giving her a look that warned her to not <b>dare</b> try anything. She promptly ignored it. Samuel blinked back tears as he stammered, “On-on the d-dresser! P-please! I h-have to-!”</p>
<p>Melody cut him off, “No, get to safety, <b>I’ll</b> get Prowl and be right back.” Without waiting for Michael’s yell of protest, she was on her feet and running back through the house, trying to ignore the steadily increasing smell of gas filling the house —how long had it been going on without their notice? Minutes? Hours? She didn’t know enough about gas leaks to guess—. Taking the stairs two at a time, she burst into the twins shared room and immediately spotted the troublesome toy sitting innocently on the dresser as promised.</p>
<p>She snatched it up and ran downstairs again, heart hammering in her chest like a drum as she made for the door. <em>Almost there-.</em> Melody burst out the door and started sprinting across the yard towards the whimpering twins and an outraged Michael. <em>Almost safe, almost safe, I’m going to be okay, </em><b><em>we’re</em></b><em> going to be okay.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But fate apparently had other plans for them. Just as Melody reached the group, she heard the unmistakable scream of a vehicle engine gone wild. The driver of the pickup truck, drunk and speeding well over seventy, screeched around the corner. The truck jumped the curb with an ugly noise of metal and rubber and flew straight for the evacuated house.</p>
<p>The world became unbearably slow for Melody. She could hear every pound of her heart as it jumped against her ribcage. Could see clumps of turf fly as the out of control truck barreled for the home she’d lived in for twelve years, and knew exactly what was about to happen. Yet, despite how much her mind screamed for her body to run away, it refused to respond. She simply stood there as the vehicle rushed past her and through the wall of the house. The world didn’t even speed up as the gas, volatile enough as it was, started to explode.</p>
<p>As she watched to wall of fire roll towards her in slow, almost frame by frame motion, she found that her last thoughts weren’t about her impending death, or whether it might hurt. Her only thought was, <em>at least the twins won’t get in trouble about the broken teapot.</em></p>
<p>Then, everything was searing hot and utterly dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. * New Circumstances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Samuel whimpered as he began to come awake, had he fallen asleep to the TV again? He hoped he hadn’t missed anything important, like Transformers Prime reruns. Or the movie reruns that he technically wasn’t supposed to watch because of the swearing. Not like he didn’t hear all that and more whenever Rodney got angry.</p>
<p>He twitched tiredly and began trying to coax himself awake, but the effort was enormous. <em>Maybe I should just forget it and go back to sleep.</em> A familiar voice suddenly whispered into his ear, “Sam! Sam! Wa u! Yo nee t’ se thi!” Samuel grunted irritably as he felt the owner of the voice start shaking his shoulder. Really, what could be so interesting that he had to wake up and see it that instant.</p>
<p>An wave of irritation swept over him, followed swiftly by a stubborn feeling as his twin continued to shake him and call his name. Finally, he cracked an eye open, “<b>Wha</b>?”</p>
<p>Bright blue eyes glowed at him from a silver face as his tormentor grinned, “W rob no!” It took several seconds of blankly staring before his brother’s words and appearance sank in. With a gasp, he sat up, now wide awake as he stared in shock at his sibling’s drastic change. Skyler grinned at him and thumped his chest lightly with a fist, causing a slight pinging noise, “Se? Rob no! Yo to!”</p>
<p>Samuel hastily looked down at himself to confirm his brother’s words. It was true. With wondering eyes, he lifted a sleek metal hand in front of his face and wiggled its silver fingers experimentally. Turning his hand over, he examined the red plating on its back. His eyes traveled up his arm, taking in the sight of the deep red metal pieces that guarded sensitive wires.</p>
<p>When he began examining his upper arms, he discovered that a stripe of steel grey ran from his inner elbow to underneath his U shaped shoulder plate. Further inspection revealed an identical grey stripe running vertically along the top of his shoulder plates that matched the ones on his arms. Warm feelings of pleasure flooded his chest, but somehow … they didn’t feel like <b>his</b> feelings. Looking up, he blinked at Skyler, who was still grinning.</p>
<p>Skyler motioned to his own head, “W ha he cre! Se?” Reaching up obediently, Samuel felt the top of his head. True to his brother’s word, he felt the smooth rise of a small head crest running front to back on his head. Out of curiosity he examined his sibling’s colors and body. They were identical in frame and build as far as he could tell. Small, minimal, well fitting armor, grey head crests, and grey accents on their upper arms, shoulders, head, and knees.</p>
<p>Studying his brother’s helmet, he realized that it looked a lot like the greek helmets he’d seen on one of Michael’s favorite programs, the History Channel. The only major difference being the side guards were much smaller and lower from the eyes.The protective plates only covered his face from the bottom of his cheekbone to just before the tip of his chin, then pulled back and upwards to cover his temples.</p>
<p>Samuel made a slight tilting motion with his head and Skyler immediately obliged by turning his head to give his brother a profile angle. The metal side plating on the helmet looped up over round headphone-like things that Samuel assumed were ears and then sank back down to cover the back of his head and mid-neck. Skyler turned his head to face him again and pointed to the two steel grey accent plates that started at points on his forehead and expanded as they stretched towards the helmet back in a rounded curve. It looked really cool.</p>
<p>Samuel felt a smile spread slowly across his face as he realized exactly what he and his brother were, “Co!” Pleasure and excitement surged through his chest, pulsing like a steady fire. Samuel placed a hand over his chest plating in surprise, it felt as if he wasn’t just feeling his own happiness. It was ... doubled somehow.</p>
<p>He looked back at Skyler to see his sibling had a similar look of surprise on his face. After a moment’s hesitation he asked timidly, “D yo fe tha? I yo ch?”</p>
<p>Skyler nodded vigorously, “Ye! Ma w ha spa bon?” Samuel tilted his head to one side and considered this for a second.</p>
<p>After rolling the idea over in his mind several times, Samuel suggested, “Ma w sho t i. Li pathy.” Skyler nodded eagerly and on an unspoken signal they concentrated on each other.</p>
<p>The feeling filled their chests and, without warning, Samuel heard his brother’s voice crystal clear in his head,<em> “Can you hear me?”</em></p>
<p>Samuel giggled gleefully, <em>“Yeah! This is awesome! Now we can talk as much as we want and no will know!”</em></p>
<p>Skyler held up a hand which Samuel gladly smacked in a high-five, <em>“Definitely. Hey! Since we’re Transformers now, we should use our robot names!”</em></p>
<p>Samuel smirked,<em> “Good idea, Zipline!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline smirked right back, <em>“Always are, Fast Track. What do you say we go explore?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track nodded eagerly at the suggestion and stood up. For the first time since waking up, Fast Track took a serious look at his surroundings. Metal walls towered all around him, flecks of rust beginning to form on their surfaces like freckles. In the far right corner, a desk stood forlornly gathering dust, its stool tipped over in some long forgotten incident. Turning around, he spotted the large outline of a door and pointed to it, twin speak falling automatically from his tongue in his excitement, “The!”</p>
<p>Zipline nodded and marched over to it, also reverting to twin speak, “Ho w ge’ i op?”</p>
<p>Fast Track moved across the metal floor to stand next to his twin, “The.” He pointed upwards at a cracked black panel. Zipline sent him a burst of glee, all of their knowledge gained from sci-fi movie marathons with Michael told them that it must be an access panel. Zipline placed a hand against the wall for balance and reached as far as he could for it. His fingers tapped against the wall … pathetically short of his target.</p>
<p>Fast Track wandered over and tapped his brother’s shoulder, “Ho sti, I cli u an ge i.” Zipline nodded and obediently held still as Fast Track climbed onto his shoulders and reached for the high panel. Zipline grunted under his brother’s weight as Fast Track managed to lightly pat the control panel. There was a long pause and a low grinding noise as the door slowly inched open a few feet before stopping with a garbled noise of broken metal.</p>
<p>Fast Track jumped off of Zipline’s shoulders and shrugged, <em>“Better than nothing I guess.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline gave him a long look before squirming through the narrow opening, <em>“I’m gonna go with guess. Let’s go. You’re heavy by the way.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track snorted as he followed Zipline through the opening, <em>“Not as heavy as you, glitch.”</em> Zipline looked as if he was going to retort, but stopped short once he looked around at the hall. Weak sunlight filtered in through the gaping holes in the ceiling and walls, casting ominous shadows around the jagged edges and broken debris. Fast Track whimpered softly at the sight of huge transformers ... utterly still transformers.</p>
<p>His spark pulsed with sudden fear at how quiet everything was, an echoing, large feeling mirrored by his twin. “Zip?” He whispered, “I do li thi an mo ... I wan Star ... o Wire.” They sidled closer to each other and clutched hands, instinctively seeking comfort from physical contact. <em>Where is Star?</em> He hesitantly took a step forward and yelped as his foot nudged something unexpectedly.</p>
<p>Looking down, his panicked gaze was met by the studiously blank gazes of two small toys. His panic turned to joy, “Soundwave! Prowl!” The beloved toys were in his arms in seconds and he huddled closer to Zipline to share in the happiness of recovered friends.</p>
<p>After several moments of gleeful cuddling, Zipline slowly pulled back with Soundwave in his arms and looked the toy up and down, “He’s different. He’s all floppy now. Prowl too.”</p>
<p>Now it was Fast Track’s turn to give his brother a long look, “We changed, why shouldn’t they? Besides, I like them this way.” They were squishy now. Better for hugging.</p>
<p>Zipline considered the logic behind Fast Track’s statement, then shrugged, “Okay. Let’s try and find Melody and Michael now.”</p>
<p>Fast Track eyed the dimly lit and frighteningly tall corridor uneasily, “Do we have to?”</p>
<p>Zipline nodded, trying to project confidence his brother <b>knew</b> he did not feel, “You can’t expect them to find <b>us</b> do you? Come on.” He paused, then added over their newly discovered bond, <em>“It’s either that or be in here all alone, Track.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track shot another uneasy look all around, <em>“I guess you’re right ... but how will we find them in a place this big? Are they … are they even here?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline’s answer came with childish simplicity and a surprising measure of confidence, <em>“Of course they’re here. And we’ll find them. That explosion is what brought us here and they were right next to us when it happened. So they can’t very be far away. All we have to do is call for them.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track started to nod in agreement until he realized that “calling for them” would inevitably draw attention to them ... very possibly <b>bad </b>attention. But … he didn’t have any better ideas. Huddling close together, they began tentatively shuffling down the corridor in a random direction, calling softly for their older siblings.</p>
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<p>First Lieutenant Jazz of the Autobot Forces of Cybertron strode through the halls, an intentional bounce in his step that spoke of good humor. From behind his blue visor, his optics flickered back and forth, up and down. Taking in every angle, every passing bot who waved hello or saluted him depending on their rank and familiarity. He always nodded politely back to them with a flashing smile, no need to act paranoid, not when he had no current reason for it —but did a Special Ops mech ever <b>need</b> a reason? It came with the surviving the job—.</p>
<p>With a warning identical roar from their engines, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe tore past, forcing Jazz to leap into a doorway to keep from getting hit. Jazz shouted after them, “Woah! Watch it ya two!” But they were already too far away to hear his shout.</p>
<p>The reason for their desperate speed and flagrant breaking of the “no driving in the halls” rule soon sped past in the form of a sleek black and white law enforcement vehicle. Jazz snickered at the sight, not at all surprised, and commed the pursuing security officer, ::Wha’d they do this time Prowler?::</p>
<p>The reply was curt, ::It is <b>Prowl</b>, not Prowler, you know this, Jazz. As for the twins, they engaged in illegal graffiti painting of an officer’s quarters.::</p>
<p>Jazz snickered again, ::Good luck then, <b>Prowler</b>.:: Prowl did not respond, but Jazz didn’t expect him to.</p>
<p>Jazz resumed his easygoing stroll down the halls towards the pub. Prowl might be perfectly willing to go on high-speed chases before his early cycle energon, but Jazz wasn’t. He was halfway there when when a beep on his private intercom channel heralded the voice of his leader, ::Optimus Prime to Jazz.:: <em>And there go my plans for the cycle.</em></p>
<p>Without pausing or letting on that he was holding a conversation over the com to any outside observers, Jazz replied, ::Jazz here. Wha’d yah need, O.P.?::</p>
<p>Optimus’s voice was faintly apologetic, he knew what it was like to get called in this early, ::I need you to come to my office right away, old friend. There is something we need to discuss in private.::</p>
<p>::You got it, O.P. Jazz out.:: Once the line was broken, Jazz allowed a small gust to escape his vents, <em>I knew it. Probably another spike of ‘con activity that needs investigating. Guess I’ll just take my energon ration on the go ... again.</em> Jazz increased his pace to a brisk jog and opened another intercom channel, ::Yo, Buffer. Yah on duty?::</p>
<p>A cheerful bass answered him, ::Am I ever not? Let me take a wild guess. You need your energon ‘on the go’ again?::</p>
<p>Jazz grinned as he approached the pub door, ::Yep, think yah can have it ready by tha time Ah roll in ta tha pub?::</p>
<p>The door swished open automatically for him and Jazz trotted in to find Buffer at his bar, a confident smile on his faceplates and a small energon cube in his servo, “Good thing I already had it prepared. Are you ever going to actually come in here and <b>sit down</b> to eat, Boss?”</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t slow his pace as he buzzed up to the bar, snagged the cube, and buzzed back out. Just before the door slid closed again, he called, “Now were would tha fun in thah be, mech?”</p>
<p>Buffer intercommed him with a reply, ::It is for those of us who know the word ‘stop’, Jazz.::</p>
<p>Jazz laughed, ::An’ thah word means what exactly...? Neva’ mind, gotta go Buff, O.P is callin’.:: Buffer said goodbye and left Jazz to run to Optimus Prime’s office in relative silence.</p>
<p>Jazz slid to a stop in front of Optimus’s office. The gargantuan black mech standing guard to raised an optic ridge at his arrival, “Where’s the decepticon horde, Jazz?”</p>
<p>The Autobot saboteur rolled his optics from behind the safety of his visor, “Good cycle ta yah too, ‘Hide. Ah got a meeting with O.P.”</p>
<p>Ironhide nodded amiably and motioned for Jazz to head inside, “Careful Jazz, your favorite strategist is in there as well.”</p>
<p>Jazz hid his irritation at the new fact and merely gave the Weapons Specialist a casual salute, “Thank’s for tha warning, ‘Hide.” The door slid open and Jazz stepped into the outer sanctuary of the Prime’s office, the place where a secretary was supposed to reside, though Optimus had never bothered to have one even before the war really got going.</p>
<p>“Good cycle, Jazz. Thank you for coming.” Jazz banished his useless thoughts and stepped up to the tall blue and red mech who had greeted him.</p>
<p>He saluted his Prime with two fingers and leaned his weight onto one leg as he greeted “Good cycle, Prime. What’s tha problem?” A flicker of good humor glittered in his Prime’s optics at the greeting while Ultra Magnus just leveled his typical disapproving scowl.</p>
<p>Optimus Prime gestured for Jazz to enter his inner office, “Not out here.” Optimus wanted heightened security then, that was an interesting fact. Jazz filed it away as he followed his Prime and Ultra Magnus into the inner office and waited for someone to elaborate on the details.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus spoke first, “Late in the lunar-cycle, our security team picked up a sizable energy surge in Alpha Quadrant two-sixty. Similar in signature to a groundbridge, but much larger. Three times larger, in fact.”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned, “Larger? Didn’t we wipe tha ‘cons out of thah area a few metacycles ago? Could they have opened multiple bridges ta try ta take back the quadrant?” It was the only explanation he could think of for a groundbridge-like signature to be three times larger than normal. Not unless the thing had destabilized and exploded, but that kind of phenomenon was well documented and the analysts knew how to identify those right away. It wouldn’t be a mystery worth calling Jazz in.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s face twitched into a scowl again at Jazz’s pointed lack of the word “sir”, but he continued anyway, “According to all ground reports, the area was cleared. And the analysts thought the signal too powerful and singular to come from multiple bridges without risking an overlap loop. However, during the brief time the energy surge appeared on our scanners, no autobot held groundbridge was registered as active. Therefor, the only logical possibility that the decepticons are up to <b>something</b> and are using the abandoned base in that quadrant to stage a surprise attack on our flank.”</p>
<p>Jazz tapped his fingers against his right leg in a rapid beat, rolling that over in his processor. He had helped to clear that quadrant himself and hadn’t seen anything the decepticons would have found worth coming back for. Of course, as Ultra Magnus had stated, the decepticons could be attempting to sneak back into the area to stage a surprise attack. But if they were attempting stealth, why use multiple bridge? Or any at all? Any officer with a working processor would know that such a move was bound to be picked up on Autobot scanners.<em> Even Screamer would know better. Something doesn’t add up here.</em></p>
<p>Craning his head back, he spoke to Optimus, “Ah think it’s a trap. Megatron would never authorize such a stupid mistake.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded in agreement, “As do I, however, whether the decepticons are responsible for the surge or not, it must be investigated. If the decepticons are somehow not the cause of the surge, they are sure to be searching as well. If a third party, or a neutral faction we do not yet have contact with, is at the source of this mystery, we must find them <b>before</b> the decepticons do.”</p>
<p>Jazz tapped his fingers on his leg a few more times, the steady rhythm helping order his thoughts, “Am Ah goin’ with a team or is this a solo dance, Prime?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stepped in again, “You will be leading a small strike team into the alpha quadrant consisting of these Autobots.” He handed Jazz a datapad that the mech quickly skimmed. <em>Mirage, the twins if we can coax Prowl into letting them out of the brig, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Chromia.</em> It was a good team, especially with Ironhide coming along. The mech rarely left Optimus’s side for a reason. The mech very good at keeping any autobot near him alive.</p>
<p>Jazz looked up from the datapad, “Looks glitchin’, O.P. When do we roll out?”</p>
<p>The answer was “now” and it didn’t take long before the request team, minus the twins, was rolling out toward the alpha quadrant. Jazz ran a mental checklist to see if everything was covered as they began to pull out of the large gates of the base. The trip would take several joors since the team couldn’t risk using a groundbridge and alerting the decepticons to their presence, and the last thing the mission needed was to be halfway there and discover that someone had forgotten something vital.</p>
<p>Jazz opened the intercom, ::Everyone packin’ what they need?::</p>
<p>Ironhide was the first to respond, ::Ready and revving.::</p>
<p>Mirage’s engine purred slightly from his position next to Jazz, ::Fully prepared, sir.::</p>
<p>::A medic is always prepared.:: Jazz could hear Ratchet’s irritation at the question and would have smiled if he could. Ratchet and stealthy, high-risk missions did not go well together. The medic tended to be very controlling and snappy when stressed. Hopefully this mission wouldn’t send him completely over the edge.</p>
<p>Chromia’s sarcasm all but <b>dripped</b> from her position to Ironhide’s left, ::Why no, sir! This is my first mission, sir! What do you think, Jazz-mech? I’m locked, loaded, and ready to kick ‘con tailpipe.::</p>
<p>Jazz revved his engine in response, ::Okay then team. Let’s get this party started!::</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. * Seeking Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Melody stared at her reflection in the cracked display screen for an eternity. It didn’t change. The slender, pure white robot with two differently colored optics stared right back with a horrified expression. It was almost as if the mirror apparition was about to scream, “Who put <b>you</b> into my body? Get your own!”</p>
<p>A tiny whimper escaped her as she lifted a slender, pearl colored hand to touch the reflective screen. The apparition did the same. <em>What happened to me? Am I ... dead somehow? Or in a coma in some hospital?</em> Her sensitive metal fingers traced one of the cracks in the long dead display, <em>no, this feels far too real to be a dream. Surely even a coma induced one isn’t this real.</em></p>
<p>Experimentally, she lifted her spare hand to the center of her chest. A steady thump vibrated underneath her curled fingers, right in the center of her chest. <em>Hearts are off to the side ... this is in the middle.</em> Lowering both of her hands, she stared at the cracked reflection and whispered, “What happened to me?”</p>
<p>When she had woken up several minutes ago —something in her mind stubbornly brought up the word “breem”—, it had taken a few seconds —“kliks” the odd part of her mind insisted— before she realized the full extent of her situational change. At first she hadn’t noticed her new look, she had simply stared in awe at the walls, covered in dusty sci-fi style display screens and with black scorch marks all over the screens and floor.</p>
<p>Turning around slowly to look at the room again, she caught sight of the still robotic corpse that had first “greeted” her and shuddered violently. It had been in her mad scramble to get away from it that she had whirled around and spotted the white female robot that she had eventually concluded was <b>her</b>. But now that she was taking a second look around the room, Melody realized that there were a lot of metal bodies lying at unnatural angles on the floor or draped over what she assumed were control panels.</p>
<p><em>I’m in some kind of control room. But how did I get here?</em> Doing her best not to either burst into tears —could she even cry?— or start screaming in terror, Melody began inching her way around the silent fallen sentinels and toward the smashed open doorway on the far side of the room. She did her best to keep her eyes fixed on the exit, but after stumbling over a lifeless arm with a startled yelp, she changed her point of concentration to the floor instead.</p>
<p>As her eyes drifted over yet another faceless helmet, with only a darkened visor to bear witness that it was the front and not the back, something in her mind niggled quietly. <em>I know that mask.</em> Melody shuddered and rubbed her arms as she hastily looked away and made a mad scramble for the open door. Tripping over a random piece of debris, she flailed her arms out in an effort to catch herself and screamed loudly as she collided with something metal and <b>warm</b> that immediately clutched her with an iron grip.</p>
<p>Frantic thoughts about fighting or escaping scrambled through her head without place or consideration as she flailed and screeched. Her right hand lashed out and was rewarded by a yell of pain and a loosening of her captor’s grip. Instinct jerked her knee upwards, it collided with a clang against her attacker’s midriff. The grip vanished and she shot blindly away several paces before she stumbled and fell <b>again</b>, landing on her front with a jarring thud.</p>
<p>She rolled over on her back, heaving, trying to cool down as she looked wildly at her doubled over opponent. The masculine robot was a dark green, like the color often seen on camo, only without the brown variation pattern. He was clutching his middle with one silver hand and his shoulder with the other.</p>
<p>Melody froze, too surprised at seeing another living thing —especially a <b>mechanical</b> living thing— to move. The stranger’s eyes —optics?— opened and looked her way, a dark ruby gaze that sent alarm bells off in her head. The surprise keeping her still switched to paralyzing terror as one word rolled endlessly in her head, <em>decepticon, decepticon, decepticon, decepticon.</em> As that one terrifying word bounced around in her mind, she stared at him, afraid of moving, afraid of what his reaction was going to be if she did —or if she didn’t, afraid of how he would react to her mere existence—.</p>
<p>Instead of moving to tear her apart like she was expecting, the stranger merely stared back. His optics slowly swept up and down her slender white form before settling on her face with a look of confusion. <em>My eyes, he doesn’t know what to make of my eyes.</em> His jaw worked slightly and Melody resumed panting. Her body felt far too hot and panting seemed to be the only thing that could cool it down. His lips twitched and he whispered, almost fearfully, “Melody? Is ... is that you?”</p>
<p>It felt like every process in her mind stopped short. <em>He knows my name. I know that voice. That-.</em> “Michael?”</p>
<p>His face lit up in relief, “Melody! It is you! Oh thank the heavens!” Melody felt her body hitch slightly as she sobbed with relief at finding a friendly —if not quite familiar— face. Scrambling to her knees, Melody and Michael embraced, holding on to one another for dear life.</p>
<p>Michael rubbed her back with one hand as Melody choked out, “I thought I was- alone. All alone.”</p>
<p>Her best friend and big brother shushed her softly, “I know, Melody, I know. But it’s all right now, we’ll figure this out together, I promise.” Melody lay there, curled up against Michael, seeking comfort against his surprisingly warm metal chest, for an unknown length of time. Then random thought flickered through her mind, <em>The twins would be teasing us for- the twins!</em></p>
<p>She sat up with a startled noise, “Michael, the twins! If we’re here somehow, then they might be too!”</p>
<p>Michael froze as her statement sank in, “You’re right ... we’ve got to find them.” They both got slowly to their feet and looked around, silently wondering where the twins could possibly be in the dimly lit maze of a building.</p>
<p>Melody turned to Michael and found that she had to crane her head backwards to look at his face, “Scrap, you’re tall.” Michael looked down at her, then at himself, then back at her. He chuckled, a weak, fragile sound. Melody shook her head, “No, seriously, when did you get to be so slagging tall? I should come up to your <b>shoulder</b>, not your <b>waist</b>.”</p>
<p>Michael shrugged, “Growth spurt, maybe?” Melody rolled her eyes at the weak joke. <em>Yeah, if becoming a giant green robot with red eyes and wheels for ankles counts as a “growth spurt”.</em></p>
<p>She started to say as much when two timid, identical voices echoed faintly from somewhere to her left. “Mel? Mic? A yo the? I an o the?”</p>
<p>Melody glanced quickly at Michael, “The twins.” Turning towards the faint sounds of twin speak she called, “Skyler! Samuel! Over here!” Rapid footfalls answered her call and within moments two small figures came scurrying around the corner to meet them. Melody was instantly on her knees with her arms wrapped tightly around the twins in a hug that was returned with double the vigor.</p>
<p>She gently kissed the tops of their heads as she murmured “Thank goodness you’re okay.” Worriedly, she held them at arms length, “You are okay, aren’t you? Nothing injured?”</p>
<p>As they both nodded, Skyler asked, “Why wouldn’t we? Have you <b>seen</b> our new look? We’re awesome now!”</p>
<p>Samuel piped up, all cheer and courage now that they weren’t alone, “Yeah! Soundwave and Prowl are too!” To prove his point, they both held up a pair familiar looking toys for her inspection. Gingerly, Melody touched one of the now plushy playthings, <em>its not plastic anymore. It feels like metal ... but its soft. How is that?</em> A snide voice inwardly replied, <em>same as how you’re robot now.</em></p>
<p>Michael gave a weak laugh, “That’s nice Samuel-.”</p>
<p>The little boy’s head shot up indignantly, “It’s not Samuel anymore! My name is Fast Track!”</p>
<p>Skyler piped up as well, “And mine is Zipline. Just like you two are Starwish and Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Melody frowned, “Come again?”</p>
<p>The newly dubbed Zipline rolled his eyes, “We’re transformers now, duh. So, that means we need to use our transformer names! You know, the ones we always use in our games.” A tiny ‘oh’ of understanding graced Melody’s mouth. All four of them were ardent fans of the Transformers shows and, at the twins behest, had often played imaginary games in that setting. The twins, being all or nothing in everything they did, had coaxed their adopted siblings into designing and naming Cybertronian versions of themselves.</p>
<p>Realization clicked in her mind and with a gasp Melody shot to her feet and rushed back into the abandoned command center she had first awoken in. Rushing to the nearest screen, she examined her reflection with new eyes.</p>
<p>She had always been thin, but not she was positively tiny, with well fitting armor that was designed to be as un-spiked and unadorned as possible covered her frame. Her helmet was smooth and well formed to her head, arching from its slender nose guard up over her forehead and across her temples.</p>
<p>The triangular amplifiers on the backs of her circular audio sensors twitched slightly under her visual scrutiny as she reached up a hand to lightly touch where her helmet covered the base of her skull and the edge of her jaw bone. Her eyes —optics—, right one blue, left one red, glanced away from the reflection long enough to study her slender feet —no high heels thank goodness— and her exposed ankle joint.</p>
<p>Her eyes swept upwards again to study the stick-like protrusions extending upwards from the back of her shoulders and how they moved when she shifted her arms slightly. <em>I wonder...</em></p>
<p>Melody frowned, concentrating on the protrusions. A small window appeared in the corner of her vision with the message, prosthetic extensions: activated. With a small chime, both of the ‘sticks’ separated into three, multi-jointed limbs each. “Whoa,” a rush of strange sensations tingled through her as her nervous system connected with the prosthetic limbs and made them twitch.</p>
<p>The twins spoke up from behind her, “Wow, Starwish, nice limbs!” Melody whirled to face them, her new limbs clattering noisily against various debris, the sting of the impacts making her wince.</p>
<p>She spasmodically lifted the limbs higher, “Uh, I suppose.” The prosthetics waved and squirmed like charmed snakes at a fair and she glowered at them, “Really hard to control though.” <em>How do I put these things away?</em> Melody concentrated on her desire and the limbs abruptly refolded into their original forms as shoulder protrusions. She gave a tiny sigh of relief, “Okay, that’s taken care of at least.”</p>
<p>She looked over and up at Michael, “But they’re right, Michael. This body ... it’s the same one I designed for our games. I’ve … <b>become</b> Starwish and you … you’ve become Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Michael slowly moved to a blank screen and stared at himself. He rubbed his left shoulder plate, “I still have my scar, but you’re right. We’re ... Cybertronians now.” He took a shaking breath —aware of how impossible his own words sounded—, then turned back to face her, “I ... I hate to say it, but I think the twins have the right idea. I don’t know where we are or how we got here, but if we do meet other Cybertronians, our old names aren’t going to cut it. They’ll stand out way too much. It … it would be safer to be known as Hardwire and Starwish in form <b>and</b> name.”</p>
<p>She took a moment to push down the bubble of hysteria that wanted to rise —what was happening, how was this happening, she wanted to <b>wake up</b> now—, Starwish nodded, “Right.”</p>
<p>From the doorway, Zipline asked, “So ... does that mean those are Vehicons?” Starwish looked down at where Zipline was pointing at one of the bodies in the room and felt yet another realization hit her head like a sledgehammer.</p>
<p>Apparently, Hardwire had come to the same conclusion, “Scrap.”</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t raise her voice above a whisper, “Vehicons, like in Transformers Prime.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track heard her words and completely missed the serious implications, “Really? Cool! We’ll get to meet Bulkhead and Arcee and Dreadwing and Bumblebee and beat up Starscream and-!”</p>
<p>Hardwire yelled over their chatter, “Hold it!”</p>
<p>The twins fell silent and scuffed the floor with their feet in surprise. He didn’t usually yell at them like that. Hardwire shook his head at them, “You two need to slow down. We don’t even know where we are yet. We are not going to go running off and looking for trouble, especially the decepticon kind.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track both frowned, “Aww!” They glared up at Hardwire and began to twitch irritation. Starwish sighed and pushed away her own emotions, she knew what would come next if they couldn’t distract the twins from their disappointment.</p>
<p>Stepping over to them, she knelt down and said coaxingly, “How about we explore this place first and worry about kicking butts later? Who knows? We might find something interesting.” Zipline cocked his head to one side and stared at her for several seconds before looking silently over at his brother. Fast Track stared back him and shrugged. There was a long, unnerving pause as the two merely stared into each other’s optics.</p>
<p>Starwish glanced over her shoulder at Hardwire, who shrugged helplessly. <em>Hang on, Cybertronian twins are formed from a spark that splits evenly between two frames.</em> She narrowed her eyes and glowered at the twins, “Are you two speaking through a spark-bond?”</p>
<p>They jumped guiltily and looked up at her in unison, “No! We were just ... uh...”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head in amazement and muttered, “Like Scraplets to metal.”</p>
<p>Starwish patted their shoulders, “It’s all right you two. It’s pretty amazing, in fact. But let’s save the silent chatting for <b>after</b> we explore our this place.”</p>
<p>Zip and Track nodded in agreement and hugged her, “Okay, Star.” Pulling out of the hug they looked around, “So, where do we start first?”</p>
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<p>Jazz rolled underneath a piece of rubble, wincing slightly as he felt its sharp edges scrape against his finish. <em>Sunstreaker would throw a fit if he saw that.</em> ::Stay still everybot, jus’ let them pass.::</p>
<p>Ironhide’s voice growled over the intercom as the Vehicon patrol swooped overhead with a dull roar, ::We can take them, Jazz!:: Chromia chorused in agreement as the enemy patrol performed a wide circuit around the area.</p>
<p>Jazz held perfectly still in the shadow of his refuge, ::Negative, ‘Hide, Chromia. Even if we slagged this patrol an’ came out without injury, Ol’ Megs would get suspicious when they didn’t report back. Assuming tha energy surge wasn’t their fault, we need ta stay unnoticed for as long as possible an’ make Megatron think thah tha power surge was nothin’ worth investigating.::</p>
<p>Mirage coolly entered the debate from his invisible perch on top of a rise, ::Lieutenant Jazz is correct. The flight pattern those Vehicons are using is Gamma G. Preemptive scouting only. Their job is to fly over an abandoned area and flush out any hidden opposition. If we attack, we will undoubtedly be alerting Megatron to our presence and the possible value of whatever caused the surge. We would also be putting ourselves in increasing danger.::</p>
<p>Chromia growled out, ::Nice excuse for a coward.::</p>
<p>Ratchet barked at her from underneath a broken cargo transport, ::It is also sound logic. Use that processor of yours, Chromia! The closer we can get to the objective without revealing ourselves or risking injury, the safer our mission will be.:: Everyone fell deathly quiet as the Decepticon scouting patrol transformed in mid-air and landed with a shudder on the abandoned street.</p>
<p>Jazz distracted himself from the tension by studying the scuff marks on the pede within arm’s reach of his visor. <em>Mech needs a good polish. A new coat of paint would probably be good for his looks too if he wasn’t already ugly.</em> To keep himself calm as the pede idly shifted closer to him, he began counting the places on it where the paint had been scratched off.</p>
<p>Just as he crested one hundred and twenty, a gravely vocalizer sounded above his hiding place, “Any sign of Autobots?”</p>
<p>The owner of the pede Jazz had been studying stiffened to attention, “No sir, no sign of them in this sector.”</p>
<p>The first voice rumbled, “Transform and move out then, we still have five more sectors to check before we can return to base.” There was a synchronized chorus of “yes sir’s” and the unmistakable sound of transformation. The pede so agonizingly close to Jazz’s visor vanished and the roar of engines testified to the departure of the enemy. Jazz didn’t move, ::Mirage, let us know when they’re out of sight an’ which way they were headed. Everybot else, wait another breem after standard before movin’ from cover.::</p>
<p>Mirage commed in, ::They have left visual range, sir. I last saw them flying due east.::</p>
<p>Jazz swept his optics across the small range of landscape he could see and counted down eleven breems on his internal chronometer. While ten was standard procedure for this type of situation, Jazz’s instincts told him to wait an extra breem in case of a Decepticon trick. Once in a while they got clever, and now wasn’t the time to assume they would stick to the norm.</p>
<p>Eleven breems ticked past without incident and Jazz crawled out from under the rubble to look around. Ironhide stood up from where he had been huddled in the door of a collapsed housing unit, “Well, that was boring. I still say we should have slagged them when we had the chance.”</p>
<p>Chromia emerged from behind Ironhide, <em>figures they would hide in the same place,</em> “How soon until they come back do you think?”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled as he brushed debris flakes from his shoulder plating, “Not for several more joors at least. They will most likely scout the other sectors and report back to their base for further instructions.”</p>
<p>Mirage materialized next to Ironhide, causing the large mech to jump slightly in surprise. The aristocratic mech dipped his helm in an apology before speaking to all on the team, “I believe it would be wise if we moved on post haste. We are still joors away from the energy surge’s coordinates and I do not fancy spending the lunar joors outside Autobot territory any longer than necessary.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Agreed, Mirage. Tha sooner we can get ta tha coordinates, tha better it will be. Autobots, start your engines.” There was a chorus of affirmatives and the chime of transformation as the small squad of veteran warriors shifted into their alt modes and revved their engines.</p>
<p>Jazz shifted lightly on his wheels, “Roll out!” The five Autobots drove in perfect formation down the ruined street.</p>
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<p>Ironhide studied his surroundings and felt a vague sadness grow in his spark. The area they were passing through had once been a peaceful residential area for the worker class. A lot of family units had no doubt lived happily in the now destroyed housing complexes. They drove past an open area filled with bodies and deep craters caused by artillery strikes. His spark twisted painfully when he spotted a climbing apparatus meant to help train sparklings’ motor skills. <em>It was a playground.</em></p>
<p>His engine growled angrily, <em>stinking ‘Cons! This was a peaceful neutral settlement. There wasn’t even anything worth stealing! They just razed it because it was fun and then made a base on its outskirts. Curse those fraggers to the pit!</em></p>
<p>A voice only he could hear interrupted his thoughts, <em>“Hide? You doing all right?”</em> Ironhide realized that Chromia must have picked up on his brooding.</p>
<p>He sank slightly on his axles, <em>“I’m fine, Sweetspark. Just...”</em> Ironhide felt his telepathic thought trail off as he studied the destruction that was becoming a more and more common sight on Cybertron. <em>Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end,</em> he finished silently.</p>
<p>Chromia understood his unfinished message and sent a wave of sympathy and comfort over their bond, <em>“I know, I do too sometimes. But this war </em><b><em>will</em></b><em> end, I’m sure of it,” </em>a smile entered her voice, <em>“and when it does, you and me are going to have a little ‘chat’ about how sparklings are created.”</em></p>
<p>Ironhide had to suppress a chuckle as he scanned the area again, vigilant even as he had a conversation with his Bonded, <em>“I look forward to it, My Spark. I’m sure Bumblebee would enjoy having siblings.”</em></p>
<p>The toughened weapons specialist felt pleasure radiate from Chromia briefly at his statement. They both knew how much the other wanted to become a larger family unit. Ironhide was about to tell her just how many sparklings he would like to “discuss” when Ratchet opened a com channel with him, ::Enough you two. I can hear your engines purring <b>most</b> inappropriately all the way over here. I would advise focusing solely on the mission. Unless it’s too much of a bother, of course.::</p>
<p>Ironhide huffed, ::Whatever you say, Hatchet.:: From the far back of the formation, Ironhide could hear Ratchet’s engine sputter with rage at the hated nickname.</p>
<p>Mirage cut into the conversation neatly, ::Excuse my interruption, but did anyone else pick up that reading just now?::</p>
<p>Jazz swerved slightly left and right from his position at the head of the group, ::I got nothin’. What was it Mirage?::</p>
<p>The blue and white mech was silent for a few kliks ::I am not certain, it appeared to be an energon spike. However, it was gone before I could pinpoint it or determine it’s exact nature.::</p>
<p>Ironhide asked, ::Any idea of the general direction it was in?::</p>
<p>Mirage’s answer was swift, ::Yes, actually. It appeared to be coming from the same direction as the coordinates we are attempting to reach::</p>
<p>Jazz sighed over the com, ::Good work, Mirage. Everybot, keep your scanners primed for an ambush, somethin’ don’t feel right about this whole setup.::</p>
<p>Ironhide growled, ::Understood.:: <em>And if this does turn out to be an ambush of some kind, I get full rights to use my cannons on the slagging decepticons who ruined this place.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Neither Friend nor Foe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Afternoon sunlight shone through the skylight sized hole in the ceiling, bathing Starwish in welcome warmth as she stopped to take a break from exploring. The abandoned complex she and her family had woken up in was <b>massive</b>. The clock she had discovered inside her head had calculated that their exploratory mission had been going on for joors, something she supposed was like a Cybertronian hour, and they still had been unable to find an exit to the outdoors.</p>
<p>By exit of course, she meant a door, not a gaping hole in the wall with bodies sprawled in and around it. The twins were obviously having the time of their lives, running back and forth from room to room, searching every nook and cranny for something interesting and new.</p>
<p>She looked up at the jagged, turned-in edges of the sun fill hole and smiled weakly. It was their innocent enthusiasm and cheerful adaption to their new surroundings that was keeping her sane. Starwish knew that if she had woken up with only Hardwire for company or, worse yet, alone, she would still be in the dark command center sobbing and screaming in terror over her predicament.</p>
<p>A cheerful call broke through her thoughts, “Hey Star! Come see what we found!”</p>
<p>Starwish sighed, briefly musing on how it was fascinating that she could still perform the action as a Cybertronian as she called back, “Coming twins!” With mild reluctance, she stepped out of the comforting patch of sun and trotted down the surprisingly intact hall to the room the twins had just disappeared into. She rounded the corner and paused in the door, “What did you two find this ... time. Well scrap.”</p>
<p>Zipline kicked his legs furiously as he struggled to climb onto a large metal slab that was comprised of three segmented pieces. Fast Track watched his brother contentedly from the safety of the shockingly clean floor as he answered Starwish, “Don’t know. I think it might be a med-bay. Like from the Star Trek movies.”</p>
<p>Starwish stepped carefully inside and looked around the room curiously. Fast Track was right, it <b>did</b> look like a classic sci-fi medical bay, disturbingly so. Close inspection revealed that the med-bay clean of any bodies, something that surprised her to no end. Zipline gave a frustrated grunt as the metal ‘bed’ he was attempting to clamber atop continued to defeat his best efforts by its sheer advantage in height.</p>
<p>Absently, Starwish picked Zipline up around the middle and carefully set him onto his goal. While Zipline cheered as if he had done it all himself, Fast Track rushed to his big sister’s feet and held up his arms pleadingly in the universal sign for transport. Starwish smiled at him and obliged. When they were both happily perched on the bed, she cautioned them, “Careful up there you two. I’m going to check the other parts of this med-bay.”</p>
<p>They nodded obediently, “We’ll be careful Star.” Satisfied with their promise Starwish strode across to the far end of the bay and examined the counter. Strange tools were laid out in haphazard orders, testaments to the hasty exit of whoever had once operated the med-bay. Her left hand idly stroked one, <em>a energon patch applier, still in good condition too.</em> Her hand froze in place as she realized what she had just thought, <em>how did I know what this thing is?</em> She felt her spark beat a little faster as she studied the other tools, their names and uses popping up in her thought process with terrifying precision and speed.</p>
<p>Starwish retracted her hand sharply and fought off another panic attack, <em>calm down, calm down, there must be a logical explanation for this. There must be!</em> Fast Track’s voice innocently asked, “Star? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Turning away from the table sharply, she found herself staring into two wide pairs of concerned blue optics. Trying to swallow her nervous panic she answered, “Yes, I’m fine ... I just ... are strange Cybertronian terms popping up in your heads that you can suddenly understand?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track both cocked their heads to one side in consideration of the question. Zip frowned, “What kind of terms?”</p>
<p>Feeling oddly embarrassed but too desperate to resist answering, she said, “I was looking at these tools here and ... I know what they are and what they do.”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s frown melted away and was replaced by a smile, “Oh! Is that all? Why wouldn’t you understand what those things are? You’re a medic!”</p>
<p><em>A medic?</em> Starwish blinked and then whispered, “Oh, yeah...” <em>I remember now! When I designed the character Starwish, I decided that she would be a medic. I must have some kind of medical programming or something now.</em> As odd as the thought that she had her fictional character’s knowledge sounded, it somehow fit with the entire ‘wake up on a fictional planet as a fictional species’ situation.</p>
<p>She smiled lopsidedly at the twins, “Thank you for reminding me. I’d forgotten.”</p>
<p>Zipline just shrugged, “It’s okay, you seem kind of stressed out right now, so it’s only natural you forget stuff.” Starwish turned back to the medical counter in order to hide her flustered expression, <em>note to self, they are a lot more observant than they seem.</em> To help calm down, Starwish picked up one of the tools, a rotary buffer apparently, and examined it closely. Not very surprisingly, it looked identical to the one she had seen Knock Out using on the Transformers Prime TV show. <em>I wonder if this is one of his. I hope not, he strikes me as the possessive type.</em></p>
<p>Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and she whirled nervously, wondering who it was. Hardwire ambled slowly into the med-bay, putting Starwish at ease with a small smirk. The twins waved hello cheerfully, “Hi, Hardwire! Look what we found! It’s a med-bay!”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded congenially, “So I see. Good work on finding it you two.”</p>
<p>Fast Track held up the Soundwave toy, “It was Soundwave that pointed it out for us!”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t miss a beat, striding over he gently patted Soundwave’s plushy head before softly rubbing each of the twins with a hand, “In that case, good work to Soundwave for finding it, and good work to you two for exploring it.”</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t stop a warm feeling from fluttering through her at how gentle her friend was being despite his massive increase in size. Walking over to the berth the twins were sitting on, she perched on the edge, “Where did you go off too Hardwire? I was starting to worry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged his shoulders, “I wanted to figure out a few things about myself without risk of anyone getting hurt. I made Hardwire a warrior class weapons specialist remember?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “Ye, I remember. So, figure out anything interesting?”</p>
<p>Hardwire grinned broadly, “Oh <b>yeah</b>. Watch this, I figured out how to un-subspace a little weapon in my apparent arsenal.” Stepping away from them, he extended a hand toward the wall and frowned in concentration. With a startling shifting of gears and metal plating, Hardwire’s right hand and lower arm seemed to fold away only to be completely replaced by his ‘little weapon’.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track shrieked with boyish joy at seeing such a shiny instrument of mass destruction in the same room as them. Starwish gasped and stepped back in surprise at the sight of the long, sleek silver barrel of a huge gun, “You call that <b>little</b>? Hardwire! It’s a slagging cannon!”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged innocently and folded the weapon back into a hand, “It is little when compared to the back mounted one I first unlocked. Thing nearly knocked me over because I wasn’t braced properly to hold it. The one I just showed you is called a Kaonian Sniper Cannon MX-115 by the way. Apparently it’s for long range heavy cover fire.”</p>
<p>Starwish studied in now normal looking hand ruefully, “Apparently. How did you figure out how to access subspace?”</p>
<p>Hardwire flexed the fingers of his right hand thoughtfully, “I’m not sure how to explain it but ... it felt a bit like reaching into a pocket and pulling out the desired item. Once you select the item you want and ‘pull it out’ so to speak, it will appear and replace whatever limb it was modified to. Why don’t you try it?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded and worked on ignoring the twins excited grunts as they tried to access subspace as well. Looking down, Starwish stared at her hands and imagined reaching into a pocket. At first, nothing happened. But then, without warning, she felt a strange quiver in her right hand and lower arm. A small message appeared in the center of her vision, ‘surgical saw selected’A sequence of mechanical notes sounded as her right arm from the elbow down shifted and smoothed out, her hand disappearing in favor of a menacingly sharp buzz saw.</p>
<p>Silence fell over the med-bay at the sight of the glittering silver blade. Starwish raised it slightly higher and turned it so she could see its flat side, “Um...” Experimentally, she tried wiggling her fingers, wondering if her hand was inside the buzz saw’s handle somehow. Her fingers, wherever they were, didn’t respond. The buzz saw did. It powered on and started spinning with a menacing whine of sheer cutting power.</p>
<p>Hardwire jumped back in surprise, “Whoa! Easy with that thing Star!” Starwish stopped trying to wiggle her fingers and the saw powered down with a slightly disappointed sounding hum. <em>Note to self, medics have very sharp potential weapons. Handle with care.</em></p>
<p>She looked up at Hardwire, “How do I put this thing away?”</p>
<p>Zipline squawked indignantly, “Put it away? Why would you do that? You haven’t even cut anything to shreds yet!”</p>
<p>Starwish gave him a stern look, “I’m sure I’ll have time for that later, but right now I want my hand back.”</p>
<p>Hardwire eyed the blade cautiously as he answered, “Same as how you pulled it out. Put it back in your pocket.” Starwish nodded her understanding and stared hard at the buzz saw. <em>Put it back in my pocket ... put it back in my pocket ... put it-</em> the buzz saw disappeared with a small chime. <em>Thank goodness.</em></p>
<p>Starwish smiled up at Hardwire, “Well, I guess now I know what to do it we run into anything unfriendly.”</p>
<p>Fast Track whined pitifully, “This is so unfair! Why can’t we pull weapons out of our arms like that?” The small red and grey boy was staring unconsolably at his hands.</p>
<p>Starwish gently rubbed his shoulder, “Aw, it’s okay Track. Maybe you just don’t have anything in your subspace yet. I’m sure you’ll learn how to do this stuff in no time.” Zipline looked about to protest when his middle made a loud grinding noise. All four of them stared at the noisy midriff in surprise.</p>
<p>Holding a hand to his middle thoughtfully, Zipline declared, “I’m hungry.” Fast Track immediately nodded in agreement. Starwish suddenly became aware of hunger pangs in her own stomach ... tanks ... whatever.</p>
<p>She looked worriedly up at Hardwire, her expression said just how high she thought their chances of finding energon in a place like this were. Or their ability to actually consume it. Hardwire frowned, it was obvious that he was having similar thoughts. Zipline’s stomach growled again and he made an unhappy face, “Really, <b>really</b> hungry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a clearing noise in his throat, “We’ll go look for some food for you two. Why don’t you stay here and take a recharge while we search?”</p>
<p>Fast Track made an irritable noise, his mood rapidly deteriorating as he became hungrier and hungrier, “Don’ wanna recharge! Wanna eat!”</p>
<p>Starwish realized that she would have to think fast if she wanted to stop the impending temper tantrum, “You’ll get it. But to make time go faster, why don’t you just curl up here with Zip, Soundwave, and Prowl and take a recharge. You know time always goes faster when you’re offline.”</p>
<p>Fast Track looked up at her calculatingly for several seconds before nodding, “Guess so.” On a mental consensus only he and his twin could hear, they curled up together on the metal berth like two lost puppies. Their favorite toys squished firmly between them.</p>
<p>Fast Track closed his eyes immediately, but Zipline paused long enough to mutter, “You sound kinda strange when you talk like a Cyber ... Cybertronian ... saying recharge instead of recharge...” His eyes fluttered shut and Starwish watched as the twins began to immediately fall asleep.</p>
<p>She and Hardwire tiptoed out of the med-bay and looked at each other in concern. Hardwire whispered, “You know, he’s actually on to something. Have you noticed that when we talk, we use a lot of Cybertronian terms?”</p>
<p>Starwish cocked her head to one side, thinking about this, “Now that you bring it up, yes. We have been using mostly Cybertronian terms. I wonder why?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head, “Not a concern right now. We need to find energon for the twins and ourselves. I just got a message that said something about my ‘energy levels being low’.” Starwish nodded and they took off down an unexplored hall in search of something to eat. <em>Please let us find something. Please...</em></p>
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<p>Jazz crouched behind cover, peering silently at the looming hole in the wall of the seemingly abandoned Decepticon base. It <b>looked</b> empty enough. But Jazz had learned long ago to never trust first appearances. Keeping to the intercom to help prevent anyone from listening in, he whispered, ::All raht mechs an’ femme. Here’s how it’s gonna go down. ‘Hide, Ratch’, you two’ll take the west section o’ tha base. Chromia, Mirage, you two’ll take tha south. Ah’ll take tha east and we’ll meet back a’ this entrance ‘fore scoping out tha north. Ya’ll dig thah?::</p>
<p>Chromia and Ironhide both rumbled unhappily at being separated, but they understood Jazz’s angle. Mirage was not violent or combat prone mech, he was a master at stealth, but if he was somehow spotted by any ‘Cons that might be hiding inside the base, he would need the best backup he could get. Ie, Chromia, because she was small enough to go unnoticed most of the time, but big enough to pack a painful punch.</p>
<p>A similar logic paired Ironhide with Ratchet. While the medic could hold his own with his two lethal blades, Ironhide’s heavy cannons would be invaluable to the medic if he found himself in a fight. As for Jazz ... well, he was Jazz, enough said.</p>
<p>A round of quiet affirmatives sounded over the intercom and Jazz paused long enough to smirk, ::Okay then, Autobots, le’s start tha recon.:: He bounced up lightly and scurried for his chosen entry point, a small hole to the left of the one Ironhide and the others would be taking.</p>
<p>No painfully loud alarm klaxons went off when Jazz lightly jumped through the hole and rolled to the nearest cover, acid pellet gun primed and ready for action. Peeking around a jagged piece of broken metal, he swept his optics and scanners up and down the silent hall. ::Clear. Come on ahead.:: In swift pairs, the rest of his team darted through the entrance and scanned the area, weapons out in case of ambush. The offlined frames of Decepticons were their only greeting and the Autobots exchanged quick nods before cautiously setting off down their chosen hallways.</p>
<p>Jazz crept slowly and carefully down the dimly lit corridor, his optics sweeping alertly in every direction. His pedes made no discernible noise as he stepped around and over debris and fallen warriors. The silence was unnerving, heavy. Just like it always was when he had to search through an ended battlefield for something. It always seemed to Jazz as if the offline mechs on the ground around were glaring at him in disapproval for disturbing their rest. <em>Or because I’m an Autobot. Either or.</em></p>
<p>Secretly, he wished he could listen to his favorite playlist while he searched. The cheerful electric trills would no doubt help to banish the gloomy stillness all around. Oh well, he could listen to it when he got back to base. A scanner in his visor beeped, the sound only audible to Jazz. The saboteur paused in his careful room checking to read the scanner’s findings.<em> Trace energon signals. Someone was here recently. Or still is.</em></p>
<p>Holding a finger up to his right audial sensor, he intercommed, ::Heads up ‘bots. Ah’m pickin’ up trace signals. Recent from less than a joor ago.::</p>
<p>Mirage whispered back, ::I am getting a reading as well. Whoever they are, they were searching the base thoroughly.::</p>
<p>Ironhide rumbled, ::Or still are, some of these Vehicon frames have been disturbed.::</p>
<p>The searchers fell silent again and Jazz continued his recon. Using his scanner to track the faint energon traces. Inwardly, Jazz wondered if he was following the trail of a Decepticon or whoever was responsible for the energy surge. <em>Find out soon enough I suppose.</em> The trace split into two separate trails and Jazz paused, <em>or not. Scrap, which one do I follow.</em> ::More then one mechs an’ femme. Ah just picked up two more a tha signals. ‘Hide, Ratch, it looks like one of ‘em was headed in yo’r direction. Ah’ll track down tha otha’ one.::</p>
<p>Ratchet answered his com, ::Understood, Jazz. Be careful.::</p>
<p>Jazz faceplates twitched upwards in a smirk, ::Always am, Ratch.:: He turned left down another corridor, following the energon trace only a special-ops issue visor could track. ::Always am.::</p>
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<p>Zipline felt his body jerk awake and grunted softly. His eyes opened and he looked around fuzzily. <em>Where?</em> He started to call for Starwish when a small metal hand clamped over his mouth. He felt roiling distress in his spark as a terrified voice whispered, “Don’ mo, so on he.” Zipline held perfectly still as the rest of his newly attained systems came fully online.</p>
<p>Gently nudging Fast Track’s hand from his mouth, he cocked his head to one side and listened. Footsteps thumped in the distance, drawing steadily closer to the med-bay. Glancing at his brother he sent silently, <em>“That doesn’t sound like Hardwire.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track shook his head, his optics wide with fear, <em>“I know. I think someone else is in this place.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline felt himself growing excited, <em>“Decepticons do you think?”</em></p>
<p>His brother whined softly and clutched Prowl, <em>“I hope not!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline shook his head stubbornly and sent a wave of confidence to his twin, as the footsteps drew ever nearer, <em>“Don’t worry, we can take them on if they try to attack.”</em> Looking around he pointed at the floor, <em>“Let’s hide under the berth nearest the door, that way we can ambush them if we need too.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track didn’t appear to be too keen on the idea at first, but Zipline’s total confidence reassured him and soon the two where huddled under a berth, waiting eagerly to spring their trap on the unsuspecting strangers. Zipline crouched closest to the doorway, watching it with narrowed eyes and a fast beating spark. The footfalls were very close now, close enough that he could feel the floor tremble slightly under the weight of each step. <em>Maybe it’s Megatron himself!</em> He couldn’t help but smile excitedly at that, what a fight it would be if they ambushed Megatron!</p>
<p>The owner of the heavy steps paused and Zipline heard a guttural whisper, “I’ll check right, you check left.” Someone else responded quietly and the twins watched with barely contained excitement as huge black metal feet and legs slowly crept into sight. Zipline felt like his spark would burst from his chest with anticipation. <em>Almost there!</em></p>
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<p>Ironhide tensed, something wasn’t right. His instincts were screaming ‘ambush!’. Pressing his back against the wall, he listened intently at the open doorway. He quickly checked the schematics that the Autobots had acquired their first time inside. <em>Med-bay huh? Good spot for a surprise if I ever saw one.</em> He inched closer and quickly risked a peak inside. Empty. His cannons whirred softly in preparation for anything as he cautiously began inching inside, optics sweeping every visible corner of the bay for signs of Decepticons.</p>
<p>A faint scuff noise sounded from underneath one of the berths and he stopped and swung his cannons towards the sound. He growled dangerously as he thought he spotted something move underneath the nearest berth, “Who’s there?”</p>
<p>Of all the responses he could have prepared himself for, a muffled giggle was not one of them. <em>What the slag?</em> “I know you’re there. Come out with your servos up and I won’t have an excuse to blast you.” Two blurs of motion shot out from under the berth with high pitched war cries and tackled his legs. Ironhide roared in surprise, his right cannon going off and vaporizing a sizable chunk of wall as he staggered backwards out of shock.</p>
<p>His back plating caught the roughened edge on the doorway, causing him to lose his balance and fall with a ground shaking crash. Two tiny forms swarmed up his body, still shouting unintelligible battle cries. Reacting instinctively, his servos whipped out and caught his attackers firmly by their shoulders and neck plating. Lifting them up with the intention of banging their helms together, he froze when he realized exactly what he was holding.</p>
<p>The two small frames, one green and grey, one red and grey, snarled and squeaked angrily. Their legs kicking in a frantic attempt to break free from his grasp. Identical pairs of big blue optics glowered at him from tiny silver face plates. Ironhide felt his processor come within a microchip of glitching as he lay sprawled out on the ground with two yelling, protesting balls of wires and rage in his servos.</p>
<p>His servos went slack and they dropped to the ground. Without pausing a beat, his attackers swarmed up his body to sit triumphantly on his chest. The green and grey mini-bot was smirking at the slack-jawed expression on his faceplates, “Surrender? Or do you want more?”</p>
<p><em>Younglings... they’re fragging younglings!</em> The data was just too much to handle on his own, he needed someone to sort this out, make sure he wasn’t having some kind of holographic flux. There was simply no way any younglings could be in a Decepticon base. Even an abandoned one. Ironhide roared over the com, ::Ratchet! <b>Ratchet</b>!:: Worry from Chromia was flooding his sparkmate bond as intercom queries piled up in his head.</p>
<p>Ratchet tore around the corner at top speed, his double blades fully drawn and ready to cut. “Yah!”</p>
<p>Startled, the two younglings scrambled backwards, falling off of Ironhide’s chest plating, “Aahh!”</p>
<p>Ironhide’s parental subroutines kicked in and he caught to two younglings with an alarmed grunt. ::Hold it Hatchet!:: The use of the hated nickname and Ironhide’s frantic catch to save his ‘attackers’ caused Ratchet to stop his wild charge and take full stock of the situation.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s optics slowly widened and Ironhide watched with a sort of vacant amusement as the normally unshakable medic froze and went completely slack jawed when he realized what his friend was holding. Ironhide slowly sat up and carefully set the wide opticed younglings on his lap, “So, you see ‘em too, eh?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s engine sputtered, “How ... how ... where?”</p>
<p>The red and grey one looked up at the medic from the safety of Ironhide’s lap and cried, “Hey! I know you! You’re Prime’s medic!” Ratchet blinked unhelpfully.</p>
<p>The green and grey one who had first spoken to Ironhide nodded, “Yeah! You’re Ratchet!” The two then looked up at Ironhide curiously, their adorable faces melting the old weapons specialist’s spark into a protective puddle of energon goo, “So who are you? I don’t remember seeing you on the vids.”</p>
<p>Instincts honed by raising Bumblebee kicked in and he said gently, “My designation is Ironhide. What is yours?”</p>
<p>The red one beamed at hearing Ironhide’s name, “Ironhide! I’ve always wanted to meet you! My de- desig- I’m called Fast Track!”</p>
<p>The green youngling said seriously, “I’m Zipline sir.”</p>
<p>Ratchet finally found his voice, cutting off whatever Ironhide had wanted to say in return to Zipline’s greeting, “What are <b>younglings</b> doing in a <b>Decepticon base</b>? Hold still and let me scan you!” The two held mostly still as Ratchet scanned them, but Fast Track fidgeted as the data collecting beam swept through his body.</p>
<p>“Tickles.” He muttered unhappily. Ironhide gently rubbed the crest on Fast Track’s helm comfortingly, eliciting a purr of delight from the small mechling.</p>
<p>Ironhide took the brief respite provided by Ratchet’s scanning to sooth Chromia over their bond and answer the inquiring intercoms still coming over his systems, ::I’m fine. Just startled is all.::</p>
<p>Chromia snapped angrily, ::Startled by what Ironhide?::</p>
<p>Ironhide couldn’t hide the awe in his voice as he looked down at the two squirming mechlings and answered, ::Younglings.:: A shocked silence fell over the com.</p>
<p>Mirage finally whispered, ::Younglings? Here? How on Cybertron did they end up in an abandoned Decepticon base?::</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a bitter response, ::Most likely came here looking for energon. Their systems have almost gone dry from deprivation.:: Speaking out loud to the younglings, Ratchet said, “Off of Ironhide you two. I need to take you back to base immediately.”</p>
<p>Zipline crossed his arms over his chest plating, “So our prisoner can escape? No way!”</p>
<p>Ratchet scowled in confusion, “Prisoner? What prisoner?”</p>
<p>Zipline motioned casually to the mech he was currently perched on, “Him of course. We’re Decepticons. We ambushed him, knocked him down, and he surrendered. Our prisoner now.”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded, his expression saying that <b>everyone</b> should already be aware of the rules he and his brother were laying down “Yeah, if you want us to let him up or go anywhere, you have to give us something valuable in trade.”</p>
<p>Silence hung like a grim reaper over the four bots. Ratchet intercommed softly, ::Primus help us.:: and Ironhide felt like he was going to purge his tanks. <em>Decepticons? They think they’re Decepticons?</em> Even though Ratchet must have been feeling the same horror as Ironhide, he kept his face neutral, “Valuable like ... what exactly?”</p>
<p>The two glanced at each other before shrugging. Zipline said calmly, “You know ... valuable stuff.”</p>
<p>Ratchet slowly crouched down and un-subspaced two med-grade energon cubes. The younglings’ optics were instantly focused on the glowing blue liquid inside the cubes. Holding a cube in each servo, Ratchet asked, “Would you be willing to trade Ironhide for these?”</p>
<p>The two mechlings moved so swiftly that Ironhide hadn’t even realized they’d left his lap until he saw them sitting on the floor in front of him with an energon cube each. Zipline studied the blue liquid intently before nodding and saying, “It’s a deal. Ironhide’s yours.” If such a comical occurrence had happened any other cycle, Ironhide was sure he never would have heard the end of it. But right now, all he could think about was how the two innocent, energetic little mechlings had just declared themselves to be Decepticons. Declared it proudly no less.</p>
<p>Rage bubbled in his spark, <em>I’m going to offline whoever dared to try and twist those younglings to Megatron’s side!</em> A startled squeal briefly broke through his thoughts, “Ah! Buzzy, buzzy, buzzy!” Fast Track bounced slightly from excitement at his first sip of the downgraded energon.</p>
<p>Zipline was bouncing too, delight shining from his optics, “It tastes so sweet! I didn’t know it would taste so sweet!” Ratchet made a strangled coughing noise and Ironhide forced himself to swallow the energon that had just surged from his tanks into his mouth. <em>How can they think </em><b><em>med-grade</em></b><em> tastes sweet? What have the Decepticons even been feeding them?</em> Just when Ironhide would have thought the day couldn’t get any more stressful, rage surged through his bond with Chromia and her voice barked over the intercom, ::Con! Slagger just ducked around the corner but I got him in the leg first. In pursuit now!::</p>
<p>Ironhide surged to his pedes as Ratchet yelled back, ::Take him alive Chomia! He may have answers about the younglings!:: Ratchet glared at Ironhide and stepped in front of the mech before he could go barreling off, “Oh no you don’t! The last thing we need is for you to blast a potential information source! You’re going to stay here and keep an optic on these two! <b>I’ll</b> help Chromia.” Ironhide snarled in protest as Ratchet took off in the direction of Chromia and Mirage.</p>
<p>“What’d he go running off for?” Ironhide looked down at Zipline and Fast Track and felt his parental subroutines take over.</p>
<p>He took a deep breath to soothe himself and said, “Nothing you have to worry about. A friend of ours just found something interesting is all.”</p>
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<p>Hardwire gasped in pain as he tried to stumble further down the hall, his mind clouded with panic and the agony rippling up from his leg. He had been investigating the lower levels of what he had long since concluded to be an abandoned Decepticon base when he’d heard a loud boom from above. Fearing the worst for the twins, he had started to run back the way he had come only to round the corner and be shot at by a blue and white female transformer.</p>
<p>She had fired again, but Hardwire had managed to duck behind the corner and start making a run for it. <em>Guess all of those Call of Duty sessions paid off.</em> Another shot of pain seared up his leg, accompanied by a warning message about how further motion could cause extra damage to the injured limb. Call of Duty hadn’t paid off enough to spare him injury. He had been running for the next corner to hide behind when the pursuing female had fired again and hit his right leg, ripping open its side and sending energon pouring freely down.</p>
<p>Another warning sign popped up in his vision, Energon levels: Critical. Refuel required or system will shut down. <em>That doesn’t sound too good.</em> Something tackled him roughly from behind and he fell with a loud crash and a howl of pain. He heard the unmistakable whine of a blaster powering up somewhere behind him and bucked wildly in an attempt to escape.</p>
<p>He had a larger frame than his attacker, but he didn’t have the experience to back the advantage up. A hand swiftly grabbed some of the exposed cables of his neck and pinched lightly, effectively paralyzing him from the neck down. Hardwire fell back to the floor and lay still with a clang, his spark beating hard with panic, head swimming from pain, and his frame heaving with shuddering gasps as his system tried to cool down.</p>
<p>Light footsteps came to stop just to the left of his head and a female voice grated out angrily, “Nice going Mirage, now move so I can shoot the fragger.” Hardwire weakly summoned just enough strength to turn his head slightly and stare up at his intended executioner. Ice blue optics met his, their depths holding so much hatred and rage, any thought of speech vanished from his mind. He could only lie there helplessly and watch his own death.</p>
<p>A crisp voice with a somehow english accent scolded sternly, “Ratchet specifically stated to capture this one alive. He may have valuable information about the younglings Ironhide found.” <em>Younglings? Zip! Track!</em></p>
<p>A soft whine of worry for the twins escaped his vocalizer and unfortunately attracted the fierce female’s attention, “Stop whining, slagger, or I’ll give you something to whine about. As for you, Mirage, who said I’d kill him? I intend to give him a whole lot of good reasons not to kidnap innocent younglings and raise them as Decepticons.”</p>
<p><em>What? Decepticons? Why would they think Zip and Track are Decepticons? Why do they think </em><b><em>I’m</em></b><em> a Decepticon? I guess this means they’re Autobots at least...</em> Hardwire felt his thoughts trail off, but was suddenly too tired to care or get them back. His vision was becoming unfocused and blurred. He felt like he was slowly slipping into a dark, cold pool. <em>At least my leg doesn’t hurt anymore...</em></p>
<p>Hardwire became dimly aware that he was now lying on his back. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember rolling over. Maybe someone had done it for him? Large blurs of color faded in and out of his vision as someone started shouting far away. Whoever was shouting was saying something about, ‘stasis lock’ and ‘I’m losing him’. <em>Losing who? I hope it isn’t anyone important.</em> An electric tingle ran through his chest, steadily trying to drag him away from the cold feeling that was enveloping him.</p>
<p>Reluctantly, he followed the electric tug a short ways, if only to get it to leave him alone. He really wanted to sleep. How long had it been since he slept? He couldn’t remember. Hardwire’s optics fluttered shut as he slid into stasis lock, completely oblivious to the irate medic working frantically to stabilize him and keep him out of energon shock.</p>
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<p>Starwish ran down the halls, a horrible feeling of fear throbbing in her chest. That explosion had been very loud, and sounded like it was coming from the direction of the med-bay. What if Decepticons had come and were attacking the twins even now? She would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to them because she hadn’t been there to protect them. Vague memories of fire and screaming rose to the fore and she struggled to push them down.</p>
<p><em>Focus! I’ve got to get to-</em> She slammed into something and went sprawling. Starwish cried out in surprise as her bottom hit the floor and her equilibrium was thrown for a loop. A voice above her said, “Whoa the’a little femme! Where yah runnin’ off ta like thah?”</p>
<p>Starwish opened her eyes and found herself staring into the light blue visor of an unmistakable silver mech. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a tiny, shocked ‘o’. <em>It can’t be.</em> The mech cocked his head to one side and smiled easily down at her as he extended a hand to help her up, “You okay, little femme? Didn’ knock som’thin’ loose in your processa’ did yah?”</p>
<p>Feeling somehow like this had to all be a weird dream, she took his extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. His hand was surprisingly warm and gentle for such a talon like appearance. Still staring at his visor she whispered shyly, “I ... I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>Jazz, it simply had to be him, nodded amiably, “Thah’s good. Wha’s a pretty thing li’e you doin’ in a place li’e this anyhow?”</p>
<p>Ignoring the, most likely, unintentional pick-up line, Starwish stammered, “I- I don’t know. I woke up here joors ago and was looking for energon for the twi-” she suddenly remembered why she’d been running, “The twins!” She bolted again, her spark hammering wildly as three more shots rang out in rapid succession in the distance. <em>No, no, no, no, no! Please let them be all right!</em></p>
<p>Rapid footfalls clattered against the metal floor as Jazz caught up with her and grabbed at her arm, “Take it easy the-ow!” Startled and already completely stressed, Starwish had whirled and slapped Jazz hard on the face.</p>
<p>She screamed irately, “Let me go!”</p>
<p>Jazz stubbornly held onto her arm, “Now jus’ listen hea’ femme-” Something inside Starwish snapped like a cord placed under too much pressure. She abruptly stopped seeing the mech holding her arm as ‘Jazz the Autobot’ and saw him only as the thing keeping her from defending her twins.</p>
<p>She reached into her right hand ‘pocket’ of subspace and whipped out the surgical buzz saw she had discovered earlier, “I said, let. Me. <b>Go</b>!” The saw whined menacingly as she swung it violently at the hand holding her arm.</p>
<p>The ‘obstruction’ leapt backwards with a startled, “<b>Whoa</b>!” Letting go of her arm to keep from loosing his hand. Thus freed, Starwish took off down the hall, oblivious to anything else but finding and defending her family.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Finding Sides</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz ran down the corridor, following the positively fritzed out femme at a safe distance. <em>I’ve been slapped by femme’s before. But being threatened with a </em><b><em>surgical saw</em></b><em> by one is new.</em> Jazz commed ahead hastily, ::Whoeva' is guardin’ those younglin’s, their carria’ is headin’ yo’r way. She’s armed with a buzz saw and fraggin’ ticked enough to use it.::</p>
<p>Ironhide commed back, ::Understood, Jazz. How soon ‘till she gets here?::</p>
<p>Jazz mentally calculated several variables before answering, ::‘bout a breem.:: He paused, remembered the crazed look in her two different colored optics, and added another warning, ::Take mah advice ‘Hide. Jus’ get tha Pit out o’ her way when yah see her. Ah don’ think she’s too stable in tha processa’ right now.::</p>
<p>The femme tore around the corner and Jazz heard a loud clatter of metal that signified Ironhide jumping out of the way. Jazz swiftly took the turn and skidded to a stop. The small white femme was kneeling in front of two confused looking younglings and hugging them protectively with one arm while pointing her buzz saw warningly at Ironhide. The weapons specialist, for his part, was making a point to stand a good distance away from the mechlings and hide his cannons. The sound of Jazz’s sliding stop made her optics snap over to him and point the buzz saw menacingly.</p>
<p>Jazz held up his servos so that she could see he wasn’t armed and took a step backwards, “Easy the’a, femme. We ain’t gonna hurt your younglin’s. Ah promise. We’re here ta help yah.” Red and blue optics flickered nervously from ‘bot to ‘bot. Clearly unsure on whether to believe him or not.</p>
<p>One of the mechlings, a small red and grey one touched his carrier’s arm gently, “Star? You okay? Those are Autobots, Star. We’ve got nothing to fear from them.”</p>
<p>The second one nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s Ironhide and Jazz. You’re favorites from the movie-vids.” ‘Star’ didn’t respond to her younglings’ gentle words. She was still glaring at the two Autobots warningly.</p>
<p>The first one whimpered, “Star ... you’re scaring me, say something...” It his fearful whisper that finally provoked a reaction.</p>
<p>Blinking her optics several times and shaking her helm, she turned away from the mechs and subspaced her saw. Star wrapped both arms around the younglings and crooned softly, “I’m sorry twins. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that when I heard that explosion, I was afraid you might have been hurt.”</p>
<p>Jazz quietly averted his optics from the tender family moment as the femme called Star nuzzled her younglings gently. Across the hall, Ironhide slowly relaxed, ::Well, that could have gone much worse. If she’d been Chromia we’d both be smears of energon on the floor by now.::</p>
<p>Chromia jumped into the conversation, she sounded tense ::Is ... is their carrier a Decepticon?::</p>
<p>Jazz raised his optics briefly back to where the two mechlings were proudly showing Star two energon cubes Ratchet must have given them, ::Not likely, Ah don’ see their symbol anywhere on her. Don’ see any Autobot marks either. She must be a neutral.::</p>
<p>Chromia sounded bitter, ::Sure, a neutral who’s younglings claim to be Decepticons? That makes loads of sense.::</p>
<p>Ratchet interrupted, ::Younglings are impressionable, in this area they are bound to have seen Megatron’s propaganda vids. If they’re carrier is a neutral then they were most likely copying things they overheard, especially if they were separated from their carrier and she couldn’t censor what they saw and heard. Hopefully, that was all there was behind their words. Jazz, see if you can coax her into coming with us back to base, if the energy levels of her younglings is anything to go by, she’ll need emergency treatment soon. Ironhide, get down here and help me carry this Decepticon outside.::</p>
<p>Ironhide frowned disapprovingly, ::You caught him then?::</p>
<p>Ratchet’s voice oozed sarcasm, ::More like your sparkmate shot him in the leg and he nearly offlined from energon deprived shock. This mech poses no danger at the moment and he <b>could</b> have valuable intel. So get down here and help me with him!::</p>
<p>Ironhide shot a hooded look at the floor as if he could see straight through it at Ratchet before clomping off. The sound of Ironhide’s departure re-alerted Star to the presence of strangers and Jazz inwardly braced himself for anything. Looking up from the twins, she glanced briefly at Ironhide’s retreating frame before turning her strange gaze to Jazz, “Where is he going?” <em>Not freaking out again, yet. Good.</em></p>
<p>Jazz shrugged, keeping his movements as slow and casual as he dared, “Our medic needed ‘is help liftin’ somethin’.” Leaning his weight onto one leg, he asked calmly, “It’s startin’ ta get late. Don’ suppose yah’d like ta come hang at tha base with us? Boss bot would take good care of yah. You and your younglin’s would get some more ta eat too.”</p>
<p>Her silver face plates slid into a small, uneasy smile, “I … would like that.” Standing up, she glanced at the floor before looking up at him, “I need to find Hardwire before we leave though.”</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t let the sudden feeling of dread that had developed in his spark show, “Sure, Ah’ll help yah look. Wha’s he look like?”</p>
<p>She frowned and rubbed her younglings helms absentmindedly, “Uh, very tall, pale green armor with a scar on his left shoulder, and-” she broke off briefly and Jazz could tell she was suddenly scared, “and red optics.” She finished quietly. Jazz felt his spark drop into his pedes, <em>Oh, slag.</em></p>
<p>He nodded, “Hang on a nano-klik, Ah’ll ask tha others if they’ve seen ‘im.” She nodded her assent and Jazz hastily activated his com, ::Ratch, tell meh thah tha ‘Con Chromia shot wasn’t tall, green, an’ had a scar on his left shoulder plate. Please.::</p>
<p>There was an unbearably long silence that confirmed Jazz’s fears even before Ratchet answered guardedly, ::Yes, he is and he does. Why?::</p>
<p>Jazz bit back a groan, ::Cause this femme is askin’ for him. She won’ go back ta base wit’ us ‘less he comes too.::</p>
<p>There was another silence in which Jazz was fairly certain everyone was thinking the same thing, <em>scrap</em>. Ratchet asked carefully, ::Uh ... what is her relation to this mech?:: Jazz knew the reasoning behind the question. If ‘Hardwire’ was her sparkmate and Chromia had nearly offlined him, the femme would go into a fighting rage guarantied.</p>
<p>Jazz looked over at Star and asked, “Our medic wan’s ta know if yo’r related ta Hardwire.”</p>
<p>She looked mildly suspicious at the question, “He’s my brother ... why does he ask?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged and quickly commed Ratchet, ::He’s her brotha’. Now what, Ratch? If Ah tell her that Chromia tried ta smoke him, she’ll go on tha fritz again.::</p>
<p>Ratchet sighed over the com, ::No idea, you’d better think of something though. Because we’re almost to your location with him.::</p>
<p>Jazz did groan this time. Rolling his head back he glared at the ceiling. Star’s voice sounded decidedly panicky, “What? What’s happened to Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Thinking quickly, Jazz snapped his head back into position and gave ‘calm down’ motion with his hands, “Nothin’ serious. Chromia, a femme on mah team, jus’ got startled by him an’ nicked ‘im in tha leg is all. Ratch gave ‘im a sedative so we can take him ta our base an’ fix ‘im up good as new.”</p>
<p>Apparently, Star either knew who Chromia was or didn’t believe his ‘just a scratch’ line. Her optics widened and she whispered, “Oh no.” Her tone sounded so spark broken Jazz had to resist the urge to hug her. She had a sparkmate out there somewhere after all. A sparkmate who certainly wouldn’t appreciate a strange mech hugging his bonded.</p>
<p>Jazz did allow himself to step closer and say soothingly, “Easy, your brotha’ is fine. Jus’ in stasis is all. But yah need ta come with us ta our base for yo’r younglin’s’ safety. Dig?”</p>
<p>She looked directly at his visor and Jazz almost wondered if she could see through it and into his optics. Star took a deep intake of air and vented it slowly, “Okay. We’ll come. But Hardwire had better be alright.” Her younglings chorused angrily in agreement from their relative safety by her side.</p>
<p>Jazz nodded seriously and intentionally banished his accent, “I swear on my spark, Ratchet will take good care of your brother.”</p>
<p>He saw confusion flicker through her mismatched optics at his sudden lack of slang. But then he saw the confusion be replaced by total trust, “I believe you.”</p>
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<p>Joors later, when the two moons of Cybertron hung high in the sky for all to see, Jazz dragged himself to his quarters in a state of near-exhaustion. The cycle had been, on the whole, a total disaster. The femme, who’d finally introduced herself as Starwish, had gone berserk when she’d seen the state of her ‘con brother and tried to open up Chromia with her buzz saw for hurting him.</p>
<p>Chromia, of course, had not taken the threat well at all and had nearly offlined the hysterical femme in retaliation. The two had stopped only when Ironhide had gotten between the them physically. An act which earned the mech a deep cut on one arm from the saw and a large dent on the other from Chromia’s wayward punch.</p>
<p>Shocked by Ironhide’s intervention and her subsequent wounding of his arm, Starwish had completely broken down into tears and apologies before suddenly shutting down and going into stasis lock. This, naturally, had sent her twin younglings into a total state of panic that was only calmed when Mirage caught them and Ratchet sedated them.</p>
<p>Ratchet had then declared that all four newcomers were dangerously far into the symptoms of energon deprivation and insisted they be rushed back to base with all possible speed. Because there was no way of carrying all four safely across the vast distance back to friendly territory in vehicle mode, they had ended up calling for an aerial evacuation. Their shuttle was then ambushed by Decepticons halfway into the flight and they had all sustained mild damage defending the shuttle from a pack of Vehicons.</p>
<p>When they had <b>finally</b> arrived safely back at the base, Mirage and Jazz had been forced to do the debriefing by themselves as Ratchet wouldn’t even consider anything other than his new patients, Ironhide had needed go to med-bay so First Aid could fix his wounds, and Chromia had flat out refused to leave her sparkmate’s side.</p>
<p>Now, as Jazz stumbled into his quarters and collapsed upon his berth with a grateful wince, it dimly occurred to him that they never did find out what caused the energon surge. He mentally shrugged, <em>couldn’t really be helped though. Maybe Starwish or her brother know something about it.</em> With that matter settled for the time being, Jazz’s systems began powering down for a much needed rest. Just before they shut down fully though, Jazz found his mind wandering to the new femme Starwish. <em>Strange optics ... really pretty though. Different, but really pretty.</em> He heaved one last sigh before his recharge protocols claimed him completely and he drifted off into a world of soothing blackness.</p>
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<p>Hardwire cracked his eyes open as reality crept in on him with all of the subtlety of a giant sledge hammer. Said hammer woke him up by ever so lovingly pounding his lower right leg over and over, sending waves of discomfort and pain through the rest of his body like an ocean tide. Hardwire bit back a scream as he came fully awake and thus fully aware of the pain. <em>Where am I? Why does my leg hurt so bad?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire tried to sit up and look around, only to realize he was strapped down firmly. <em>What the?</em> Memories rushed back to him in a sudden torrent. The gas leak, the truck, the explosion, waking up in a strange place, getting shot by the blue and white female transformer, everything.</p>
<p>He groaned, <em>I must have passed out. But why am I restrained?</em> Another blow from the imaginary sledge hammer radiated up his leg and Hardwire yowled in agony, his back arching against the restraints in a futile attempt to escape the pain. As his back settled against the metal slab he was tied too, he heard a door open and someone come running in.</p>
<p>A voice that sounded oddly familiar said, “Hold still. This will only take a nano-klik.” A firm hand pushed down on his shoulder and Hardwire felt something small and sharp pierce him underneath his armor plating. He hissed in pain and brief panic, his eyes snapping up to look at whoever was doing the procedure.</p>
<p>A silver face and blue eyes stared sternly out from mostly white helm with orange accents. Hardwire blinked and held perfectly still out of surprise as the pain in his leg faded to a dull throb. Ratchet, it couldn’t be anyone else, nodded in seeming satisfaction, “There, that should keep you quiet for a while.” The obvious medic frowned thoughtfully, “Strange that your system cycled through the anesthetic so quickly...”</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked at the newcomer again, <em>I wonder if I should laugh or cry about this entire mess.</em> Deciding that neither would be a good idea at the moment, Hardwire watched in a half disbelieving silence as the famous character from a TV series bustled around the room, muttering things in a low tone. The medic abruptly stepped out of Hardwire’s line of sight with a swish of the door, causing the young man to search for something else to hold his attention.</p>
<p>Craning his head to the left, he saw that he was connected to a host of medical monitors that he could only begin to guess the purpose of. Looking to his right, he watched in morbid fascination as a glowing blue liquid he assumed was energon dripped slowly down a long clear tube and into his arm. <em>Throw in Doctor Mccoy saying ‘he’s not dead Jim’ and I’d have the perfect setup for a movie. Minus the part where I’m an alien robot of course.</em></p>
<p>The door slid open again and Ratchet returned to where Hardwire lay, helpless on the berth, with a glowing cube in his hands. Ratchet’s blue eyes, <em>optics</em> Hardwire mentally corrected, studied him suspiciously for several seconds before he said, “I’m going to adjust the berth so that you can sit up while I give you this. Understood?”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded meekly, figuring that a submissive silence was his best option at the moment until he fully figured out what was going on. Ratchet reached under the berth with one hand and Hardwire had to resist the urge to jump against his restraints when the part of the berth supporting his upper back began to tilt upwards. When the berth had been positioned so that Hardwire was in a mostly sitting position, Ratchet flicked another switch. Hardwire felt the strong metal bands holding his arms down retract and he looked up at Ratchet curiously.</p>
<p>Offering him the cube and ignoring his puzzled look, Ratchet said, “All right. Now sip slowly on this, I don’t want to have to clean up a mess because you got greedy and tried to guzzle.”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded again as he took the cube gingerly from Ratchet. He stared thoughtfully at the glowing substance inside for a second before lifting it to his lips and sipping tentatively. A sweet, energetic taste flooded his senses and he jerked back with a surprised gasp. If he had ever taken a guess as to what energon might taste like, <b>this</b> was not it. Its taste was incomparable to any earth food he had ever tasted. It was clean like water, but sweet and cloying like candy. It was tasteless, yet spicy. Thinking slightly on the taste made him realize that it reminded him strangely of copper and pennies somehow.</p>
<p>“What is the matter? Your not getting sick in your tanks are you?” Hardwire was jerked out of his thoughts by Ratchet’s voice. The Autobot medic looked and sounded genuinely concerned.</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head and dared to speak to Ratchet for the first time, “No ... the taste just surprised me is all.” He raised the cube to his lips and sipped again, eager to experience the strange taste again. His stomach, or tank he supposed was the term, grumbled loudly at how slowly he was consuming the sustenance. Hardwire had to consciously fight the urge to guzzle his energon. It just tasted so wonderful. Tilting his head back and holding the cube in both hands, he drained the last drop from the cube and set if down a happy sigh.</p>
<p>He offered the empty cube back to Ratchet, “Thank you,” he murmured meekly, “that tasted great.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared unreadably at him for several seconds before blinking, he seemed genuinely flummoxed at Hardwire’s thanks. Finally he stammered, “Y-your welcome, Hardwire. I’m going to need to run some scans on you now. So just lie back and hold still.”</p>
<p>Hardwire cocked his head to one side as he lay down on the berth again and felt it readjust to a flat position. Inwardly hiding his discomfort as he felt the arm restraints click back into place he asked, “How do you know my name?”</p>
<p>Ratchet muttered something briefly as he started to scan Hardwire before replying, “Your sister told us your name.”</p>
<p>He shuddered slightly as a tingling sensation swept through him, <em>must be the scan.</em> “Starwish did?” Hardwire suddenly remembered why he’d been running when he’d first gotten shot at by the femme, Chromia if he recalled correctly, and asked worriedly, “The twins! I heard an explosion in their direction-”</p>
<p>Ratchet shot him a harsh look, “The two younglings and your sister are fine. Now be quiet, your talking threw off this scan and now I have to do it again.” Hardwire settled back against the berth with a tiny sigh of relief. The twins and Starwish were safe.</p>
<p>Once Ratchet had finished the scan and looked over the results with much muttering and frowning. Hardwire dared to ask, “If I may ... why am I strapped down?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked down at him briefly before studying the scan readouts on his arm panel once more, “Because I didn’t want you thrashing in your recharge and injuring that leg any more than you have already. The wound caused by Chromia’s shot was bad enough, but you made it severely worse by running like you did. Also, having you restrained keeps Red Alert off of my aft.”</p>
<p>Hardwire fought to keep a smile off of his face at the irritated tone in Ratchet’s voice as he said Red Alert’s name, “He’s a security officer?” Hardwire could already guess what Red Alert’s position in the Autobot forces was, but it never hurt to ask.</p>
<p>Ratchet huffed, “Yes, he is. Not that it is any of <b>your</b> business.”</p>
<p>Hardwire backed off of that topic and brought up a previous one instead, “So, I don’t suppose you would consider letting me up then.”</p>
<p>A wrench appeared out of nowhere and solidly bopped him on the head. Not hard enough to leave a dent, merely hard enough to surprise him. Ratchet scolded over his shocked protest, “I most certainly will not! Not only has your right leg taken far to much damage to even <b>consider</b> walking for at <b>least</b> four metacycles, you are a Decepticon.”</p>
<p>Hardwire inwardly wished he could rub his mildly aching head and stared at Ratchet incredulously, “A-? I’m not a Decepticon!”</p>
<p>Ratchet didn’t even bat an optic at his protest, he simply pointed to Hardwire’s left shoulder plate, “Then how do you explain that?”</p>
<p>Feeling even more confused than he had when he’d first woken up as a Cybertronian, he craned his head to look at his shoulder. It took some effort and staring, but when he finally spotted what Ratchet meant, he nearly fainted. Peaking out from the huge rippled scar on his shoulder, was the top part of a Decepticon symbol. His jaw worked for several seconds before he finally managed to say something, “Oh, that.”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s voice was heavily laced with sarcasm, “Yes, <b>that</b>. If you are not a Decepticon, would you care to explain how that symbol is on what is left of your shoulder plate?”</p>
<p>Hardwire let his head fall back onto the berth with a miserable clunk, “Yes, but you probably wouldn’t believe me.”</p>
<p>Ratchet said, “Probably. But try me anyway before I have to go check on the others.”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked up directly into Ratchet’s optics in an effort to get his sincerity across, “I’m not a Decepticon, my creator was. He ... he branded that onto my shoulder when I was old enough to withstand the pain.”</p>
<p>Ratchet narrowed his optics, “You’re in your final frame, surely you aren’t suggesting that the mark magically transferred from frame to frame?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head, inwardly cursing Cybertronian physiology, “No, but do you really think that he wouldn’t brand my other frames? He’d already had them built and ready for the cycle I was old enough. They were pre-branded and I didn’t have much of a say in the matter either. Or any, really.”</p>
<p>Ratchet was looking thoughtful, “So, your saying your creator raised you as a Decepticon against your will?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head again, “My creator died in battle when I was little. I don’t know who found me, but whoever they were, they took me and my future frames to a pair of sparkmates who raised me as their own. They ... they couldn’t procure new frames for me, so my guardians had to use the ones my creator had first built.”</p>
<p>“And they didn’t have enough credits to pay for the mark’s removal?” Taking advantage of Ratchet’s guess, he nodded curtly.</p>
<p>Hardwire patiently waited through the silence that followed. He had told the truth, mostly. His biological father had been in a gang that was basically the human equivalent of the Decepticons.</p>
<p>He’d been just a toddler when his father had had the gang’s identification symbol permanently tattooed onto his son’s left shoulder. Hardwire had only been a little bit older when his father was accidentally killed in a police raid and he was taken to a foster family. Unfortunately, whoever had performed the tattoo application had done a superb job of it. The infuriating thing had never faded and Hardwire’s adopted family had never had anywhere near the money required for removal treatments.</p>
<p>When designing his fictional character, Hardwire had decided to have his transformer have a similar backstory, only with the Decepticon symbol instead of the gang tattoo. <em>If I’d known I’d eventually wind up </em><b><em>as</em></b><em> Hardwire ... Oh well, no sense crying over it now. I told Ratchet the truth in Cybertronian terms as best I could.</em> Now if only he was lucky enough to have Ratchet believe him.</p>
<p>The white and orange medic seemed to be mulling his story over. Raising an optic ridge, Ratchet nodded to the scar that mostly hid the mark, “And the story behind that scar?”</p>
<p>Hardwire allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips, “This? Well, the short version is that a housing unit near where I lived caught on fire and I rushed over to see if I could help. Some flaming debris broke loose, hit my shoulder and bingo, giant scar for my trouble.”</p>
<p>Ratchet made a ‘hmm’ noise, “Well, those were very interesting stories Hardwire. I can’t say I believe them yet. But they are interesting. Now, I need to go check on my other patients.” He turned to leave, but paused at the last second and sighed, “I’m going to regret this.” Turning back, he reached under the berth and flicked a switch. The restraints holding his arms, middle, and left leg retracted. Leaving only the one holding down his injured limb, “There, now, do not pull any of the monitors loose or remove the emergency energon line. If you do, you <b>will</b> regret it.”</p>
<p>With that, Ratchet was gone, leaving Hardwire to entertain himself with his three newly freed limbs. Hardwire looked at his hands and wiggled his fingers in delight. He’d hated being completely pinned. Even though he was still confined to the berth, at least now he had a chance to amuse himself. Looking up, he smiled at the closed door, “Thanks, doc. I’ll be careful.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish shivered quietly and curled up more tightly on the berth. She had woken up a few ... breems was it? Breems ago in a clean, uniform white room with monitors beeping steadily away on either side. At first she had panicked, wondering where she was and how she had gotten there. Then she had remembered everything that had just happened and her panic for herself had been replaced by miserable worry for Hardwire and the twins.</p>
<p>It didn’t help matters that the berth she was lying on was cold and very, very hard. She sighed and tried her best not to look at her monitors. The entire ordeal was disconcerting enough without her mind supplying terms, uses, and statistics about the med equipment around her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but glance at them when one of them started beeping at a higher frequency than before.</p>
<p><em>Systems energon monitor. Meant to keep track of the patient’s energon levels and report it to the nearest active medical terminal.</em> To distract herself, she watched the kliks go by on her internal clock to see how long it would take for a medic to answer the monitor’s call. It took about a breem.</p>
<p>Starwish didn’t look up as the door to her room slid open and someone walked in, “Oh, you’re awake. Hello.” Starwish didn’t recognize the gentle voice and timidly risked taking her head out of her cupped hands to take a peak at its owner. He was a tall mech, with a red main body and white arms and legs. He had a concerned look on his face that matched his gentle tone and Starwish felt that under normal circumstances she would have tried to befriend him instantly. She hid her face in her hands again, <em>of course, ‘normal circumstances’ would not include a red and white medic robot in the first place.</em></p>
<p>The medic came closer to her, “My designation is First Aid, I’m a medical assistant under the CMO of the base.” When she didn’t respond, he asked worriedly, “Are you all right? Are you in any pain?”</p>
<p>Starwish finally worked up the nerve to speak to him, she peeked out of her hands and glared at him accusingly, “Where are the twins? Where is my brother?”</p>
<p>First Aid’s large blue optics shone with compassion as he answered, “Don’t worry, your family unit is fine. Your brother is recuperating just down the hall and your younglings are just next door. I would let them in to see you, but they’re sleeping right now. I’m sure Ratchet will move them in here as soon as they wake up.”</p>
<p>Deeply relieved to hear that her family was safe, Starwish risked uncurling a little bit, <em>thank goodness they’re safe.</em> Pausing, she looked up at him, realizing that he was obviously waiting for her to say something, “um ... my name is Starwish. Thank you for telling me about my family, First Aid.”</p>
<p>First Aid smiled, pleased that he had gotten his patient to warm up to him a little bit, “It was my pleasure, Starwish. Do you think you could handle some energon? We’ve been feeding it to you intravenously, but drinking it directly from a cube would probably be more comfortable.”</p>
<p>Starwish sat up all the way, trying to cheer herself up for the sake of the sweet natured medic beside her, “I think I could handle a cube, thanks.”</p>
<p>First Aid nodded happily and temporarily left her room to fetch a cube of energon. Starwish stared at the blank white ceiling thoughtfully, her entire situation was so ... impossible. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to consider it anything but reality. Dreams weren’t real enough, she doubted she could have a joint hallucination with the others, a coma was out for both of the previous reasons. Therefor, she must really be in a Cybertronian med-bay, waiting for her first drink of energon that was being brought to her by a gentle Autobot medic.</p>
<p>First Aid returned, carrying a glowing cube of the blue life-force for all Cybertronians, “Here you are.”</p>
<p>Starwish took the cube from his hands timidly, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>First Aid nodded amiably, “It was my pleasure. Now, while you drink, I need to run a few scans over your frame and such. Is that all right?” Starwish nodded her assent and focused on her ‘breakfast’ instead of the tingling feeling forming in her feet. Raising the rim of the cube to her lips, she sipped gingerly on the liquid and couldn’t resist the groan of pleasure that escaped her lips at how wonderful it tasted.</p>
<p>Not noticing First Aid’s concerned look at her groan, she eager gulped down some more of the energon before remembering her manners. She felt her face heat slightly with embarrassment and murmured an apology to First Aid. The red and white medic was quick to reassure her that it was fine and to keep eating.</p>
<p>Starwish glanced up at his face thoughtfully as she reservedly sipped on her breakfast. <em>I don’t remember a medic named First Aid in the Prime series. Of course, Jazz wasn’t in it either. He’s nice though, very gentle. Not at all like how Ratchet is portrayed.</em> She absentmindedly swallowed the last of the energon, shivering as she felt its welcome energy disperse through her body.</p>
<p>First Aid looked at the empty cube approvingly and calmly removed it from her hands, setting it on a nearby counter, “Good. Very good. The fact that you can hold your energon shows your tanks haven’t been as badly damaged by the deprivation as we feared.”</p>
<p>The seeming medical guru in Starwish’s head immediately told her what First Aid meant and that his words were true. Starwish grimaced uncomfortably at the brief rush of knowledge, <em>that is going to take some getting used too.</em> Turning her thoughts away from her medical knowledge, she asked First Aid politely, “You said you were a medical assistant. To whom, may I ask?”</p>
<p>First Aid continued running various scans on her body as he answered, “Certainly, the CMO of the base is named Ratchet. He is an extraordinary doctor let me assure you, even if his berth-side manner is ... often unexpected.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, and hid a faint smile, the contrast between First Aid’s bedside manner and the one shown by Ratchet on various shows she’d seen was drastic, “Have you worked with him long?”</p>
<p>First Aid shook his head, “No, actually, I just transferred from a rear-line base. More medical assistance was requested for this sector and I was chosen to fill in the blank. I’ve been here for ... ten metacycles I think.”</p>
<p>Starwish mentally tried to figure out how long a metacycle would be in human terms and finally concluded that a metacycle was a Cybertronian week. “Ah,” she said quietly. Silence fell over the two for a while as First Aid looked over the readouts of her scans and she contemplated various things. Finally, First Aid made an uncomfortable revving sound in his engine, causing Starwish to look over at him.</p>
<p>He shifted from one foot to the other and said, “Uh, I need to take a sample of you CNA. Could you remove the upper arm plating on your right arm, please?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked down at the mentioned appendage with a helpless expression. <em>Okay, how do I do that?</em> For once, her medical guru came in handy as it finally provided useful knowledge. Reaching over with her left hand, she carefully undid the latch on the front part of her upper arm plating and pulled the white metal sheet free. The sight of a myriad of wires, cables and a pulsing energon line made her freeze in wonder.</p>
<p><em>Wow.</em> First Aid carefully approached her and reached to take a sample of her CNA. It was then that Starwish realized he was holding a needle. A very large, very sharp, needle. She hated needles. She drew a breath sharply and flinched instinctively as the offending medical tool came closer. Fist Aid paused, sensing his patient’s fear, “It’s okay, I promise it won’t hurt and it will be over in a nano-klik.”</p>
<p>Starwish held her breath and averted her eyes, trying not to freak out and start crying at the sight of the silver pointed object in First Aid’s hand. Her fear of needles was, frankly, ridiculous, she knew that. But even that knowledge did not stop her from whimpering as she felt the needle puncture her energon line and draw a sample from it.</p>
<p>Thankfully, First Aid completed the procedure as swiftly as possible and removed the needle from her system before soldering the tiny hole closed once more. “There, I’m done.” He comfortingly rubbed her shaking back. Starwish released the breath she’d been holding and slowly unclenched her hands.</p>
<p>“I hate needles.” She muttered darkly. First Aid gave her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder, directly underneath one of her stick like mods.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry, Starwish. But thank you for letting me take the sample and not attacking me. I need to take this to Ratchet right now ... do you want to be left alone for a while?”</p>
<p><em>Attack him? Maybe there’s a reason for Ratchet’s bedside manner.</em> That particular thought was hastily pushed aside in favor of the fact that First Aid was about to leave her all alone with her unwelcome thoughts. Starwish shook her head and looked up at him pleadingly, “No ... I don’t want to be alone. Please, can I come with you?” She could see that her request placed him in a troublesome situation. The struggle between professionalism and compassion shining clear in his optics for several seconds.</p>
<p>Finally he released a tiny sigh and nodded, “All right, you can come with me. But let me know if you get to feeling the slightest bit off.” Starwish smiled eagerly as he carefully disconnected several monitors from her body and helped her off of the berth. He paused, “Um ... you can put your armor back on now.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked down sharply at her arm and realized that she hadn’t replaced the protective plating. Her face started to heat up again as she hastily slipped in back on and latched it into place, “Sorry about that.”</p>
<p>First Aid gave her a forgiving smile, “It’s fine, just please, please, don’t get into trouble. If you do, Ratchet is sure to have my armor on the ‘best left scrapped’ shelf.” Starwish solemnly promised to not make any trouble for First Aid and followed him out of the door. As quick walk through a short hallway later found Starwish standing in the main room of Ratchet’s med-bay, mouth open in surprise.</p>
<p>The bay. Was. Huge. Berths easily twice the size of the one she had woken up on stood in two neat rows on either side of the room. “Hey there, femme. Good to see you up and about.” Her eyes snapped to the unexpected speaker, who turned out to be a gargantuan black mech. <em>Ironhide, that’s Ironhide. He looks just like he stepped out of the movies.</em></p>
<p>Ironhide was lying on a berth halfway across the room, his blue optics studying her ruefully. He waved a large hand calmly and raised an optic ridge, “Aren’t you going to say anything, femme?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked as she realized she’d been staring at him, “Oh! Sorry. Good cycle to you ... sir.” <em>Almost said his name. That wouldn’t have gone over well. Especially when we haven’t been ‘officially introduced’.</em></p>
<p>Ironhide smiled at her and motioned for her to come closer as he spoke, “Name’s Ironhide, femme, and it’d be a much better cycle if I wasn’t trapped in this pit of a med-<b>ouch</b>!” Starwish blinked in surprise as a wrench flew from seemingly out of nowhere to slam into Ironhide’s helm with a clang.</p>
<p>She whirled, looking for the wrench wielding sniper. Her eyes rested upon the sight of a scowling Ratchet and Starwish had to resist the urge to run for her life. His glare was, apparently, much more intimidating in real life than when it was on a screen. Ratchet stormed past her to Ironhide, “What have I said about swearing near younglings?”</p>
<p>Ironhide rubbed his head ruefully, “C’mon, Hatchet. The younglings couldn’t possibly have heard that-ouch!”</p>
<p>Ratchet, having retrieved the wrench and smacked Ironhide’s head once more, now shook the deadly tool underneath Ironhide’s nonexistent nose, “One, <b>never</b> assume a youngling can’t hear you unless they are on an entirely different half of the planet. Two, do not call me Hatchet. My. Name. Is. <b>Ratchet</b>. Remember that. Three-” Ratchet suddenly paused in his lecture and whipped around to face Starwish, who had been watching the entire thing silently, too afraid of attracting Ratchet’s attention to flee.</p>
<p>The curt medic’s engine sputtered for several seconds before Ratchet turned very slowly to face First Aid, who was busy pretending to fix some tool by the counter. “First Aid,” Ratchet asked in a frighteningly quiet voice, “why is one of my patients, whom I <b>specifically</b> stated were not to leave their rooms yet, standing there? Outside her room? Without supervision?”</p>
<p>First Aid looked nervously between Starwish and Ratchet, “I-I apologize Ratchet. It’s just that ... she really didn’t want to be left alone in her room. So I thought she could come out here for a few breems. I meant no harm.”</p>
<p>Starwish spotted the hand holding the wrench starting to twitch menacingly and hastily came to First Aid’s defense, “It was my fault. I begged even when I knew better. I just ... I hate being left alone in a strange place.”</p>
<p>Ratchet glared at her, “Well, you have to go back-”</p>
<p>Starwish interrupted him, the threat of being alone with her confusing thoughts overriding the recently displayed threat of a wrench to the head, “If you want me to rest, I can lie down on one of the berths out here. That way I get rest without having to be alone. Please?”</p>
<p>Silence fell over the med-bay as Ratchet considered her proposition. Starwish was painfully aware of how Ironhide was staring at her appraisingly, his expression one of grudging respect for risking the wrath of Ratchet. The taciturn medic in question finally huffed, “Very well, go lie down over there and be quiet,” he started to turn back to Ironhide only to call over his shoulder, “and don’t even think about bolting for the door!”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded meekly and sat down on the berth Ratchet had motioned too. She watched Ratchet mutter and fiddle with Ironhide’s leg for a little bit, her newfound mental medical dictionary explaining what he was doing. Shaking her head to clear it of lengthy terms and explanations, she instead began to study the main room of the bay.</p>
<p>It was surprisingly similar to the one in the abandoned base she’d woken up in. Two rows of berths, a solid counter on the far end from the exit and doors, including the one she had come through, leading off to the sides. Lined up next to each berth was a small, wheeled table that had a rim running along its edge. <em>An operating stand, for when the medic needs tools that aren’t currently in his subspace. Interesting.</em></p>
<p>Starwish was struck by the fact that everything was all very organized and very clean. She would have expected more ... disorder somehow. After all, this was a medical bay and there was a war going on, one would think that it would have more patients than just her, her family, and the currently protesting Ironhide. <em>A war ... one that we’re all now going to be caught up in.</em> She shivered suddenly and rubbed her hands over her arms in an effort to banish the cold feeling enveloping her.</p>
<p>“Are you cold?” Starwish jumped at the sound of First Aid’s voice. She looked up into his concerned face and nodded shakily. The kindly medic gave her a sympathetic frown before hurrying off to find something. <em>I wonder if Cybertronians have blankets.</em> Apparently they did, because within moments of First Aid’s departure, he returned to gently unfold one and spread it over her shoulders. Starwish smiled at him gratefully and whispered a ‘thank you’ as she pulled the odd feeling weave more tightly around her.</p>
<p>He shrugged in a ‘no trouble at all’ sort of way and resumed his self appointed tasks. Starwish watched him without really observing, her focus was turned inward, <em>A war. How am I even supposed to begin to handle that knowledge?</em> Another concern raised itself, <em>How am I supposed to handle the knowledge I may have of the future? Is this one of the universes chronicled in the TV series’s and comic books? Is this the ‘movie-verse’? Ratchet looks and sounds like the one from Transformers Prime, but Jazz and Ironhide practically look like they stepped out of the movies. If this is one of the worlds I know about, what am I supposed to do about it? Nothing? How can I stay silent if I see someone I know is going to die?</em></p>
<p>The last question prompted a realization, <em>like Jazz in the first movie and Ironhide in the third. Oh, no.</em></p>
<p>She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, she simply didn’t have any answers to the many questions flooding her mind. She needed a distraction of some kind before she went nuts. Thankfully, a distraction presented itself in the form of two escaping bundles of energy that shot past her berth and for the door. First Aid yelped in surprise and dived for the twins as they scurried past, alerting Ratchet to the escapees.</p>
<p>Ratchet turned from where he’d been working on Ironhide’s leg and joined First Aid in chasing the rambunctious younglings. Zipline shot between Ratchet’s legs, yelling loudly, “Freeedooom!” and Starwish couldn’t help but laugh at First Aid’s rather pathetic attempts to catch Fast Track, who, instead of running around in the open like his brother, was dodging from berth to berth, using the metal slabs as cover from First Aid’s reaching servos.</p>
<p><em>Guess I’d better help.</em> Without bothering to leave the berth, she called, “Twins! What are you two doing?”</p>
<p>Fast Track darted underneath the berth next to hers and shouted gleefully, “Escaping the Autobot’s clutches!”</p>
<p>Zipline bounced past, Ratchet hot on his heels as the agile boy weaved expertly between First Aid’s legs, effectively tripping him and sending him crashing into Ratchet, “Yeah! Wanna join us?”</p>
<p>Ironhide was laughing his head off from his position across the room as the twins climbed onto Starwish’s berth and cheekily waved to the tangled pile of arms, legs, and angry shouts that was Ratchet and his assistant. Star smiled indulgently down at the twins, “Thanks, but no thanks you two. Are you sure you want to escape? If you do, you’ll never hear the great story a certain noble warrior just told me.”</p>
<p>All thought of escape vanished from the twins’ heads at her words. They knew an offer for a story when they heard it and Starwish’s stories were always interesting, “Okay!” With all of the grace and decorum of hooligans, Zipline and Fast Track flopped down on either side of her, faces turned upwards to hers expectantly.</p>
<p>Starwish stared at her lap and gathered her thoughts, doing her best to ignore everyone else in the room as she started making up a story for the twins. Her mind settled on an idea and she smiled, “Once upon a time, there was a great kingdom called Sun Crest and in that kingdom, there dwelled two young mechs...”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Optimus Prime strode slowly down the halls of the base on his way to the med-bay, nodding politely to any who passed his way. He had decided to go and see how the four Cybertronians Jazz and his team had found were doing. From Jazz and Mirage’s report about how the cycle had ended, he supposed that his presence might be required to calm things down. <em>Of course, I am not going to be a very calming sight to a Decepticon. But perhaps I can get answers to a few of the questions raised by Jazz’s report.</em></p>
<p>Another thought struck him, <em>it would no doubt be wise to com ahead and let Ratchet know I am coming.</em> Opening Ratchet’s private channel, Optimus called, ::Optimus Prime to Ratchet.::</p>
<p>Ratchet sounded distracted, ::Yes, Optimus, what is it?:: Optimus suppressed a rueful smile that threatened to break across his face. If anyone else had spoken so disrespectfully, they would have gotten a stern talking too. However, he had known Ratchet for far too long to be insulted by his medic’s tone.</p>
<p>Keeping his own tone polite and neutral he replied, ::I am coming to the med-bay to visit your new patients. Is that acceptable?::</p>
<p>There was silence on Ratchet’s end and Optimus got the strong impression that his call was interrupting something important. Finally, Ratchet replied, ::You may come in. But be quiet about it. She just managed to get those little Unicron-incarnates settled down.::</p>
<p><em>Now what could that be about?</em> ::Understood, Optimus out.:: Optimus Prime finished the walk to the bay in silence and braced himself for anything as he walked through the doors to the Medical wing.</p>
<p>Well, almost anything. The scene of Ratchet, First Aid, Ironhide, Jazz, and Chromia, all sitting or leaning on various berths or walls listening intently to a tiny white femme tell a story to two adorable mechlings was not something that had come up on his ‘be prepared for’ list.</p>
<p>Seemingly oblivious to his entrance, the femme, <em>Starwish,</em> he surmised, continued to speak and gesture with her hands, “The wind blew all around him, the cold chill it carried biting into his exposed circuitry like Scraplet fangs as he struggled up the mountain towards Queen Nova Pulse’s palace. Scattershot could feel his ankle acting up again as he plowed onward across the abandoned landscape, threatening to disable him and prevent him from succeeding in his quest.”</p>
<p>Optimus carefully leaned against the wall next to the door, entranced by the storyteller’s fervor for her tale, “ ‘I must keep going’, he whispered to himself, ‘I promised I would!’ his hand unconsciously clenched the medallion his brother had given him. He <b>would</b> make it to the palace and warn the queen, he <b>would</b>.”</p>
<p>Ironhide opened a com with him, ::Surprised, Prime? She’s been going solid for thirty breems now and her younglings haven’t so much as twitched a servo since she started.::</p>
<p>Optimus asked, ::Do you know what story she is telling? I do not recognize it at all.::</p>
<p>Jazz chipped in, ::No su’prise there O.P., she’s makin’ it up as she goes along. Real good at it too, bet she’s done this afore.::</p>
<p>Chromia shushed them, ::No disrespect intended to you, Prime, but will all three of you shut it? I want to hear what happens next.:: Optimus flicked his optics over to Chromia in surprise, he hadn’t pegged her as the type to listen to sparkling-tales. <em>But</em>, he told himself, <em>this story does sound interesting enough to hold an adult’s attention.</em> Optimus fell silent and took the opportunity provided to study the white femme Starwish.</p>
<p>The first thing that struck him was her dual colored optics, he had seen several different optic colors in his time as commander of the Autobot forces, but this was the first time he could recall seeing someone with a red optic and a blue optic instead of both being one or the other.</p>
<p>The second thing that struck him was how young she looked. Jazz had reported her to be the youngling’s carrier, but looking at her with his own optics, Optimus couldn’t help but feel that she was far too young to be the danni of younglings that age. Her having a pair of tiny sparklings he could imagine with a bit of effort, but those two younglings sitting eagerly at her feet were far too old to be her young. <em>So what is she to them? A sister? A guardian?</em></p>
<p>His musings were cut short when one of the younglings spoke up eagerly to some new fact of the narrative, “What did he see, Star? What did he see?”</p>
<p>Optimus returned his attention to Starwish’s story and watched as she widened her optics dramatically, “There, standing over Scattershot like a manifestation of the cold, was <b>Blackspark</b>, the deadliest of all of Giga Pulse’s assassins.”</p>
<p>The two younglings gasped in horror at the name and the green painted one snarled fiercely, “No fair! Sending Blackspark after Scattershot! No fair!”</p>
<p>Starwish made a shushing motion with her servo, “Tyrants rarely play fair, Zipline. Anyway, Scattershot looked up into the pitiless black mask that the infamous assassin always wore and felt his spark sink with dread. How was he supposed to fight someone so powerful? More importantly, how was he supposed to fight the brother he loved, no matter if that brother couldn’t remember him?” Optimus hid a thoughtful scowl, he wasn’t sure he liked where the story was turning.</p>
<p>The second youngling, Fast Track if the Prime recalled correctly, blinked his optics and whispered, “What did Scattershot do?”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled at Fast Track and continued, “Scattershot knew that begging would get him nowhere, so instead, he said, ‘I know you’re in there Windfall, no matter what Giga Pulse says, I know that you’re still my brother. I love you Windfall, please, come back.’.” Ironhide growled angrily and received a glare from the other listeners for interrupting.</p>
<p>Starwish kept up her story as if she hadn’t noticed, “Blackspark drew a long, slender sword, held it up in a warrior’s salute and waited for his opponent to draw a weapon. Fighting the despair that pulled at his spark, Scattershot stood firm and drew the delicate knife that his mentor had given him in his last dying moments and mimicked the motion the dark assassin who had once been his best friend had performed. With a rush, Blackspark’s sword whipped through the air in a deadly arch, seeking to cut his opponent down in one strike. Scattershot raised his knife to defend himself and as he did so, something amazing happened.”</p>
<p>The two younglings leaned forward expectantly, “What? What happened?”</p>
<p>“The sword, stopped. There was no ring of metal on metal, there was no meeting of blade to blade. For Blackspark had stopped his sword mere micro-meters away from Scattershot’s engraved knife. With wondering optics, Scattershot watched as Blackspark, assassin and warrior of a thousand successful missions, bowed deeply to him, and set his sword upon the floor in a sign of defeat. From behind the mask, Scattershot heard Windfall’s voice say softly ‘I know you do, my brother’.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track cheered wildly and waved their servos in the air. Fast Track hugged his own brother gleefully, “I knew Giga Pulse couldn’t make Windfall turn on Scattershot! I knew it!”</p>
<p>The little two member celebration carried on for almost two breems before Starwish managed to calm them down again. “All right, all right, settle down. With Windfall now freed from Giga Pulse’s control, he and Scattershot successfully carried the warning of the evil warlord’s plans to the Queen. Once she was fully warned of her enemy’s plans, the Queen and her council drew up a strategy to defeat him and after a mighty battle, Giga Pulse was overthrown and peace returned once more to Sun Crest Kingdom. As for Scattershot and Windfall? Well, they soon left the kingdom in search of another adventure to complete, together. The End.”</p>
<p>Optimus joined the others in the room in clapping at the story’s happy ending. <em>If only real life could end so perfectly.</em> Starwish’s gaze snapped up to the rest of the room in obvious surprise and when she saw small audience scattered haphazardly around the room, her faceplates flushed bright blue with embarrassment, “Oh ... oh dear.”</p>
<p>Jazz waved a servo airily, “Easy there, Star. No need ta blush, your story was real good.”</p>
<p>Optimus agreed with his First Lieutenant, “Indeed, you have a marvelous gift for storytelling. I hope we did not intrude.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at him with large optics, and stammered, “N-not at all s-sir. I, uh...”</p>
<p>“Oh, scrap! Your Optimus Prime! <b>The</b> Optimus Prime!” The younglings Zipline and Fast Track seemed to teleport from the berth to his feet they moved so fast. They began bouncing up and down and talking over each other, completely ignoring the surprised silence that had come from their swearing.</p>
<p>An amused glance at Starwish saw her holding her helm in her hands in total embarrassment. Optimus turned his optics downward to the younglings, “Easy there you two. What would your designations be?” He already knew, but asking would help the younglings see him as friendly.</p>
<p>They smiled brightly up at him, “I’m Zipline and this is Fast Track! You’re really Optimus Prime, that is so ... so amazing! Have you really gone pede to pede with Megatron? Were you really-”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up sharply, “Twins! Be respectful! You two know better than to gossip!”</p>
<p>The twins flinched mildly at her tone and murmured apologies to both Optimus and Starwish. Optimus allowed a small smile to flicker across his lips, the two mechlings were so adorable. Ratchet interrupted the conversation, “All right, that’s enough. You two need energon. First Aid, see to the twins. Chromia take your sparkmate and go back to your quarters. Make sure he rests that leg, and I mean <b>actual</b> rest. No running, exercises, or...” he paused to glance at the younglings, “things of that like.”</p>
<p>Chromia nodded curtly and strode over to help her sparkmate off of the berth, Ironhide grumbled slightly at Ratchet’s instructions and Optimus noted Starwish throw a hooded look at the blue femme. Meanwhile, Ratchet had chased Jazz out of the bay with a wrench and was now eyeing Optimus balefully. Optimus dipped his head politely to Starwish and turned to Ratchet, “Ratchet, might I speak with Starwish in private?”</p>
<p>Ratchet fingered his wrench menacingly, “Three breems, then she needs to go back to her room and rest.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “Understood Ratchet.” He turned to Starwish and felt his spark twist at the barely contained fear in her optics, <em>why is she frightened of me? </em>“Do you feel well enough to speak with me, Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish seemed to consider his clear offer to dodge the conversation. Slowly her head dipped in an assent, “As you wish, sir.”</p>
<p>Optimus gave a tiny, reassuring smile, trying his best to ease the incomprehensible fears he could sense hiding inside her. “Thank you, I believe Ratchet’s office will provide us with the privacy we need.” Starwish nodded and slid off of the berth her tiny frame easily dwarfed by his own.</p>
<p>She followed him into Ratchet’s office and he motioned her to sit down. She shook her head, “No offense sir, but, I feel small enough compared to you as it is. I’ll stand if I may.”</p>
<p>Optimus dipped his head, “As you wish.” He paused, gathering his thoughts and considering how to broach his question gently and without the risk of causing fear. Deciding that soft but blunt would be best, he said, “My First Lieutenant has already filed a full report as to how he and his team found you. But I am curious to know how you and your family unit came to be there in the first place. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Settling In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish looked up curiously from the datapad First Aid had helpfully lent her at the sound of Ratchet’s agonized screech. A moment later, the twins went running past, clutching the wire guts of some poor medical tool that the overly inquisitive pair had disemboweled. As Ratchet ran past he yelled, “<b>Twins</b>! I <b>needed that</b>!” Unintentionally causing Starwish to snicker as she thought of all the times on the TV show that Bulkhead had inadvertently sparked that famous line.</p>
<p>Zipline called over his shoulder, “We were gonna put it back together! Honest!”</p>
<p>Fast Track chipped in unhelpfully from his unreachable corner underneath a berth, “Yeah! Just after we figured out how we took it apart!”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her head and tried to go back to reading. However, the racket of the twins being chased by an irate Medic proved to much for her powers of concentration and with a sigh, she set her borrowed datapad in her lap and glared at the twins. She knew that ordering them to return the stolen parts to the tool would be futile, after their second metacycle in the med-bay the pair had gone ‘stir-crazy’. Even offering to tell them a story was no longer enticing enough for them to settle down and stop driving Ratchet and First Aid utterly insane.</p>
<p><em>We need to get out of here somehow. Even I’m beginning to get twitchy.</em> Of course, she mused as she spotted First Aid emerge from Hardwire’s room to help Ratchet corner the tool hunting twins, it could be worse. Her older brother was easily the most stir-crazy among them. Ratchet refused to let him leave his berth for any reason and Starwish could tell from her conversations with Hardwire that the isolation was beginning to get to him.</p>
<p><em>Perhaps I could ask Prime to make Ratchet let us out?</em> She dismissed that idea instantly. Not only did she have no way of contacting the Prime, she still had to fight the blush that always crept onto her face whenever she thought about the conversation they’d had her first day in Ratchet’s care. While Optimus had been very gentle and kind, Starwish had nearly died of fear at having to partially lie to her personal hero when he’d asked where she’d come from and how she and her family had wound up in the abandoned base.</p>
<p>She was still sure that he’d seen her stammered story for what it was, a half-truth at best and a lie at worst. Of course, making up little pieces of her backstory when the truth would have revealed her human origins had been nowhere near as embarrassing as the part of the conversation when Prime had politely asked if she was the twins mother.</p>
<p>She had actually come close to fainting, or crashing as Ratchet called it, when he had aired the question. Starwish had been quick to explain what her real relationship was with the twins. But still, thinking about the entire debacle made her blush.</p>
<p><em>Back on topic, asking Prime for a favor is out. So what do I do to stop this madness?</em> The twins scooted past the berth she had settled on in order to read, laughing unrepentantly as Ratchet ordered them to cease and desist at that very instant. <em>No way I’m going to able to think in this atmosphere.</em> Starwish waited until the twins’ mad scrambles had lured the wrench wielding medic and his assistant to the other side of the room before hastily sliding off of the berth and fleeing to Hardwire’s room.</p>
<p>After she had rushed inside and pressed her back thankfully against the shut door, Hardwire chuckled morosely from his trapped position on his berth, “What did they do this time? First Aid went running out like the place was on fire.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled weakly at him, “I think they disassembled one of Ratchet’s energon fusion converters. But it’s hard to tell when it’s in a million different parts that the twins can’t remember how to fit back together.”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a small ‘ah’ noise and motioned for Starwish to sit on the berth next to him. She did so, careful not to nudge his injured leg as she cuddled against his massive side and pulled out her datapad again, “Want to hear about Praxus? I managed to coax First Aid into lending me his copy.”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a face, “Wow, let me check my busy schedule and see if I have time. Hmm, hmm, well it appears I have <b>two metacycles</b> of spare time so ... sure, why not?”</p>
<p>Starwish patted him sympathetically, “I know it’s rough. But maybe Ratchet will let you out early, he did say your recovery was coming along faster than expected.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hummed noncommittally, “I’m kind of afraid of that. After all, I’m in here because I’m injured and helpless. What will they do with me when I’m healed? I look like a Decepticon after all.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared vacantly at the datapad in her hands for several seconds, trying to figure out what she could say that would comfort her brother. On the one hand, part of her wanted to assure him that Optimus would listen to his story and give him a chance. The other, more cynical part of her though, wondered if the Prime would take that risk or simply lock Hardwire in the brig.</p>
<p>Hardwire lightly nudged her with his large metal hand, “Hey, don’t let me get you down. I’m sure everything will work out. Mind if I read that datapad for a while? I already finished the one Ratchet gave me about Vos.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled, “I suppose I should go help catch the twins anyway, shouldn’t I? Here, read to your spark’s content.” She handed over the datapad and slipped back outside to help stop the mini-monsters she called brothers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took almost ten breems of Ratchet, First Aid, and Starwish working together before they managed to catch the twins and reclaim Ratchet’s poor, lobotomized tool. As Ratchet grumbled miserably over the piece of ruined equipment and First Aid helped Starwish firmly lock the twins in their room for a cool down time, she decided that enough was enough.</p>
<p>Gathering her courage, she walked over to Ratchet and tapped him on the arm. He glared down at her irritably, “What?”</p>
<p>Starwish glared right back, “Ratchet, enough is enough. We’re going fritzy in here. The twins, myself, Hardwire, we need <b>out</b>.” Ratchet opened his mouth to protest but she hurried on, “I know Hardwire can’t walk yet, but we all need a distraction. Vid games, chores, <b>anything</b> to keep us from going insane.” She looked at him pleadingly, “The twins and I aren’t invalids, Ratchet. I know you say we suffered from energon deprivation and need to be monitored but does it have to be in here? Can’t you have First Aid escort us ... someplace where the twins can explore or exercise?”</p>
<p>Ratchet studied her for a while, his expression thoughtful and conflicted. Starwish watched his face intently, mentally crossing her fingers in the hopes that he would say yes. Finally, he sighed, “Fine, I will look into getting you an escort to another part of the ship. But if this goes wrong or the twins somehow blow us up because you convinced me to let them out of the med-bay, I’m holding you responsible.”</p>
<p>Starwish barely resisted the urge to whoop for joy. Instead, she flung her arms around his waist in an exuberant hug, “Thank you Ratchet! Thank you!”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled softly, his words making soft vibrations against where her cheek was pressed against his middle, “Yes ... well, we’ll see if you are still thanking me after I release the twins.”</p>
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<p>Sideswipe paced the room angrily, his servos clasped tightly behind his back and his faceplates set in a scowl. Sensing a touch of cool disinterest Sideswipe whirled on his golden brother, the latter of which was quietly painting away on a piece of canvas, “How can you not be a least a <b>little</b> bit angry about this? They can’t do this to us! It isn’t fair!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glanced up from his painting long enough to shoot his brother an unimpressed look, “It’s just for the cycle Sideswipe. Why should I be angry?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe looked at his twin incredulously, how could his brother not see it? How could he not see that something was up? He glared at Sunstreaker, “Sunny, think about it. First, Jazz, Ironhide, Chromia, Ratchet, and Mirage go on a secret mission. Then, they have to call for an emergency evac when none of them are even injured.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker interrupted, “Because they found a group of neutral refugees fleeing the Decepticons, Prime already explained that.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest plates, “If they found a group of refugees, then why haven’t they been shipped to a refugee camp or a neutral settlement already? Why haven’t we even been allowed to meet them? Prime and Ratchet and the others are hiding something from us, Sunny, and we need to find out what.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker sighed and finally set down his paint brush, “Sides, they isolated the rec room and surrounding halls from the rest of the base so that the refugees could get used to their surroundings without a bunch of heavily armed strangers crowding around. After what the ‘Cons must have done to them, they’re probably skittish. Once they settle, we’ll get to meet them. Let it go.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shook his head stubbornly, “Nu-uh. I’m going to go find out what is <b>really</b> going on.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker turned back to painting, “Have fun then. I’ll see you when you get out of the brig.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe blinked several times. Had Sunstreaker really just blown him off? His brother was supposed to stand up and agree to go with him on the adventure, not simply shrug and say ‘have fun’. He glowered at his sibling’s back and let him know through their bond just how displeased he was.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker didn’t even look up as he casually sent back an equal measure of apathy for his brother’s displeasure. Determined to have an accomplice, Sideswipe sidled up to Sunny and purposely leaned in too close for comfort. While usually the twins had no real problems with being incredibly close together, when Sunstreaker was painting, he hated being crowded.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker paused in his attempt to shade the painting, <em>“Beat it, Sides. I’m not getting locked in the brig just because you wanted stick your nose-plate where it didn’t belong.”</em> Sideswipe didn’t move away, instead he inched closer, intentionally brushing his siblings back-plating with a hand as he pretended to inspect the picture Sunny was painting. There was a pause, <em>“Sideswipe, you have exactly three kliks to back off before I shoot you in the pede and smear this pink paint all over your chest plates.”</em></p>
<p>Sensing that Sunstreaker was serious, Sideswipe hastily backed off. He was going to have to try a different tactic. As he frowningly watched Sunstreaker peacefully paint for several kliks, an idea suddenly popped into his head. He grinned, <em>“Hey, Sunny.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker stiffened at his wheedling tone, <em>“Go away Sideswipe. Stop bothering me.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe huffed exaggeratedly, <em>“Fine, I’ll go all by myself. But don’t blame me if the refugees turn out to be femmes. Sweet, frightened little femmes who’s innocent expressions could only be accurately captured on canvas by a true master of the arts.”</em></p>
<p>There was a heavy silence. Sunstreaker growled in his engine a little bit and Sideswipe knew he had peeked his brother’s interest, <em>“What makes you think any of them are femmes?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe muffled his triumph and answered seriously, <em>“Do you seriously think that mechs would be so traumatized as to have Prime make sure everyone stays away from them? Come on! They have to be femmes! That would explain everything! Ratchet’s secretiveness, closing off the rec room for them, the emergency evac when they could have just driven back...”</em></p>
<p>There was another long silence as Sunstreaker tried to resist the possible chance Sideswipe theorized, but the mischief seeking twin knew that he had already won. Finally, Sunstreaker set his brush down and stood up, “Slag you.” He hissed irritably.</p>
<p>Sideswipe smiled sweetly as he rolled past his twin and for the door, “I love you too, lets go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took the two front-liners several breems of careful sneaking before they got to the cordoned off area of the base via the ventilation shafts. Sideswipe smirked smugly as they crawled silently over Ironhide’s head, the weapons specialist completely unaware that someone had just snuck past his watch post. <em>“See? The only mechs on guard are the ones who’ve already met them. Prime is trying to keep these refugees as isolated as possible.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, but Sideswipe could tell that his twins was beginning to come over to his side of thinking. They crawled carefully around a bend in the winding maze of air ducts and finally arrived at the opening they sought. Sideswipe carefully undid the latches to the vent using a special tool that the twins had designed for just such an occasion and the two silently slid out of the vents and into the empty corridor.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker carefully helped Sideswipe replace the vent and turned to his brother, <em>“All right, smart-mech. What now?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe gestured calmly over his shoulder, <em>“We head to the rec room. The only areas off limits right now other than that are simply hallways necessary to get from there to the med-bay.”</em> Sunstreaker nodded and the twins started rolling their way down the halls.</p>
<p>They were almost to the rec room when Sunstreaker suddenly yanked Sideswipe back from rounding a corner, <em>“Hold it. I hear something.”</em> Sideswipe paused and turned up his audio receptors, trying to pinpoint the sound that had alarmed Sunstreaker.</p>
<p>He heard it, a soft gust of air as someone released it from their vents. Sideswipe felt excitement build in his spark and, crouching with his back pressed against the wall, risked a peek. The sight that met his optics was nothing short of perfection.</p>
<p>Small, slender, and with white armor as pure as Sunstreaker’s most expensive paint, the femme standing alone in the hall stole his spark in an instant. He sensed Sunstreaker’s artistic side practically melt into a puddle of adoring goo at the sight of such a perfect painting subject. Both mechs stared in unmitigated admiration as she stood perfectly still in the hallway.</p>
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<p>Sunstreaker felt his spark beat fast, she was perfect. Every curve of her frame, every line of her armor was a masterpiece waiting to be preserved in paint. A part of him dimly wondered why she was just standing there, in an empty hallway. Just before he could formulate any theories, she moved.</p>
<p>With almost reverent slowness, her pedes turned sideways so their tips were pointed in opposite directions, her left pede pointing right, and her right pede pointing left. Her right servo slowly lifted into a position above her helm, fingers delicately splayed. Her left arm crooked slightly so her servo was gently cupped by her left hip. Then, she straightened, elegantly lifting herself onto her toes. Sunstreaker felt his vents hitch slightly as he realized what he was seeing, <em>she’s a dancer. A dancer running through her practice dance.</em> True to his assumptions, the white femme began to dance.</p>
<p>The dance started out slow, comprising of low bows and leg sweeps. Her arms rose and fell like waves, her legs carrying her across the ground as if she was flying. For indeed, she was flying. There in the empty hall, she leaped and swirled, twisted and bowed, her body expressing things that words never could.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt his spark go out to her, she was beautiful. But her dance, it was sad. Every time she crouched to the ground and curled her servos against her spark chamber, every time she swept her arms back and lifted one of her legs so that the pede was pointing straight at the sky. It all spoke to his inner artist of an unquenchable love and an irreplaceable loss.</p>
<p>How long the dance lasted, Sunstreaker couldn’t say, he was only paying attention to how the new object of his attentions moved with unparalleled grace. He had sometimes peeked in on the few femmes who lived on the base during their weapons practice, and they showed the grace of battle. But they didn’t move like this. This was the grace of innocence and a lifetime spent solely for the art of dance. Elegance and expression untainted by the need to be constantly on guard for attack.</p>
<p>Slowly, the tone of the dance shifted, her motions came faster and stronger, her hands no longer lingered near her frame most of the time, but instead swept outward in sweeping motions similar to swordplay. Her leaps became higher, and her twirls more spirited. The tone of her dance had changed from sadness to courage. Sunstreaker took a breath softly through his intakes and unconsciously inched farther around the corner and into the open in an effort to see her more clearly.</p>
<p>Her dance without music finally reached a crescendo of motion and with one final, gravity defying leap coupled by a perfect mid-air split and upswept hands, she dropped to the ground in a low bow, vents working hard to cool her heavily exerted systems. <em>Beautiful.</em> Sunstreaker watched her silently, afraid that if he moved or spoke she would disappear.</p>
<p>Sideswipe, curse his brother, had no such fears, “That. Was. Amazing!” At the nearly unholy sound of Sideswipe’s voice, the femme’s optics snapped open and she leapt back from the sound with a small cry of fear. She stared at them for a second, and Sunstreaker was shocked by her dual colored optics.</p>
<p>Sideswipe rolled forward eagerly, “Hi! I’m-” he didn’t get to finish. The moment he had started towards her, the femme gave a cry of fright and took off like a shot from a blaster. Sideswipe blinked, “Hey, wait! Come back!” He took off after her.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker swept down the hall, catching up easily with his twin to mentally lecture him, <em>“Glitch! You should have known better than to startle her!”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe glowered at him, <em>“Glitch, yourself! You were the one who scared her with your ‘strong silent type’ act! She would have been just fine except for that!”</em></p>
<p>The two continued to argue as they shot after the femme down the hallways and towards the rec room. Sunstreaker caught a glimpse of her darting inside the rec room and shoved Sideswipe out of the way so he could be first through the door. Sideswipe, not about to come second, shoved him back, thus starting a shoving contest that ended when their pedes got tangled just as they passed through the doorway and fell to the floor with a clatter. Sunstreaker yelled automatically, “Watch the paint!”</p>
<p>He and Sideswipe struggled to untangle themselves for several kliks before both standing and glaring at each other. A cold voice interrupted their staring match, “An what do yah think <b>yo’r</b> doin’ here?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker looked up sharply, Jazz was standing in the middle of the rec room, his arms wrapped protectively around the mystery femme they’d been pursuing, a scowl clearly set on the saboteur's faceplates. Sideswipe piped up before Sunstreaker could stop him, “We were just coming to say hello to the refugees you found. We didn’t mean to startle the femme there.”</p>
<p>Jazz glared at them from behind his visor as he continued to hold the femme, “Uh-huh. An yah jus’ happened ta forget thah Prime ordered everybot ta stay away until tha refugees was settled in?” Looking down at the femme huddled in his arms Jazz said softly, “I’s okay Star, the’a jus’ harmless glitches. Yah can stop shakin’ now.”</p>
<p>The femme, Star, slowly looked up from Jazz’s chest plates and peeked at them shyly. Her red optic the only one currently visible, “Are you sure?” She whispered.</p>
<p>Jazz nodded and carefully let her go, “Ah’m sure. Yah don’ have ta be afraid. Ah’ll even introduce yah ta them if yah like.”</p>
<p>Star nodded and slowly turned around so that she was facing the twins, but Sunstreaker noted that she stayed close to Jazz’s side even after the saboteur had assured her that they weren’t a threat. Sunstreaker also noted the pang of jealousy that stabbed his spark from Sideswipe’s side of the bond and immediately sent back a ‘don’t you dare’ vibe. He had learned a long time ago to squash his twin’s crushes as soon a possible before Sideswipe could do anything that would make them both look stupid.</p>
<p>Ignoring his twin’s indignation over their bond for the moment, Sunstreaker dipped his head politely to Star, “I’m Sunstreaker and this glitch here is Sideswipe. We apologize for startling you.”</p>
<p>The femme nodded quietly, “My name is Starwish. Um ... it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry for running away earlier, but you two really took me by surprise.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe rolled forward and smiled winningly, “No need to apologize Starwish. It was all our fault. But tell me, what is an image of beauty like yourself doing here of all places?”</p>
<p>Jazz interrupted his obvious wooing, “Tryin’ ta relax an’ enjoy some time away from tha Hatchet an tha med-bay. Now why don’ you two scat afore Ironhide shows up an’ kicks yo’r actuators hard enough ta warrant a trip there?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe protested, “Aw, come on Jazz. We didn’t mean any harm. Besides, you wouldn’t send us away before Sunny and I made a <b>proper</b> apology would you?” Before anyone could try to stop him, Sideswipe rolled forward, took Starwish’s hand, and bent at the waist in a bow as he prepared to kiss it.</p>
<p>Something flew through the air and bounced off of his helm, cutting off his attempt abruptly. Sideswipe looked up sharply, “Ow! Hey!” Another projectile flew through the air and nailed him between the optics, causing him to let go of Starwish’s hand and stagger backwards with an outraged yelp.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker looked around for his twin’s attackers and then blinked in surprise when he caught sight of them. Two identical younglings with color coordinating paint jobs were standing on top of the sofa, glaring at Sideswipe icily. One of them, the one who had presumably just thrown his vid game remote at Sideswipe’s head, crossed his arms and snarled, “Back off, fragger. We don’t like ‘bots who scare our sister.”</p>
<p>The second one nodded, “Yeah, back off! Or we’ll make you!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe sputtered in confusion, “Who-?”</p>
<p>Jazz actually chuckled, “Sunstreaka’, Sideswipe, meet tha <b>otha’</b> twins, Zipline an’ Fast Track.”</p>
<p>The latter twins were still glaring at Sideswipe even as their sister quietly scolded them for swearing. Zipline shrugged off Starwish’s scolding easily, “What? He is a fragger. I was just calling him what he is.” Sunstreaker could help but smirk at the youngling’s spunk.</p>
<p>Sideswipe glowered first at the younglings, then at his brother, “How can you stand there smirking when I’ve just been insulted?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker shrugged, “Easy, I hold still and tilt one side of my mouth up.” Sideswipe huffed angrily and sent feelings of betrayal Sunstreaker’s way. Sunstreaker deflected the feeling with indifference, Sideswipe had been acting like a fool, therefor he deserved to be hit on the helm with vid game remotes.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker turned to Starwish, “Ignore him, he’s a gli-”</p>
<p>Jazz interrupted, “No language in front of tha younglin’s!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker carefully rephrased his statement and continued, “He is an <b>irritation </b>at times. Perhaps when you’ve calmed you would consider-” He was interrupted again when Ironhide stomped in and without waiting for an explanation, grabbed the intruding twins by their shoulder plates and dragged them forcibly outside. Sunstreaker struggled against Ironhide’s unbreakable grip, “Hey! Watch the finish!”</p>
<p>Ironhide growled dangerously as he hauled the two down the halls, “Oh, I’ll ‘watch it’ all right. Right after I finish beating it off your frame!”</p>
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<p>Zipline watched as the unwelcome intruders were dragged off by Ironhide. Once the door had shut, cutting off the two’s angry protests, he nodded curtly in approval and climbed off of the sofa to retrieve his vid game remote. <em>Good riddance.</em> Picking up the controllers, Zipline marched back to the sofa and handed one to Fast Track. His sibling took the offered controller and settled down to the game they’d been playing. As the two resumed steering their chosen race cars around the holographic track, Fast Track asked, <em>“Why was he paying attention to her anyway?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline pressed the accelerator on his controller, <em>“No idea. I didn’t like him though and that’s reason enough to hit him.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track seemed to ponder this, <em>“Yeah. It is.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz turned a bemused optic to Starwish, “Where di’ they learn ta swear like thah?”</p>
<p>She shook her head, “I have no idea. Probably picked it up from a vid show that they were specifically told <b>not</b> to watch.”</p>
<p>Jazz chuckled a little bit at that as he watched the mechlings eagerly race each other across the virtual landscape of the simplistic racing game, “Little guys get inta trouble a lot then?”</p>
<p>Starwish sat down on a nearby chair and sighed, “You have no idea. I swear, sometimes I think those two only exist to make my life more complicated than necessary.” She turned a fond smile their way, “Still, I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.”</p>
<p>Jazz fell silent for a few breems, watching the femme out of corner of his optic. He could tell that the unexpected meeting with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had shaken her up a great deal. Even now that they were gone, she remained mildly subdued in word and body posture.</p>
<p><em>Shy little thing. Nothing like the femme who tried to cut my arm off with a buzz saw. Though I suppose the twins might have that kind of effect on some bots.</em> To say that he’d been surprised when she’d come flying into the rec room in total fear and tried to hide against him for comfort would be an understatement. He’d been shocked. They barely knew each other, yet Starwish seemed to instinctively trust him. Not that Jazz minded much, he considered himself a femme’s-mech after all. But still, it had come as a hefty surprise.</p>
<p>Jazz briefly wondered what she had been doing out in the hallway in the first place. <em>I hear a bout of snooping in my future. First step, get to know her.</em> “The twins aren’t so bad yah know. Sunstreaka an’ Sideswipe Ah mean. Sunstreaka’s a bit of a hard helm an’ Sides is too cocky fo’ ‘is own good, but they wouldn’ have hurt yah. Unless sittin’ down for joors on end so Sunny can paint yah picture counts as harm.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked over at him curiously, “Sunstreaker paints?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Yea, real good too. Mech knows how ta blend colors like no bot’s business. Always lookin’ for a new subject ta paint. Thah’s probably why he followed yah, wanted yah ta model for him.”</p>
<p>She seemed to consider this, “Huh, I guess that explains his paint job.”</p>
<p>Jazz grinned, “Yah, it’s a bit on tha shiny side ain’t it?”</p>
<p>Starwish giggled at his understatement, “Maybe a little bit, I suppose- Zipline! Stop hitting your brother with Soundwave! Fast Track, stop shoving Prowl in Zipline’s face! Don’t make me come over there! I’m <b>not</b> afraid to make you quit racing and go back to the med-bay!” The two younglings guiltily stopped attacking each other with their plushies and went back to their game. Jazz kept his expression neutral, <em>why are their toys named after a Decepticon and Prowler?</em> Starwish, oblivious to his musings, shook her head and muttered something about, ‘mechlings’ before resuming her conversation with a bemused Jazz, “Sorry, I was going to say that I suppose I shouldn’t have run away from them like that.”</p>
<p>Jazz waved a servo dismissively, “Don’ worry about it. They shouldn’t have been there anyhow.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked concerned, “Will they be in a lot of trouble?”</p>
<p>Jazz laughed, “No more than usual, femme. Prowl’s been threatenin’ to put name plates on a cell in tha brig an make them move inta it. Mechs practically live there anyway.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s faceplates twitched like she was fighting a laugh.Apparently, raising two little brothers made her sympathetic to Prowl, “I know the feeling.”</p>
<p>Jazz started to say something to her when his internal com pinged, ::Optimus Prime to Jazz.::</p>
<p>He held up a finger to halt the conversation for a moment, ::Jazz here.::</p>
<p>Although his leader’s voice was as calm as ever, Jazz’s trained audio picked up the serious edge in it, ::I need you to attend an emergency meeting in my office in two breems. Ratchet said he has something important to show us about our guests.::</p>
<p>From behind the safety of his visor, Jazz glanced at Starwish, who was watching him inquisitively. ::Ah’m currently on patient monitor duty, Prime.::</p>
<p>Optimus assured him swiftly, ::First Aid is already on his way to keep an optic on them.::</p>
<p>Jazz nodded even though Prime couldn’t see the motion, ::In thah case, Ah’m on mah way. Jazz out.:: Jazz turned to Starwish, “Prime called, gotta go see ta somethin’. First Aid will be showin’ up soon ta help yah manage the twins over there.”</p>
<p>She blinked at him once before nodding her understanding, “Uh, okay. Thank you for keeping us company, Jazz.”</p>
<p>Jazz smiled winningly at her and tipped his servo to his helm in a casual salute as he bounced for the door, “It was mah pleasure, Star. See yah later.” He faintly heard her call a farewell just as the door to the rec room slid shut. Jazz took off down the halls at a speedy trot, ::Yo, ‘Hide. Yah done beatin’ the slag out of tha twins yet? We got a meetin’ with Prime ta attend.::</p>
<p>Ironhide’s voice grumbled over the com, ::I know, I know. I’m on my way there now.::</p>
<p>Jazz turned the corner, ::Weren’t finished yet were yah?::</p>
<p>Ironhide snorted, ::Oh, I was finished, I just had to escort them to the brig afterwards so that they’d keep their vocalizers shut about our guests until Prime can have a chat with them.::</p>
<p>Jazz spotted Ironhide coming from the opposite direction and waved casually, “Ah didn’t hear any screams o’ agony. Does thah mean yah left Sunstreaka’s paint job in tact?”</p>
<p>Ironhide shrugged, “Didn’t have time to wreck it. Prowl here was already waiting for me with stasis cuffs and an order to throw them in the brig.” Prowl didn’t comment as the bigger mech palmed the controls to the door and they walked inside, Jazz close on their heels.</p>
<p>There was a general silence as a few select mechs and femme gathered around Optimus Prime’s desk to find out why Ratchet had called an emergency meeting. Jazz glanced at the assembly, Ultra Magnus, being Optimus’s Elite Guard Commander, stood stiffly to the right to the Prime’s desk. Prowl, being the security officer stood on the left side. Ironhide, Chromia, and Mirage stood at various places near the desk, waiting for the meeting to start.</p>
<p>Optimus sat behind the desk, servos studiously folded together, he motioned to the obviously upset Ratchet, “We have all assembled old friend. What is it that has you concerned about the newest additions on our base?”</p>
<p>Ratchet set a holo-emitter on the desk and huffed, “A better question, Optimus, would be what <b>doesn’t</b> have me concerned. I just finished processing the last results of the processor scans I ran on all four of them a joor ago. These are the results.” He activated the holo-emitter and Jazz studied the readouts with curiosity.</p>
<p>Chromia drawled irritably, “Mind explaining what all of that medical jabber on the screen actually <b>means</b>, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus shot her a dark look for her tone as Ratchet began pointing to different parts of the holo image, “This is the scan taken from Starwish. As I reported to Prime earlier, I estimate her age to be around seventy two vorns. Here is an image of the average processor at that age.” The image flickered and switched to a different one before shrinking and settling beside the image of Starwish’s processor scan, “Look at the differences between the two, here and here.” Ratchet pointed out two different sections of the processor.</p>
<p>A few kliks passed in silence. <em>Her scan don’ look right.</em> “Ah see it. There’s a difference in her language core thah ain’t in tha other image. What does it mean?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded briefly to Jazz for spotting what was wrong, “It means that whenever she speaks, her processor is <b>translating</b> it to Cybertronian from a different language.”</p>
<p>Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest, “Couldn’t it just be translating it to standard Cybertronian from a different dialect?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “No, I’ve already checked that possibility. Whatever language was first programed into her mind, it is not <b>any</b> Cybertronian dialect. It is something entirely different. It is the same for the rest of them. All four are subconsciously translating their words from one language to another.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus asked, “Doctor, is that even possible? For a Cybertronian to not know their own language?”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “It is rare, but not unheard of. During the Age of Exploration, a few of those who were onlined on distant worlds inadvertently learned the language of the native inhabitants before learning Cybertronian.”</p>
<p>Ironhide protested, “But Optimus, the Age of Exploration has been over for megacycles. How could that apply here?”</p>
<p>“Novalek City.” All optics swung to Prowl. The ultra logical mech was studying the processor scan thoughtfully, “Novalek City was founded by the mechs and femmes who returned at the end of the Great Exploration. They formed a community separate from the rest of Cybertron based on the many diverse cultures they had observed in secret during their time among the stars. It was also a fairly common practice for creators to teach their sparklings a non-Cybertronian language first, then Cybertronian standard, so that they could converse with their creation in any situation without risk of being overheard by those living outside Novalek.”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “But Novalek City fell at the very beginning of the great war. There were no survivors, everyone in the city was murdered and they are too young to have been onlined before the war.”</p>
<p>Mirage tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Perhaps, but what if their creators were outside the city when it was destroyed? A few citizens of Novalek did leave and settle elsewhere as time went on.”</p>
<p>The members of the meeting pondered the new possibility. Jazz asked, “Wha’ makes yah think they’re creators were from Novalek, Mirage? Yah have anotha' reason besides Ratch’s scan o’ their language cores.”</p>
<p>Mirage hesitated, “I do actually. I was there when the twins first saw Starwish. She was dancing at the time,” he paused, “she was dancing a perfect Bellakata solo.”</p>
<p>Chromia sighed, “I hate to be the one to sound stupid. But what the slag is Bellakata?”</p>
<p>Mirage dipped his helm in Chromia’s direction, “Bellakata was a specialized dance form created by the residents of Novalek City. It was an interpretive style of dance, meant to tell stories of their exploration in musical form. Only residents of Novalek, or their descendants, were allowed to learn Bellakata. It was considered a high honor for a non-citizen to observe one of their performances.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded his head firmly, “Very well, given the evidence provided, it would appear that the refugees are descendants of Novalek survivors.” He glanced at Ratchet, “You have other concerns, Doctor?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked uneasy, “While that theory does clear away some of their eccentricities. I also found glitches in their programming and memory cores. Fortunately the glitches are not <b>too</b> serious, but there are enough of them to cause concern.”</p>
<p>Optimus leaned his elbows on the desk, “Such as?”</p>
<p>Ratchet rattled off the list, “The perceived need to utilize their vents more often than necessary, minor encryption malfunctions in their memory cores, modifications have been recently added to their frames yet there is no automatic connection coding, thus leading to an inability to control said modifications, an abhorring lack of subspace command subroutines, the list goes on and on.”</p>
<p>The medic tapped the fingers of his right servo on his left arm, “By themselves, these ... oddities in their coding and frames could be dismissed as an easily ignored or cured oversight by whoever first programed their cortexes. But to find so many of them … and in bots who have no CNA relation, excepting the twins, it is an almost definite sign that their programing and frames have been severely tampered with.”</p>
<p>A stunned silence briefly fell on the assembled group. <em>Tampered, well thats a pretty thought and no mistake.</em> Chromia asked, “Shockwave? Could he have done it?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “Absolutely not. Shockwave, while he may be a sadistic mech, is an expert at processor reprogramming. There is no chance that he would leave this many mistakes in the wake of his work. Furthermore, I have detected no signs of Decepticon or slave coding within any of them. Although ... in Starwish, there is an unidentified strand of coding pertaining to her prosthetic modifications.”</p>
<p>Ironhide looked confused, “Prosthetics?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shot the weapons specialist a dry look, “Yes, prosthetics. You did not think those two protrusions on her shoulders were natural parts of her frame did you? They are additional limbs, for what purpose I do not yet know. But they are there none the less.”</p>
<p>Ironhide gave an unsettled grunt in response. Prowl asked grimly, “Do you have any insight as to who may have done this? Or what side effects the tampering may have caused?”</p>
<p>Ratchet absently placed his servos on his hips, “No. There is no one I can think of who might have attempted such a travesty without the skill set to fully pull it off, which the tamperer did <b>not</b>. As to side effects, it is hard to tell. Some of them are obvious and have been mentioned previously, a tendency to use their vents, lack of control over subspace, but other side effects may stem from the procedure itself. They may be instinctively afraid of certain situations or beings because they will be reminded of the tampering procedure. Or they might not be, it is simply too early to tell.”</p>
<p>Optimus rubbed a finger along the bottom of his jaw thoughtfully, “What do you suggest we do?”</p>
<p>Ratchet answered without hesitation, “We keep them monitored and in as friendly an environment as possible. They have already shown tendencies towards being a family unit, so I would advise we use that to our advantage.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “Explain.”</p>
<p>Ratchet shot a brief glance at Ironhide and Chromia, “We give them each a guardian. Complete the family unit mentality as much a possible. The friendly and familiar atmosphere could go a long way in their processors’ self-repair protocols.”</p>
<p>Jazz shot a long look in the direction of Ironhide and Chromia. The two were not the only ones in the army to be sparkmated, but they were currently the only pair on base. Excepting Optimus, but his sparkmate was currently off base and they were both far too busy for a youngling. Besides, Ironhide and Chromia had done a marvelous job raising Bumblebee so far. They were an obvious choice.</p>
<p>Ironhide and Chromia were staring at each other intently, no doubt engaging in a spark to spark talk over their bond. They finally turned to Optimus, Ironhide looked as if he was reading off a death sentence, “As much as we would love to, Prime. We can’t. Bumblebee may be fairly mature, but he still needs our full attention. We just aren’t ready to handle new arrivals.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “Understood Ironhide, I know that you speak out for Bumblebee’s sake. I will have to give this matter much consideration. Is there anything else we need to cover, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “For now, no. But I may need to call another meeting if I find anything else.”</p>
<p>Optimus dipped his head, “Very well, old friend. Autobots, dismissed.”</p>
<p>Jazz saluted Prime and filed out of his office with the rest of them with the exception of Prowl and Ratchet, who stayed behind with the mutter of ‘I have something else to discuss with you and Optimus’. Jazz’s thoughts swirling from point to point. Did his best to take in the things Ratchet had revealed in the meeting. He thought back to what Ratchet had said about side effects, <em>Ratch’ said that they might prove terrified of situations similar to the tampering procedure. Could that include events leading up to it?</em> Jazz remembered the recent event of Starwish fleeing from the twins in blind terror, <em>Maybe she was jumped by two mechs in the street right before it happened.</em></p>
<p>The normally calm and collected saboteur had to pause in the hallway to keep from hitting something. <em>Messing with others helms like that! If I ever find the fragger who did that to them, I’m gonna blast him to bits!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Optimus Prime sat in his office, musing over the information revealed in the meeting and Ratchet’s suggested course of action. It would have been preferable if Ironhide and Chromia had been able to take at least the younglings. But he understood that Bumblebee could be a handful, they did not need the added burden. Also weighing on his processor was the information Ratchet had revealed privately to him and Prowl after the meeting. Although he had felt it unwise to reveal it in front of the others, Ratchet had stayed behind to tell them a few more facts about his new patients.</p>
<p>One of those facts had been that the only reason the processor tampering could cause a lack of subspace subroutines was that whoever did the tampering had overridden the codes in order to forcibly access another’s subspace. While it was normally impossible for a Cybertronian to access anyone else's subspace but their own, there was a certain, illegal, method that could grant a skilled enough medic temporary access to another’s subspace to either remove items or place items inside the violated subspace.</p>
<p>The other and most disturbing of the facts was that the unidentifiable string of code in Starwish’s processor <b>was</b> in a language Ratchet recognized. It was the language of the Primes. Ratchet had given Optimus a copy of the code to study and, while he had been unable to decipher it’s full extent, he had managed to translate one phrase.<em> Herald’s Wings … an odd phrase to be sure. What could it have to do with her prosthetics? Why would someone forcibly place the code inside an innocent femme’s processor?</em></p>
<p>He sighed and shook his head grimly, as if the war wasn’t complicated enough. Pulling out a datapad he pulled up a full roster of all available Autobots on base and began to study it for the most suitable possible caretakers for his new charges. One by one, he considered and discarded the various mechs on base as caretakers for the youngling twins. All of them were either too busy or not youngling friendly.</p>
<p>Just as his inward frustration was reaching its peak, Prowl commed him, ::Prowl to Prime.::</p>
<p>Optimus heaved a sigh and set down the datapad, ::Prime here, what is the situation, Prowl?::</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice, while as cold and logical as ever had an unmistakable edge of irritation to it, ::The twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe disobeyed orders and infiltrated the cordoned off section of the base. I had Ironhide place them in the brig until they could be dealt with. Do you wish to deal with them personally or shall I?::</p>
<p>The faintest hint of an idea niggled at his processor, ::Did they make contact with the refugees?::</p>
<p>Prowl answered, ::Yes, sir. According to Ironhide, they pursued Starwish into the rec room and were physically assaulted by the younglings for scaring her.::</p>
<p>The idea blossomed into a viable plan. Optimus settled back in his chair and ran the new plan over in his mind. The twins always seemed to have plenty of time on their servos. Enough time to pull off elaborate pranks anyway, and Optimus had long wished for a means to teach them greater responsibility to others.</p>
<p>Optimus nodded to himself, yes, that would do nicely, ::Please escort them to my office, Prowl. I have something special in mind for them.::</p>
<p>If Prowl was at all curious about what his leader meant, his voice did not show it, ::Understood sir, Prowl out.::</p>
<p>Optimus subspaced his datapad and waited patiently for Prowl and the twins to arrive. While he waited, his thoughts turned to the impending matter of where the dainty femme Starwish would reside. He couldn’t risk placing her with any of the unmated mechs on base, and Ironhide had already made it clear that he and Chromia couldn’t take her. Besides, he doubted Chromia and Starwish would get along, seeing as how Chromia had mistakenly shot her brother.</p>
<p>At the moment there were no other femme’s on base and assigning a mech, no matter how respectable, was simply begging for wild rumors and total disaster. There were no spare rooms and even if there were, Ratchet would never allow her to go through the long lunar cycle without someone nearby to keep an optic on her. So where could she stay once Ratchet discharged her from the med-bay?</p>
<p>His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door to his inner office. Optimus raised his head and called, “Come in.” Prowl opened the door and steered the trouble making twins inside. Sunstreaker was scowling darkly, his helm was dented and there was signs of bruising on his faceplates. Sideswipe was in a similar state of defiance and mild damage. Ironhide had no doubt given them a going over for scaring Starwish, the bulky black mech had a huge soft spot for femmes.</p>
<p>Prowl stood by the door, his expression a silent question, “Thank you, Prowl. Dismissed.” Prowl saluted and left without a word. Once the door had shut and Prowl was gone, Optimus turned his optics to the twins. Sideswipe shifted nervously, no doubt wondering what his commander had in mind for him. Sunstreaker continued to scowl at the floor stubbornly, pointedly refusing to look uneasy.</p>
<p>Optimus stood up and walked slowly around the desk so he was facing the twins without any obstructions between them. “I am told that you took particular interest in the new arrivals to our base.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe nodded, “Uh, yes sir. I suppose we did.”</p>
<p>Optimus looked over at Sunstreaker, waiting for his answer. The golden mech huffed slightly, “Yeah, we did. We did not mean to startle the femme though, Sideswipe and I just wanted to meet them. Sir.” The ‘sir’ was added as an after thought, yet another obvious indicator of Sunstreaker’s anti-social tendencies.</p>
<p>Optimus said gently, “You are not in trouble, twins. In fact, your actions alerted me to your favorability for an upcoming assignment.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe immediately perked up at his words but Sunstreaker remained skeptical, “What assignment would that be, sir?” This time the sir was immediate. Sunstreaker was being respectful in hopes of avoiding an unfavorable assignment.</p>
<p>Optimus actually allowed a small smile onto his faceplates, “You met the youngling twins Zipline and Fast Track, did you not?” Sideswipe and Sunstreaker nodded, “In a few cycles, Ratchet will be releasing them from med-bay. As such, they will need caretakers and a place to stay. While Ironhide and Chromia were both amendable to the task, they could not accept it on the grounds of still being fully occupied with Bumblebee.”</p>
<p>Both of the mischief makers were beginning to look uneasy now, they had a sneaking suspicion of what they were about to be saddled with. Optimus completely hid his amusement at their looks and continued, “It has been brought to my attention through your actions that perhaps the best caretakers for twins, would be twins.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker went stiff, “With all do respect, sir. But no. Just no. I have enough trouble keeping Sideswipe online and out of danger! I don’t need <b>more</b> glitches to take care of!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe glared at his brother briefly, “Hey! I am not a glitch! Besides, who said you would be taking care of them? I’m the one who gets stuff done!”</p>
<p>Optimus remained unmoved as the two started arguing with him about their validity as guardians. When they finally fell silent once more, Optimus said cooly, “Your reservations have been noted. However, you will never learn to handle more responsibility if you do not gain more. Taking care of younglings <b>is</b> a great undertaking, but it is also a great honor. To care for and raise the next generation is one of the highest honors a mech or femme can ever have in their lifetime. I expect you two to <b>both</b> take this assignment seriously.”</p>
<p>He fixed them with a stern stare, “Treat your new charges with respect and devotion. They will be officially released into your care in four cycles time. Dismissed.”</p>
<p>The twins stared at him with their mouths agape, unable to believe that he had really just done what he did. Sunstreaker snapped his mouth plates shut with a click and an audible growl of outrage. Sideswipe merely continued to stare blankly at his commanding officer as if he’d gone insane. Optimus raised an optic ridge, “Is there a problem?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker blurted, “Slag right there’s a problem! What do we know about caring for younglings? Nothing! How do you expect us to care for them when we have no idea how?”</p>
<p>Optimus allowed a smile back onto his face as he calmly steered the twins to the door of his office, “I am sure Ratchet, Ironhide, or Chromia will be more than willing to answer any questions you have on youngling care. Good cycle and good luck.” Before they could start protesting again, Optimus lightly nudged them out into the hall and shut the door, locking it firmly. Once he was alone in his inner office, Optimus allowed a deep chuckle to rumble from his chest. Their reactions had been priceless. <em>This will also give them a chance to mature. Being responsible for younglings is a great task, but one I am sure they can learn to handle.</em></p>
<p>His chuckles died off, <em>Now to find places of residence for the other two.</em> Optimus settled back in his chair, running the problem over in his mind. Hardwire was the easiest of the two problems, over the past two metacycles Ratchet had been clearly impressed with the newly adult mech. Even confiding in Optimus that he believed the tale Hardwire had told him about his mech creator being a Decepticon and his past caretakers being too poor to remove the Decepticon brand from his frame. The scans he had secretly run on the mech had proved it beyond doubt.</p>
<p>According to Ratchet, Hardwire was patient, respectful, and easygoing. Good traits in a mech who would inevitably have a roommate. Pulling out the datapad with the list of mechs on it, he resumed perusing it. Finally, his optic settled on one particular entry. A former construction worker and recent transfer from the Wrecker ranks. <em>Bulkhead, hmm, that might work.</em></p>
<p>Optimus easily recalled Bulkhead, the mildly impulsive and highly clumsy Wrecker had requested a transfer to Optimus’s command just in time for the recent battle of Thunderhead Pass. Bulkhead had impressed Optimus with his strength and willingness to sacrifice for others during that battle as the Wrecker had willingly thrown himself in the path of a plasma shot meant for Prime. However, as well liked as Bulkhead was becoming by his new comrades, he had yet to acquire a roommate because of his immense size. Others didn’t want to get accidentally crushed by the lumbering green giant.</p>
<p><em>Perhaps ... </em>Optimus pulled up a statistical readout Ratchet had sent him of the four refugees. Hardwire’s readout confirmed his memory. Hardwire was a very tall mech, a little bit taller than Bulkhead in fact. He would have no worries about being crushed under his roommate’s girth if the Wrecker happened to stumble and fall on him. Both were fairly easygoing and good natured, both were new to the base. It stood to reason that those similarities would go a long way into their getting along. Taking a pen, he quickly made a note beside Bulkhead’s name to transfer Hardwire to Bulkhead’s berth room once he was released from Ratchet’s care in two metacycles.</p>
<p><em>And then there was one.</em> He tilted his helm back and stared at the ceiling as if it might inspire an answer. It didn’t and Optimus continued to struggle with the problem Starwish presented. If only he knew a mech who hardly even used his quarters at all, who was above and beyond reproach, and who wouldn’t glitch out at the prospect of having a young femme stay in his quarters until Elita and her team returned.</p>
<p>A random thought flitted through his mind, <em>a mech like Ultra Magnus.</em> Optimus froze, wondering what had sparked <b>that</b> thought. But as it stubbornly bounced back into his processor, it began to make more sense. Ultra Magnus would have no intentions towards the femme, he had spacious two berth room quarters that had been given him due to his rank and their close proximity might give him the opportunity to monitor her for glitches. Also Ultra Magnus had once had a sparkmate, so there would be no doubt as to his respectability. Former mates never took another, or even showed interest in the opposite gender after their mate was lost.</p>
<p><em>Ratchet and Ultra Magnus are going to offline me for this.</em> Picking up his pen again, he made a note beside Ultra Magnus’s name. A note that assigned Starwish to be the tactician’s roommate once she was released from the med-bay. His list complete, Optimus made a report version of it and copied the report onto several datachips, that done he intercommed Ratchet, Prowl, and Ultra Magnus that he had reports and assignments for them to read as soon as possible.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Roommates and Meetings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish watched as Ratchet finished preparing Zipline and Fast Track’s release form. She could tell that he was furious about something. Ratchet looked up, “Well, these forms are almost complete. The twins can be released from my care as soon as their ... new caretakers arrive to sign for them.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned slightly, she was nervous enough about the fact that she wouldn’t be the twins official caretaker. But Ratchet had explained to her that, as she was not fully of age, she couldn’t be their guardian. “Is ... something wrong with their caretakers?”</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced at her, his gaze guarded, “No ... it is just ... their guardians and I do not get along.” He saw her uneasy look and hastily reassured her, “However, if Prime believes them to be the right choice for you siblings, then I am in no position to argue.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded slowly, “All right. But who are their guardians?” The door to the med-bay slid open, unintentionally answering her question. <em>You’ve got to be kidding.</em></p>
<p>Two mechs, one golden, one red, rolled slowly into the med-bay on wheeled pedes, “Hey Ratch’, we’re here!”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled darkly at the two, “Yes, yes. Sign here you two. Though why Optimus decided you two were ready to be guardians is a mystery to me.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glared at Ratchet as he signed his name on the datapad form, “Well don’t look at us for answers. Where are the runts?”</p>
<p>Starwish bristled and reached up to grab Sunstreaker’s arm, “Listen up, mech. They are not ‘runts’ they have names, Zipline and Fast Track, and you <b>will</b> address them as such. If a full name is too tricky to use then call them Zip and Track but never, <b>ever</b> call my brothers runts. Understand me?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker stared blankly at her hand for several kliks and then looked at her. As he replied, Starwish thought she spotted a hint of respect in his optics, “Understood, femme. Where are ‘Zip and Track’?”</p>
<p>She relaxed slightly and let go of his arm, trying to ignore how closely Sideswipe was staring at her ... the red mech’s wink didn’t help matters any. Motioning with her hand, Starwish answered, “Hiding under the berth over there, I think they’re trying to ambush Ratchet but he won’t go near them.”</p>
<p>Unintentionally proving her point, Zipline stuck his head out from under the berth and hissed, “Shh! Quiet Star! You’ll give us away!” Ratchet rolled his optics and muttered something about ‘twins’.</p>
<p>Sideswipe finished signing his name on the form and turned to Starwish, “Don’t worry, Starwish, Sunny and I will take good care of your brothers. Front-liner’s honor.”</p>
<p>He leaned a little bit close for comfort but was immediately dragged back by his brother, “Come on, s-”</p>
<p>Ratchet smacked Sunstreaker on the head with a wrench without looking up from his datapad, “No swearing around younglings.”</p>
<p>Starwish was fairly certain she could hear the gears in Sunstreaker’s jaw grinding as the golden twin rephrased, “Come on, <b>Sides</b>, we’re here to get the run ... younglings. Not flirt with their sister.” Sideswipe began arguing with his brother until Ratchet threatened to weld them both to the ceiling if they didn’t take their new charges and get out of his med-bay.</p>
<p>Of course, just when that was settled, it turned out that Zipline and Fast Track wanted nothing to do with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The two smaller twins stubbornly refused to come out from under the berth, even when Sideswipe offered to play with them back at their quarters. Finally Sunstreaker rolled his optics and shoved his brother out of the way, “Let me, you gli-ttering idiot.”</p>
<p>Crouching down by the berth, Sunstreaker produced something from his subspace and held it within sight of the hidden twins, “Here.”</p>
<p>There was a pause before Zipline’s muffled voice asked, “What is it?”</p>
<p>Starwish noticed Sideswipe jolt slightly in surprise at the question as Sunstreaker grunted, “An energon candy. You want it or am I going to have to eat it all by myself?” There was a scramble of pedes as Zipline and Fast Track emerged from their hiding place, each one dragging a plushy absentmindedly as they stared eagerly at the glowing pink candy in Sunstreaker’s hand. Zipline reached for it but Sunstreaker held it just out of reach, “What do you say?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track chorused together, “Please!” Sunstreaker nodded in approval and handed them each an energon candy. Starwish watched in fascination and mild concern as her siblings popped the pink oval shaped treats in their mouths and instantly started bouncing with excitement, “This is great!”</p>
<p>Ratchet called warningly, “Don’t give them too many of those Sunstreaker, or they won’t be able to recharge at night.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker grunted, “I know.” Standing up, he motioned to Zip and Track, “Come on you two. Sideswipe has some vid games set up for you to try.”</p>
<p>The two were at his feet in an instant, “Yay!” Sunstreaker visibly winced as they grabbed at his legs with their now mildly sticky hands. He growled something about his finish as Sideswipe lured the younglings away from his brother with more candy.</p>
<p>As Sideswipe raced out the door with the twins and his brother hot on his heels, Ratchet called indignantly, “What did I just say about candy?” The door slid shut without reply and the medic huffed angrily, “They’re either going to ignore those two or spoil them rotten. I don’t know which is more likely.”</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t help but smile, “At least they get along. The twins can be regular monsters if they don’t like their caretaker.” Ratchet just shook his head in disgust and resumed fiddling with his datapad.</p>
<p>Starwish watched him for a little while before asking, “Um, am I getting released today?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded, “You are, I am preparing your form right now for when your new guardian shows up.”</p>
<p>She felt a tiny twinge of pain in her chest at his words, <em>new. Because I’m on a world where my old ones cannot follow.</em> Starwish may not have been very close to her foster parents, but she still missed them dearly, “Who ... who is my new guardian?”</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced at her, “You’ll find out soon enough.” <em>Why do I get the distinct impression that he’s not telling me for a reason?</em> Sensing her unease, Ratchet saw fit to add, “Do not be concerned, your guardian is a very upstanding and reasonable mech. I’m sure you and he will get along as long as you follow proper protocol.”</p>
<p>Starwish fell silent and watched Ratchet work. <em>Follow proper protocol? What has that got to do with anything? Unless my new guardian is a rule nut.</em> Another part of Ratchet’s words sunk home, <em>wait, I’m going to be living in the quarters of whoever Optimus has chosen for my guardian ... and Ratchet just said that my guardian is an upstanding and reasonable </em><b><em>mech</em></b><em>. Oh boy.</em> “You said mech.”</p>
<p>Ratchet grunted as he set the datapad down and began working on a dented stasis inducer, “Yes, I did. The only femme currently on base is Chromia and as she is already a guardian Prime felt that is would be unfair to assign you to her. He also held reservations as to whether or not you two would have gotten along.”</p>
<p>Starwish grimaced, <em>yeah, ‘reservations’ on whether or not I’d get along with the woman who shot my brother in the leg? I wonder why.</em> “When is my new guardian arriving?”</p>
<p>Ratchet huffed, “Soon. Soon enough in fact that you should feel no pressing urge to speak to me about him lest he comes through that door and overhears you.” <em>If that isn’t a hint to shut up I don’t know what is.</em></p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” Starwish decided that perhaps reading to pass the time would be better than pestering Ratchet and proceeded to stare down at her hands. First Aid had cheerfully given her a few novels to keep once he’d heard she was being released soon and Starwish was curious to discover what Cybertronian novels were like. It took a seconds of hard concentration before she managed to access her subspace and mentally rummage through it for the datapad containing the novels.</p>
<p>With a final whir of gears and a triumphant cry, she pulled the datapad free and settled back on a nearby berth to read the first novel listed. Soon, her mind was far away, racing through the twisted streets of Venatici City on the hunt for a dangerous criminal in a mystery/adventure novel surprisingly similar to stories written by earth authors such as Timothy Zahn.</p>
<p>She was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t hear the door open, Starwish wasn’t even aware that anyone had arrived in the med-bay until Ratchet spoke and startled her out of her novel, “There you are, Commander. What took you so long? You’re late.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up from her book as a deep baritone voice answered in precise military tones, “I apologize for my untimely arrival, Doctor. There was a complication at the meeting that needed my attention.” She openly stared at the positively towering red and sky blue mech standing straight backed and stern, conversing with Ratchet. <em>Oh you have </em><b><em>got</em></b><em> to be kidding.</em></p>
<p>Ratchet glanced over his shoulder, saw her staring and made a coughing noise to claim her attention, “Starwish, meet your new guardian, Ultra Magnus.”</p>
<p>Starwish had to crane her head back slightly to see his face, <em>and I’m sitting on a high surface. Now I know how chihuahuas feel.</em> Even though she felt more inclined to run away and hide in Hardwire’s room. Starwish forced herself to slide off of the berth and attempt a military posture as she greeted the Elite Guard mech, “Sir. A ... a pleasure to meet you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ultra Magnus looked down at the small white femme Optimus had assigned him to care for and once again felt a wave of hopeless confusion crash through his processors. She was, in his optics, tiny, frail, and obviously intimidated. Her greeting was incredibly hesitant and her attempt at standing at attention was ... admirable if incorrect. He dipped his head politely, “The pleasure is all mine, miss.”</p>
<p>Turning to Ratchet he said, “I believe there are a number of forms that require my signature before Starwish is released into my custody?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded and handed him a datapad, “Just one, actually. Since she is almost of age anyway. Just sign your name at the bottom and we’ll be done here.” Ultra Magnus quickly scanned the release form before signing his name on the provided line, stubbornly fighting the queasy feeling in his tanks as he did so. He knew why Optimus had chosen for him to share his quarters with the young femme, he was responsible, respectable, he had a spare berth room in his quarters. He was the logical choice since Prime himself was too busy.</p>
<p>However, logic did not stop his spark from pulsing nervously as he handed the datapad back to Ratchet and turned to face his slender new charge once more. Doing his best to keep his unease out of his voice, Ultra Magnus said, “If you will gather any personal belongings not in your subspace and follow me please.”</p>
<p>She nodded, “I- yes, sir. I just have to say goodbye to Hardwire.” Turning, she scampered quickly away, her pedes making soft clicking noises on the floor. Ultra Magnus watched her disappear through one of the med-bay doors and inwardly wondered what he had done in life to warrant such a frail looking complication.</p>
<p>Ratchet said quietly, “Permission to offer advice, Commander?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded, “Permission granted, Doctor. You may speak freely.”</p>
<p>Ratchet was keeping his eyes studiously on the datapad as he spoke, “Take it easy on her for the first few metacycles. As I clearly stated in the meeting a few cycles ago, she already has enough problems and trauma in her life without worrying about memorizing every regulation in the Autobot army. She is not a soldier in any way and will most likely not take kindly to being treated as such.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus felt the urge to remind Ratchet that the refugees may not have been part of the army before, but they inevitably were now and should be receiving training as soon as possible. He resisted however, knowing from experience that the mildly unrestrained Doctor would take it as a reprimand and a slight against his medical expertise. Instead he merely stated, “I will take your words under advisement, Doctor.”</p>
<p>Ratchet muttered something unintelligible as he finishing filing the release form and subspaced the datapad. Starwish reemerged from the private wing of the med-bay, First Aid following her and talking cheerfully. Starwish was smiling up that the medic and saying, “Thank you for the blanket, First Aid. Are you sure you won’t need it?”</p>
<p>First Aid shook his head, “Oh, no, it’s fine. We have plenty to spare.” The medical assistant spotted Ultra Magnus and snapped to attention, “Sir.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus made a tiny motion with his hand, “At ease soldier. Starwish, are you ready to depart?”</p>
<p>She nodded and shifted slightly from one pede to the other, “Yes sir, I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stepped aside and motioned for her to go ahead of him, “Then let us go.” Starwish dipped her head submissively and trotted out of the med-bay doors at his side. An uncomfortable silence fell over the two as they strode down the halls towards Ultra Magnus’s quarters, the stares they were getting from passing mechs didn’t help much either. Magnus shot the staring loiterers a hooded look that sent them packing. They knew he was not afraid to put them in the brig for dereliction of duty.</p>
<p>Finally Starwish breached the silence, “Thank you for taking me, sir. You didn’t have too.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus frowned slightly at her words, “I’m afraid you may be under a false impression, Starwish. Your posting with me was not a personal decision on my part. I was assigned the task of your welfare by Optimus Prime.”</p>
<p>She fell silent for a klik or two, “Still, you could have protested I suppose. You’re one of his highest ranking officers, if you had said ‘no thank you’ I’m sure he would have listened.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus could not hide his disapproval, “One does not say ‘no thank you’ when given orders by a superior officer.”</p>
<p>Starwish ducked her head slightly, “Of course, my mistake, sir.” Ultra Magnus looked down at her and felt a twinge in his spark as memories of another femme floated close to the surface.</p>
<p>Trying to be compassionate, he said, “You are not to blame for the oversight. You are new to military protocol and how our army works. You will learn in time.” She glanced up at him, her blue and red optics seeming to search his azure ones for a little bit before lowering to the floor again. The silence returned and this time remained for the rest of the trip.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus tapped in the entry code to the door to his quarters, “This is where you will be staying from now on.” He paused as the door slid open with an obliging hiss and he allowed her inside. “The door code is 6-0-7-3-4-5-1 and there is an emergency override just to the left of the inside panel in case a hacker changes the code to leave you locked inside.”</p>
<p>She was absently nodding at his words while her optics alertly studied his quarters. If she thought them ridiculously bare she didn’t say so. Ultra Magnus continued, laying down the rules systematically and calmly, “Meals are served in the pub or the rec room at 0600 and twelve noon however, snacks are served at all hours. Lights out on this base are at exactly 2200 joors. You are allowed access to these quarters, the rec room, the pub, the washracks, the med-bay, training rooms 1B through 4B, and the observatory unless otherwise stated.”</p>
<p>Starwish had stopped examining the living area of his quarters and was now staring intently at him with a mildly incredulous look on her faceplates. Ultra Magnus fixed her with a stern look, “You are not to go to the bridge, the simulation chambers, any of the other training rooms <b>or </b>any of the mechs quarters unless in an emergency or accompanied by either myself or another high ranking officer. You may come and go as you please within reason but you must return here by 2100 <b>precisely</b>. Am I understood?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked her optics once, twice, and a third time before asking suddenly, “Is your alt mode a helicopter?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus was caught off guard by her completely off topic question, “Uh ... no. My alternate mode is a ground vehicle. I do not have flight capabilities of any kind.” His need to know if she understood all of his rules warred briefly with curiosity over her unexpected question before curiosity temporarily won out, “Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>Her faceplates briefly flushed a light blue and she waved the question away with her servo and a hasty mutter of, “No reason. I was just wondering.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus scowled, if she was wondering about his alternate mode than she almost certainly had not been listening to him. Just to confirm, he asked sharply, “Were you paying attention to the rules and guidelines I just outlined?”</p>
<p>Now it was Starwish’s turn to scowl slightly, “Of course.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus remained unconvinced. He knew from experience with the twins that taking an adolescent bot’s word for anything involving rules or lectures was asking for trouble later, “Repeat them, please.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics nearly rolling into her helm and for a klik he thought she was mocking him. But when her optics actually crossed and she began reciting his rules word for word, down to his own personal speech syntax, he realized with a jolt that her optic motion was a sign of her intense concentration. A rather disturbing sign at that. When she had finished repeating his previous words down to the last letter, he stared at her for almost a breem in disbelief before recovering and nodding shortly, “Very good. I expect those rules to be followed exactly.”</p>
<p>She nodded quietly and Ultra Magnus almost missed the brief flash of resentment in her optics. Almost. He stared her down patiently, “Will that be a problem?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her head, “No, sir. Not unless I get hopelessly lost in this base.” The last sentence was muttered in a low tone that he had to strain to catch.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus calmly retorted, “Do not hesitate to ask for directions if you become unsure of your location.” She jumped a little bit at the realization that he had heard her before meekly mumbling ‘yes sir’. His point made, he led her to a door on the left hand side, “This is your berth room. It is your responsibility to keep it neat and clean from now on.” Pointing to his right he added, “That is the door to my room. You are not to enter it unless in the most dire of emergencies or I give you permission. The kitchen,” he motioned to an open doorway off to the side, “is stocked with mid-grade energon and first aid supplies. Dinner is at 1800 joors.”</p>
<p>Looking down he could tell that the femme was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Feeling sympathetic he added gently, “There are other things that need to be covered. But for this cycle however, I suggest you focus on settling in. You may go.”</p>
<p>Starwish just gave another nod and scampered into her room without a word. Once her door had hissed shut, Ultra Magnus went to the couch, the only piece of furniture in the living area other than a highly polished energon table, and rubbed a servo over his optics. She hadn’t even caused trouble yet and already he was getting a helm ache. Why had Optimus chosen him for this assignment again?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Entropy Squared</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunstreaker struggled not the grind his jaw gears in frustration as the Twin Sons of Unicron, as he had privately dubbed them, ran dangerously close to his paint supplies in an attempt to evade his pit-processored brother. <em>“Sideswipe! Stop running around in here! You’re going to mess up my painting!”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe laughed as he snagged Fast Track and began to tickle the red and grey youngling, <em>“Relax Sunny! We’re just playing!”</em> Sunstreaker watched in nervous disgust as his brother was tackled by a giggling Zipline. <em>Allspark forbid, I’ve got three Sideswipe’s now!</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker frantically grabbed at his easel to keep it from tipping over as Zipline crashed into it after being lightly tossed by Sideswipe. His paint supplies hit the ground with a spray colors and an agonized yell from their owner, “My paint!” The spilled paint spread across the floor, slicking the metal surface and making a complete mess. Zipline, now covered in wet paint, blinked sheepishly up at the infuriated Sunstreaker. The golden mech leapt to his pedes and roared at everyone else in the room, “<b>Enough</b>! Everyone out! <b>Out</b>!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe set Fast Track down and tried to soothe his sibling, “Take it easy Sunny, we’ll help clean up the mess-”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker shook his head vehemently, “No! All three of you are going to get the frag out of here and leave me in peace for a few joors! Take them to the wash racks, the rec room, I don’t care. Just get. Them. Away. From. Me.” Sideswipe opened his mouth to protest and Sunstreaker snarled dangerously, “<b>Now</b>.”</p>
<p>The red twin raised his servos in an appeasing manner before scurrying to help Zipline up and shooing the two younglings out the door with the mutter of, “Come on you two. Let’s leave him alone for awhile.” <em>“Slagging grouch.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker mentally snarled back as he activated a cleaning drone, <em>“Shut up and leave me be, Sideswipe. I’m not in the mood.”</em> Sunstreaker felt his brother retract slightly from their twin bond and slide a privacy wall in place. Only once he was sure Sideswipe wasn’t in audio range and wouldn’t sense him did he throw back his head and roar his frustration at the ceiling. Siting down, Sunstreaker allowed himself to be both enraged and miserable.</p>
<p>It had taken metacycles of bribing and extra chores to find and acquire paint of that quality. He’d planned for almost an orn on what picture he was going to make with that paint, and now, because of Sideswipe and those little glitches Prime had saddled them with, it was gone. Slurped up by the busy little cleaning drone tonelessly humming away at his pedes.</p>
<p>He placed his helm in his servos and focused on trying to rein in his temper. Anger and frustration licked at his spark hungrily, threatening to send him into a rage he only let out during battle. Sunstreaker squeezed his optics shut tightly and vented a few times, trying to calm his mind with a pleasant image. Any image really, as long as it wasn’t of his ruined paint supplies.</p>
<p>He sat on his berth for an unknown amount of time, internally struggling with himself and pointedly ignoring his brother’s apologetic nudges across their bond. Finally, he felt the dangerous red flicker around his optics fade and his logic center regain control of his battle computer, which had come online because of his stress. Sunstreaker opened his optics and sighed, <em>Those mini-cons are probably going to make my life miserable aren’t they?</em></p>
<p>Before he could get angry again, his brother’s nudges became desperate, <em>“Sunny! </em><b><em>Help</em></b><em>!” </em>Sunstreaker was on his pedes and out the door in a nano-klik, skating on his wheels towards where he sensed his brother’s distress coming from.</p>
<p><em>“I’m on my way Sideswipe. What is it?”</em> There were no alarms going off in the base, so it was unlikely that it was a Decepticon attack, but one could never be too sure. Sunstreaker un-subspaced his jagged edge sword as he rounded the corner and shot into ... the wash racks? Sunstreaker slowed to a stop and stared blankly at the scene in front of him, sword dangling loosely in one servo. <em>What the slag?</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe was flailing and struggling on his back, trying to get up and out of the washing pool designed for mechs who needed to soak the grime from their gears instead of take a quick rinse in one of the stalls. Triumphantly thwarting his efforts to climb out were Zipline and Fast Track who, judging by the sizable puddle of cleaning solution and the still spraying shower head not too far away, had apparently discovered that cleaning solution and wheeled pedes did not go well together at all.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker blinked and slowly subspaced his sword, trying to decide whether the entire mess was hilarious or hopelessly sad, <em>“What the pit is going in here?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe slowly began climbing out of the cleaning pool as he explained, <em>“I’m </em><b><em>trying</em></b><em> to wash the paint off of Scraplet head over there but</em>-hey!” ‘Scraplet head’ snickered as he succeeded in pushing Sideswipe back into the pool with a loud splash. Sideswipe emerged from the pool and spat out some of the cleaning solution, <em>“Keeps pushing me in here,”</em> he finished sarcastically. He looked pleadingly at his twin, “Help?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker mentally weighed his options, he could try tackling the smaller twins and likely end up in Sideswipe’s predicament as well, he could leave his twin to his fate, or he could call for backup. He didn’t want to end up in the wash pool looking like an idiot and he knew he would get in serious trouble later if he left Sideswipe to his fate. <em>So that only leaves, ugh, calling for backup.</em></p>
<p>Deciding he wasn’t about to be yelled at by Ratchet for running into youngling problems on the first cycle, Sunstreaker mentally counted the very short list of mechs other than Ratchet who knew anything about youngling care. <em>Ironhide’s never going to let me live this down. </em>::Sunstreaker to Ironhide::</p>
<p>There was a brief pause, ::What is it Sunstreaker? I’m giving Bumblebee a weapons lesson.::</p>
<p>Sunstreaker mentally huffed, like the old grouch thought he <b>wanted</b> to call him? ::You can go back to that in a klik, I just need a quick tip on how to get younglings to submit to a shower.::</p>
<p>There was a much longer pause this time and Sunstreaker strongly suspected that Ironhide was laughing his after-plating off. When Ironhide finally answered, Sunstreaker could hear a tell-tale chuckle in his voice, ::Make a mess already did they? What did they get into?::</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glared at the two younglings, who were too busy thwarting Sideswipe’s attempts to escape the pool to notice him standing in the doorway. ::My paint supplies. It’s soluble enough to wash off, but my genius twin has managed to get trapped in the cleaning pool and is currently too busy making a fool of himself to do the job himself.::</p>
<p>Another silence that Sunstreaker was sure was filled with laughter stretched on before Ironhide replied, ::You’ll never get them under a shower head until you remove their maneuverability advantage. Shove them into the pool with your twin and then catch them by the ankle. Careful you don’t hit their helms on the floor. When you hold them upside down, the motion should reset their short-term priority matrix.:: There was a half-klik pause, ::You know what? Just wait there, I need to take Bumblebee to the wash racks anyway. I’ll show you how its done. Just make sure they don’t get out of the wash racks.::</p>
<p>Sunstreaker smirked as Sideswipe finally managed to climb out of the pool, only to slip on a puddle and fall back in with a wave of cleaning solution, ::Don’t worry. The little pit-spawns are too busy with Sides to escape.:: Sunstreaker leaned against the door frame and watched the chaos idly as he waited for Ironhide and Bumblebee to arrive.</p>
<p>Sideswipe temporarily gave up trying to escape the, now half emptied, pool in order to glare at his brother, “Aren’t you going to help me?”</p>
<p>The two mischief makers stopped running gleefully around the edge of the pool to look at Sunstreaker nervously. Sunstreaker snorted, “Nope. You’re on your own, Sides.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe sputtered, “But, but, Sunny!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker deadpanned, “Don’t ‘Sunny’ me. You were the one who got us into this entire caretaker slag, you can deal with this problem on your own.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe whined unhappily and sent wounded feelings over their bond. Sunstreaker just raised an optic ridge, unimpressed. Zipline and Fast Track, who had watched the entire scene, glanced at each other, “I do li hi. Sho’ w’ tea’ hi’ a less’?”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded sagely, “O co.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged glances, Sideswipe asked timidly over their bond, <em>“Are they speaking jibber or is that just me?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker eyed them uneasily, the two younglings were giving him a very creepy look, <em>“No, they’re speaking jibber all right. It’s what that jibber means that concerns me.”</em> He soon found out. With twin war cries, Zip and Track lunged at his pedes, aiming to knock him over. Reacting on instinct, Sunstreaker leaped over their helms, twisting in the air to land facing his attackers.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Sunstreaker’s instinctive motion set him directly in the middle of the growing puddle of cleaning solution on the ultra smooth floor of the mechs’ wash racks. Sunstreaker’s optics widened and his yelped in surprise as his wheels slid uncontrollablyand he fell over into the cleaning pool with a loud splash. As he surfaced, sputtering indignantly, Sideswipe grinned at him smugly, “Hi Sunny, nice of you to join in.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glared first at Sideswipe, then at the two laughing younglings just out of reach, “You two are going to pay for that.” He hissed menacingly.</p>
<p>Zipline shrugged, “Maybe. If you ever get out of that pool!”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded in agreement with his green twin, “Yeah, so what’re you gonna do now?”</p>
<p>Thumping steps behind the younglings made them jump slightly and look around in surprise. Ironhide towered over them a stern look on his face, “Boo.” With yelps of fright, Zipline and Fast Track attempted to make a quick getaway. They were thwarted by Ironhide’s surprisingly fast reflexes and large servos, “Gotcha!” With a swift sweep of his arms, he grabbed them by an ankle each and lifted the younglings high into the air upside down.</p>
<p>All thoughts of mischief undoubtedly left their minds as the two struggled wildly to escape his grip, “Hey, let us go! No fair!”</p>
<p>Ironhide chuckled, a deep and rolling sound that seemed to come right from his spark chamber as he calmly ambled over to the running shower and held the still paint covered Zipline directly underneath it, “and that, you two, is how you catch trouble making mechlings. Now get your actuators out of that pool, I’m here to wash myself and Bee, not your younglings.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe climbed ruefully out of the pool, trying their best to ignore the snickering Bumblebee in the corner. Sunstreaker rolled carefully over to Ironhide and snatched Fast Track from him, holding the protesting mechling firmly by the back of his neck plating, “Whatever.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe wheeled less carefully over to Ironhide, nearly crashing into the big mech as a result, and snatched Zipline, “It’s payback time, mechling! Death by scrubbing!” Sunstreaker rolled his optics at his brother as he stepped into a nearby stall and started roughly scrubbing Fast Track’s body. The squirming youngling in his arms probably didn’t <b>need</b> a bath. But after all of the trouble he and his sibling had caused, Sunstreaker figured he deserved one by default.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ironhide was still chuckling as he looked around at the huge mess caused by twins times two on his way to an unoccupied shower stall. Stripping off his armor pieces and turning on the cleaning solution, he called cheerfully, “You’re going to need to remove his armor if you want to get all of that paint off, Sideswipe. Hey Bumblebee, doing okay over there youngling?”</p>
<p>The yellow adolescent waved cheerfully from where he was already scrubbing off grime collected from hard training with his guardian, “I’m fine, Ironhide!” He paused, his door-wings flicking upwards in pleasure under the flow of warming cleaning solvent, “But they might need help.” Bumblebee motioned towards Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who were currently trying to wrestle mini versions of themselves into submission so that they could remove the protective armor of the younglings and clean the protoform beneath.</p>
<p>Ironhide grinned smugly and discreetly took several still photos of the comical struggle for later use, “Ah, they can handle it. Can’t you mechs?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker growled and started swearing in frustration as Fast Track wiggled free from his grasp and shot off like a half armored rocket for the door. Ironhide started to yell at Sunstreaker for swearing around younglings when the door to the wash racks slid open and Fast Track smacked helm first into someone’s leg. That someone turned out to be Optimus Prime. Silence fell.</p>
<p>As Optimus took in the chaotic scene that was the wash room, Ironhide could tell that his old friend was trying his best not to laugh out loud. Sunstreaker, taking advantage of Fast Track’s forced halt, darted forward and snatched him, “Come here ... you!”</p>
<p><em>Knows better than to swear in front of younglings when Prime’s in audio range.</em> Optimus’s voice held a hint of amusement as he asked, “May I enquire as to what is going on in here?”</p>
<p>Zipline wailed piteously from where Sideswipe maintained a strong grip on him, “They’re trying to make us wash!”</p>
<p>Prime raised his optic ridges slightly, “What is wrong with that? Do you not wish to be clean?”</p>
<p>Fast Track was actually trying to <b>bite</b> Sunstreaker’s armor as he answered, “No! Wanna go play!”</p>
<p>Ironhide contacted Optimus on a private channel, ::Just missed it Prime. The scraplets were making fools out of the twins. Had them trapped in the washing pool and kept tipping them over when they tried to get back out.::</p>
<p>Optimus’s faceplates twitched and his battle mask abruptly slid into place, a sure sign that he was smiling in a most un-Prime like way, “An Autobot must always keep his equipment and himself clean when on base.”</p>
<p>Zipline snorted and head-butted Sideswipe, “Wash after we play! Wanna play now!”</p>
<p>Optimus looked calmly at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, “I can see that you have your servos full, I will return once you are done.” Without paying heed to the frantic protests from both sets of twins, Optimus strode out of the wash racks, the door hissing shut behind him. Ironhide calmly resumed scrubbing himself clean of the afternoon’s grime, mostly tuning out the wet struggle of epic proportions going on between the newest younglings on base and their caretakers.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s voice came hesitantly over the com, ::Ironhide?::</p>
<p>Ironhide glanced up and over at where his adolescent charge was, ::Yeah, Bee? What’s the matter?::</p>
<p>Bumblebee was shifting his gaze from Ironhide to the washing pool Sideswipe had just slipped and fallen into, again, ::Was I like that at bath time? When I was their age I mean.::</p>
<p>Ironhide gave Bumblebee a reassuring smile, ::Nah, young one. You were much better behaved. See, Sunny and Sides are trying to force those two into showering like mechs, the younglings want to play instead. So, you get a brawl between playtime and shower time. The trick those two are going to have to learn is that the only way to make a youngling behave in here, is to make playtime, shower time. That’s why Chromia and I always washed you in the pool.::</p>
<p>Bumblebee watched Sunstreaker slip and fall into said pool with his brother while chasing Fast Track and made a tiny ‘o’ shape with his mouth, ::I guess that makes sense. But, I’m kind of worried that someone will get hurt. Shouldn’t you tell Sunny and Sides that trick you just told me?::</p>
<p>Ironhide shook his head and grinned maliciously, ::And let them have an easy time of it? No way! Besides, they wouldn’t listen to me anyway.:: Ironhide, having finished his wash, turned off the shower head, toweled himself dry and clicked his armor back into place. Ambling around the ever growing puddle, he grabbed a towel off the rack and helped Bumblebee dry his wings. <em>Red Alert is going to glitch if he sees this mess, Prowl too most likely.</em></p>
<p>Thumbing over his shoulder at the exit, he used the internal com so as to be heard over the yelling, splashing, and shrieking, ::Let’s get out of here before we get dragged into that pile of scraplets.:: Bumblebee nodded enthusiastically, alternately amused and scared by the display of raw will power versus youthful energy.</p>
<p>Ironhide let Bumblebee escape first, only looking back to take one more short video of two un-armored younglings climbing like cyber-monkeys on a pair of completely soaking Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, before chuckling and evacuating the wet war zone. <em>They’re going to be exhausted by the time they wrestle those two into submission or give up. Whichever comes first. But still,</em> ::Ironhide to Chromia, I’m sending you a vid recording of something you’re going to want to see.::</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Natural Fulcrum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish looked up from arranging her new room when a knock sounded on the door, “Come in.” The door slid open to reveal Ultra Magnus’s towering form. Starwish hastily stood to her feet and brushed invisible dust flecks off of her legs before standing straight, “Yes, sir?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus had a faint scowl on his face and Starwish wondered if she’d done something wrong, “The twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have contacted me on the com. They request your aid in calming down your younger brothers. Are you available to give assistance?”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled to herself as she checked her internal clock and did a quick calculation, “Wow. They lasted longer than I thought they would. Uh, yes sir, I’m available. But I’m going to need someone to show me the way ... sir.” She really wasn’t sure how many ‘sirs’ needed to be inserted into a conversation when speaking to Ultra Magnus, or where in the sentence they went, but she wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge as Starwish stepped out of her room and he began escorting her out the door and down the hall, “You anticipated that they would run into ... difficulties with your siblings?”</p>
<p>Starwish tried her best but failed to prevent her smile from growing even bigger, “I’ve lived with them since they were sparklings, sir, and one of the many things I’ve learned about them is that if they’re under the care of a stranger, they will intentionally make that stranger’s life the Pit.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s voice sounded mildly sharp, “You are to refrain from using foul language while under my care.” Starwish looked up at him, shocked, she hadn’t realized that ‘pit’ was a swear word in Cybertronian.</p>
<p>Trying to recover from the mistake, she dipped her head apologetically, “Of course, sir. My apologies.” <em>How was I supposed to know it was a swear word? I need a dictionary.</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s deep voice cut through her thoughts, “The twins stated that they had already attempted to contact you on the com, but you did not answer.” While his tone was not accusing, it did require an answer.</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged helplessly and felt heat creep up her face again, “I ... I wouldn’t know, sir. I...” she paused and took a breath in and out to calm down, this was horribly embarrassing, “I only have a vague idea of what that even is, honestly.” <em>Let alone how to use it. It isn’t like I’ve got an internal switchboard or anything.</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus came to a sharp halt and Starwish turned and craned her head back to look shyly at his face. His expression was somewhere between, horrified, disbelieving, and dumbfounded, “Are you quite serious?” He finally asked.</p>
<p>Starwish ducked her head and nodded, unable to raise her voice above a humiliated whisper, she had the distinct feeling that everyone on Cybertron knew how to use a ‘com’ except her, “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>There was a long pause during which Starwish was afraid to move from her spot in the middle of the hall even as strange, and very large, mechs passed on either side with curious looks on their faces. Finally, Ultra Magnus said, “Well, I will have to instruct you in its use later then. For now, we will continue to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s quarters.” Starwish mumbled a meek, ‘yes sir’ and resumed following him, her smaller legs having to trot to keep up with his long strides.</p>
<p>Starwish could tell when they were getting close to Zip and Track’s location because of the muffled yells and shrieks. <em>I wonder if they’ve succeeded in climbing the walls yet. Oh well, depending on how long they’ve been at it, I might be able to lull them to sleep with a song. Wouldn’t that just be convenient?</em> They came to a stop in front of a door that had a small crowd of curious mechs listening to the absolute chaos within.</p>
<p>One stern glance from Ultra Magnus sent the loiterers scattering, leaving the door clear for the huge red and blue mech to knock authoritatively on it. The chaos inside didn’t stop and Starwish suspected that it had overridden the sound of Magnus’s knock. Ultra Magnus narrowed his eyes at the door and a moment later it swept open to reveal a frazzled looking Sunstreaker. The golden mech spotted Starwish and his eye lit up with hope, “You’re here. Hurry and come in!”</p>
<p>He darted back inside and Starwish started to follow him when Ultra Magnus settled a large metal hand on her shoulder, “I have other duties to attend too. If you need assistance, shout for Ratchet or Jazz.”</p>
<p>She nodded, “Thank you, sir.” Ultra Magnus just gave an absentminded tip of his head before striding off, looking mildly displeased the entire way. Starwish took a settling breath and released it before stepping through the unlocked door and into the mad house. The noises she had heard outside only lent credit to about half of the catastrophe going on within. Zipline and Fast Track were bouncing around without any armor on whatsoever, their newly acquired gears and wires exposed for all to see as they artfully evaded the two flustered mechs assigned to care for them.</p>
<p>Starwish placed her hands on her hips and watched for a few seconds. Sideswipe finally managed to collar Zipline while Sunstreaker wrestled Fast Track out from under the berth. <em>They’re tired all right.</em> Anyone else wouldn’t have been able to tell, but Starwish could spot the faint telltale twitches in their frames that indicated just how tired they were. Starwish decided to end the monkey house before things got any worse. Knowing that shouting would do no good and screaming would only aggravate the situation, Starwish settled for the next best thing, she whistled.</p>
<p>The shrill note pierced the air like a knife, causing a surprised silence to fall over the four brave, or just plain stubborn, battlers. Starwish glowered at her brothers, “What are you two doing?”</p>
<p>Zipline started to say something but Starwish cut him off, “No! I know what you were doing and you are going to stop right now mechlings. Or else.”</p>
<p>Fast Track, from his position of hanging upside down in Sunstreaker’s arms asked timidly, “Or else what?”</p>
<p>Starwish thought fast, “Or else I’m taking Soundwave and Prowl away for as long as your glitchy attitudes last.” The horrified expressions on their faces told her that her threat had hit home.</p>
<p>Fast Track’s optics became wide and pleading, “Please don’t Star! Please don’t!”</p>
<p>Starwish walked over and gently took Fast Track from a baffled Sunstreaker’s arms and set him on the ground with a tiny grunt of exertion, “Then put your armor back on and go sit quietly on the berth over there.” Zipline and Fast Track became completely meek and almost teary eyed as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker helped them put their armor on and place them on the indicated berth.</p>
<p>Once they were huddled together on the berth, protectively clutching the threatened plushies, Starwish sat down on the edge of the metal slab and gently petted the ridges on their heads, “Shh, shh, it’s okay now. I won’t take Soundwave and Prowl as long as you behave, I promise. Now, how about a story?”</p>
<p>Both boys perked up happily, “Yeah! Story! Story!”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled, “Okay, any requests?”</p>
<p>Zipline cocked his head to one side, “An epic adventure!”</p>
<p><em>Oh, yeah, that’s specific.</em> “Very well then. Once upon a time there was brave young mech who traveled the land looking for adventure...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sunstreaker sat quietly in a corner, listening to Starwish spin a fantastic tale of a young mech trying to hunt down a Predacon as he secretly sketched her on a datapad specially designed for artistic designing. <em>Her lines, her form, they’re so perfect. Whoever built her frame had exquisite taste. </em>With practiced servos, he administered a touch of shading to the developing picture before glancing up to check on his details.</p>
<p>Starwish was sitting on the end of the berth, her body half turned away from him so that she was facing her brothers, one servo extended and held flat against the berth as a balance point, the other laying in her lap. Her optics shone softly with pleasure at spinning an exciting tale for her siblings. <em>Slaggers, I’ll bet they act like mini heralds of Primus as long as she’s around. Oh, well. At least I have her in a perfect pose to draw.</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe interrupted his drawing by plonking his helm onto Sunstreaker’s shoulder and sending him a wave of relief through their bond, <em>“Pit am I glad that’s over with. I don’t know how much longer I could have gone before glitching.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker jiggled his shoulder slightly, sending a wave of irritated agreement back to his brother, <em>“It isn’t over scrap helm, once she’s done telling that story, she’ll leave and we’ll have to deal with the two spawns of Unicron over there all over again. Now get off my shoulder, you’re throwing off my aim.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe reluctantly straightened up, <em>“Way to dump coolant on my pleasure Sunny. Hey, are those two falling into recharge?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker glanced up from his datapad and tilted his head to one side so that he could get a better look at Zipline and Fast Track. It was true, the mini-twins were curling tighter together, Zipline’s helm resting on Fast Tracks while the latter snuggled against his sibling’s chest plate. <em>Well coat my brother with axle grease and call him a medic. They really are falling into recharge.</em></p>
<p>Knowing that if her audience fell into recharge, Sunstreaker would lose his art subject, he returned to his project with urgent fervor. Just as he finished applying red to the optic in his picture, Starwish’s voice trailed off. Her brothers had finally fallen asleep. She smiled indulgently at the sleeping twins and gently planted a kiss on each of their helms before starting to slide off the berth. Sunstreaker made a tiny noise of despair and she looked up at him in surprise.</p>
<p>Her optics glanced from Sunstreaker to his datapad and back before blushing softly. Sunstreaker kept his face studiously blank, trying not to show how displeased he was at the thought of her leaving before he was finished. Starwish whispered softly, “Were you ... sketching me?” She didn’t sound insulted, just curious.</p>
<p>Sideswipe risked a smack to the helm as he glibly whispered back, “You bet he was! He was just starting to draw in your legs-” There was a faint smack noise and a hiss of pained surprise as Sunstreaker cuffed his twin on the helm.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker muttered darkly, “It’s nothing. Just a hobby.”</p>
<p>Starwish seemed to be thinking something over, finally she smiled at Sunstreaker and, much to his surprise slid back into her previous position, “I’m honored. If you like, I’ll do my best to hold still while you finish.” Sunstreaker blinked at her unexpected act of kindness before nodding in satisfaction and returning to his work.</p>
<p>He bent his head slightly over the datapad to hide the pleased smile that briefly flashed over his faceplates, none of the femmes or mechs on base really had the patience to willingly pose for his art. Usually, he had to do it in secret when they were busy recharging or engaged in an activity that held them mostly still. Or force them to hold still by calling on a favor, which everyone knew was the only reason Sunstreaker willingly helped someone other than his twin. While the action was merely a thoughtful act, Starwish’s voluntary choice to let him sketch her for later painting raised his respect for her a notch.</p>
<p>A flood of giddy pleasure surged from Sideswipe’s end of the bond, nearly causing Sunstreaker to make a mistake in his sketch. He send an irritated burst to Sideswipe to let him know to hold still. Sideswipe sent back a wordless wave of emotion excitedly and Sunstreaker had to resist the urge to yelp in surprise. Pausing in his careful drawing, Sunstreaker hissed over their bond, <em>“You feel a </em><b><em>what</em></b><em> with her?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sent back, <em>“A spark call! I’m sure of it! She’s the femme for me Sunny, she is going to be my sparkmate someday! I just know it!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker looked up from his datapad and glared at Sideswipe, <em>“Doubt it. For one thing, Magnus is her guardian and he wouldn’t let you within five hundred quadrants of her if he knew you wanted to court her. Two, she is still underage. Three, you can’t possibly feel a spark call with her because we are two parts of the same spark and I don’t feel anything.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe gave him a condescending glance before returning his gaze to the patiently motionless Starwish, <em>“You’re just to busy looking at her from an artist’s point of view. Look at her from a </em><b><em>mech’s</em></b><em> and I’m sure you’ll feel it.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker rolled his optics and resumed sketching, <em>“Whatever lover-mechling. Just don’t embarrass or distract me.”</em> The next ten breems passed in blessed silence from both the outside world and Sunstreaker’s twin bond. However, a faint noise he’d never heard before caused him to look up sharply.</p>
<p>It was Starwish, she was still in the pose he wanted but she was making some kind of groaning noise that rose and fell in a certain sequence. Fearing something was wrong with his ‘muse’, Sunstreaker asked in a whisper, “Hey, are you all right?”</p>
<p>She jumped slightly and glanced his way as she whispered, “Hmm? Yes, I’m fine. Why, did I do something wrong?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe got up and rolled over to the berth, “You were groaning a lot. You aren’t getting a virus are you? I could carry you to Ratchet...”</p>
<p>His not so subtle statement caused the white femme to blush, “No, no, I’m fine. I was just <em>humming</em>.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker eyed her curiously at the use of a clearly non-Cybertronian word, “What does that mean?”</p>
<p>Starwish appeared to be caught off guard by his question, “<em>Humming</em>? It’s well ... it is when a mech or femme uses their voice to mimic the sequence and pattern of a song they like when they are concentrating on doing something else. There are no words, just mimicking the sound of the notes. I’m sorry if it startled you, I was just doing it to help stay still.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker had, frankly, never heard of <em>humming</em>. But, if it would help her stay perfectly still ... “It’s fine, I just wanted to know what it was. You can keep doing it if it helps.” She nodded her thanks and timidly resumed humming. At first, the soft noise unnerved Sunstreaker, he had never heard another Cybertronian do it, so he found it mildly distracting. But as time went on, he grew acclimated to the noise and it became an almost pleasant background sound. Starwish certainly had a nice vocalizer, perfect for mimicking the soft collection of notes.</p>
<p>He counted himself lucky that Zipline and Fast Track remained blissfully unaware of the entire operation, still being trapped in a deep recharge after their hyper activities. Finally, he shaded in the last piece of his sketch and inspected it critically against the live model. <em>Perfect.</em> “All right. I’m finished.”</p>
<p>Starwish stopped humming and looked up, she seemed surprised that they were finally finished, “May ... may I see?” Sunstreaker calmly stood up as Starwish slid off of the berth and trotted over to him to look at his drawing. Sunstreaker held the datapad down to her eye level and felt a flash of satisfaction when her optics widened in awe, “Wow, Sunstreaker ... just ... wow. It’s amazing...”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker smirked, “Naturally, I’m an expert. You’re not too bad of a model, either.” Starwish blushed, her faceplates shading to a light blue at his slightly backhanded praise.</p>
<p>Sideswipe sidled over to her and slid an arm around her waist with a winning smile, “Don’t listen to him. His doodle would be nothing without you, the perfect model.” Sunstreaker audibly growled at his brother’s blatant insulting of him and flirting with Starwish.</p>
<p>Starwish jerked away from Sideswipe like he was a scraplet horde trying to eat her, her faceplates turning an even deeper shade of blue as she stammered out, “Um, I should be ... be going. When Zip and Track wake up, they’re going to want something to eat and a game to play. Uh ... a racing game should ... should keep them occupied for a while ... I ... I-have-to-go-bye!” She darted out of the door before Sideswipe could touch her again, leaving Sunstreaker to glare silently at his brother and plan <b>major</b> retribution.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Roommates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwire took another careful step forward, probing the ground slightly with his foot, testing to see if his right leg would continue to support his weight. A faint ache was the only repercussion of his tentative step. He looked up hopefully at Ratchet, who was watching his walk around the room with a practiced optic, “Well?”</p>
<p>Ratchet hummed thoughtfully, “Your leg strut appears to be fully recuperated, all that it needs now is to be reconditioned to bearing your full weight.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave him a tiny smile, “So...?”</p>
<p>Ratchet rolled his optics and offered Hardwire a datapad, “You can be safely released from the med-bay. Sign here.” Hardwire signed on the line indicated by Ratchet, trying his best not to look <b>too</b> eager to leave the medic’s care. After all, Ratchet and First Aid had treated him with compassion that he hadn’t expected because of his red optics and the Decepticon symbol that Ratchet had kindly buffed out of existence his fifth day in the bay.</p>
<p>Ratchet took the datapad back from Hardwire with a faint smile at the younger mech’s enthusiasm, “You will need to return here at the end of every metacycle for a checkup to make sure there are no new cracks forming in the strut. And take it easy on that leg! I don’t want it breaking again because you got overcharged and decided to do something stupid.”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded, “All right...” He hesitated, wondering what to do with himself now. Up until that point, he’d been focusing on healing his leg and <b>not</b> dying from the boredom of not being allowed to move. Luckily, Cybertronian’s recovered from broken or shot limbs far faster than humans did and now, after the Cybertronian equivalent of four weeks, he was finally free to go were he wanted within reason and he had no idea where to go.</p>
<p>Ratchet gave him a sympathetic look, “I have contacted the mech who is to be your new roommate. He should be here any breem and I’m sure he will be more than happy to show you around the base.”</p>
<p>Hardwire dipped his head, “Thank you Ratchet. For everything.” Ratchet gave a dismissing huff and a shrug as if it didn’t matter, but Hardwire suspected that the gruff medic was touched by his thanks.</p>
<p>The door to the med-bay slid open at that moment, drawing the human-turned-Cybertronian’s attention to the large, green mech ambling through the entrance to the bay. <em>No way...</em> The mech spotted Hardwire and looked startled. He surprise was quickly replaced by a cautious greeting, “Uh, hi there, name’s Bulkhead.”</p>
<p>Hardwire stepped forward, aware of his slight limp, and held out a hand in greeting, “Hardwire. So ... am I going to be your new roommate?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked up briefly from the tool he was fiddling with, “Yes, you are and yes, he is. Now why don’t you two get to know each other over a cube of energon in the pub?”</p>
<p>Hardwire grinned, “If I didn’t know any better Ratchet, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”</p>
<p>Ratchet retorted, “Well, you don’t know better, now out. I have equipment to check.”</p>
<p>First Aid waved a silent goodbye as Hardwire and Bulkhead left the med-bay and set off down the hall. Bulkhead made a slight rumbling noise that Hardwire had learned was a sign of nervousness among Transformers, “So, uh, want to take the doctor’s suggestion? I’ll have Buffer make somethin’ up for you.”</p>
<p>Hardwire decided that if a famous character like Bulkhead was willing to try and make friends with him, he would try his utmost to return the favor, “Sounds great, lead the way.” They set off down the hall, Hardwire receiving many, <b>many</b> looks from the mechs passing them on various business. Quite a few of the looks were hard and suspicious, but Hardwire made a point to just nod politely no matter what the expression on the passing mech.</p>
<p>A random thought popped into Hardwire’s head, “Not that I’m complaining but ... why hasn’t anyone shot at me yet?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead glanced from Hardwire to the busy activity around them, “Oh, Optimus Prime made an announcement a few cycles ago, telling everyone about you and the other refugees. We’re all under the strictest orders not to harm you unless you attack us first.” <em>Nice, I’m on probation then. Better than being locked up in a prison or shot because of a misunderstanding though.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire gave an uneasy smile, “Well, that was thoughtful of him.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead nodded enthusiastically, “Prime is the real deal. A real leader, a real mech.”</p>
<p>Briefly thinking on all of the things Hardwire had seen Optimus Prime do on the various TV shows and movies, he thought, <em>You have no idea.</em> “How did you end up under his command?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead said, “I transferred. Used to be a Wrecker, but once I saw Prime in action, I knew I wanted to be on his team.” The green wrecker seemed to be contemplating something for a moment before asking, “I was builder before the war. What was your function?”</p>
<p>Hardwire thought quickly. The truth was better than lying, naturally, but he had to be careful he didn’t say something that wouldn’t add up, “I wasn’t online before the war. I mostly jumped from job to job when I got old enough … I recently served as a night guard at a factory though. Boring as watching paint dry, let me tell you.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead laughed, a deep booming sound, “Nothing worth stealing?”</p>
<p>Hardwire eyed Bulkhead dryly, “Not unless someone decided to conquer the world with cans of paint. I was serious about my job being more boring than paint drying, found out from experience.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead laughed again and slapped Hardwire on the shoulder heartily, “Well, you’re in one of the most exciting parts of Cybertron now, Wire.” <em>Wire?</em></p>
<p>“Did you just give me a nickname?” Hardwire asked curiously.</p>
<p>Bulkhead looked suddenly taken aback, “Uh, yeah, why? Don’t you like it?”</p>
<p>Hardwire was quick to assure his new roommate, “No, no, the nickname is great. I was just surprised is all.” Bulkhead smiled, pleased that he was getting along with his red opticed roommate already.</p>
<p>Hardwire followed Bulkhead through a door and paused nervously when Bulkhead declared for the entire room to hear, “This the pub. Hey Buffer! A cube for Hardwire here!” <em>Way to draw everyone’s attention to me, Bulkhead.</em> Hardwire started to hunch his shoulders shyly when a delighted squeal rang out across the room and he was tackled by a flying blur of white color.</p>
<p>Hardwire staggered back a step with a ‘Woof!’ noise as the white blur turned into a hugging Starwish, “Hardwire! You got released! Ratchet didn’t tell me you were going to be released today!”</p>
<p>Hardwire laughed and couldn’t resist hugging her back, ignoring the surprised looks he and his sister were getting from everyone else in the room, “Hello to you too, Star! Ah, I missed you when you weren’t visiting!” He set her down and grinned at her beaming face, “Don’t blame Ratchet for the surprise, he wasn’t planning on releasing me until next cycle, but I managed to coax him into freeing me early.”</p>
<p>Starwish was smiling angelically, “Come have lunch with me and Jazz! Did you know there are over thirty-two types of Cybertronian music? Jazz has data sticks from every single genre! One of them sounds like-“ She suddenly noticed Bulkhead standing there looking baffled and slightly shy and froze. With a tiny squeak, she hid behind Hardwire, her face turning blue with embarrassment at chattering so glibly in front of a famous Autobot she hadn’t been introduced to yet. “Um, hi.” She whispered softly at Bulkhead.</p>
<p>Hardwire carefully nudged Starwish into view and said formally, “Starwish, this is my new roommate Bulkhead. Bulkhead, meet my little sister Starwish, best dancer and singer in the known galaxy.”</p>
<p>Hearing him add praise to his introduction, Starwish huddled behind him again with a hiss of, “Hardwire, don’t!”</p>
<p>Hardwire just rolled his eyes, “Don’t do what? Brag about you? Have a little bit more confidence, Star.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead carefully interrupted before an argumentcould form between the two, “Hi, it’s, uh, nice to meet you, Starwish.”</p>
<p>Starwish eyed him timidly, a healthy dose of respect showing in her eyes, “Hello.”</p>
<p>Hardwire resisted the urge to sigh, he knew the best way for her to warm up to someone would be to just act normal around Bulkhead and wait for her to join the conversation, “So, Bulkhead, what energon would you suggest?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead glanced at Hardwire for a second before remembering why they had come and leading him over to the bar, taking a random seat and motioning for Hardwire to sit next to him, “I’d go with a cube of high-grade … but seeing as you just got out of the med-bay, that probably isn’t the best idea.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave Bulkhead a long humorless look, “Ya think? Ratchet would have my helm on a silver tray if I got drunk my first day out of his sight. He strictly said no high-grade for a few metacycles anyway. Something about my systems still needing to fully adjust to mid-grade.” He missed the surprised look Bulkhead threw his way as the mech behind the counter, Buffer he assumed, ambled over with two cubes of energon for them.</p>
<p>Buffer set a cube down in front of Hardwire and smiled in a friendly manner, “Hey, you’re one of the refugees Jazz brought in aren’t you?” Hardwire nodded as he sipped on the proffered cube. Buffer seemed to study him for a moment, his smile still in place, “Well, let me be one of the first to welcome you to Algol Central.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s head jerk up in surprise, “Where?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead repeated what Buffer had just said, “Algol Central, that’s what we call the base. Cause it’s the center of all Autobot operations in the western half of the planet.” Hardwire mulled over this for a minute. It made sense, though he hadn’t been expecting to be in some ‘major’ base.</p>
<p>A question popped into his head, “So, where were Starwish and I found?”</p>
<p>A new voice answered his question, “Out by tha ruins of a neutral settlement called Nebuli Vix.” Hardwire turned in his seat and found himself looking down into the visor of Jazz. The small silver mech hopped onto a bar stool next to Hardwire and made a small beckoning motion to Buffer with one claw like finger, “So Ratch let yah out early, eh? Must a been a real pain in his after-plating for thah ta happen.”</p>
<p>Hardwire half-smiled ruefully as he sipped on his energon, mentally praising the heavenly taste of his lunch, “I tried not to be. But I never was one for lying around quietly when there was other things I could be doing.”</p>
<p>Buffer slid a cube across the counter to Jazz, who caught it easily as he asked, “Yea? Like what?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, “No idea. But almost anything is better than lying on a berth for four metacycles straight with nothing to do but read.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead chortled, “I hear yah there. Can’t stand it when I have nothing do. Say, how about a game of Lob after lunch? Exercise that leg of yours?” Hardwire didn’t really know what kind of game ‘Lob’ was, but figured if it became too rough on his leg, he could always back out.</p>
<p>He cocked his head to one side contemplatively, “Sure, why not? You’ll have to teach me the rules though.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead half-laughed incredulously, “You don’t know the rules to Lob? Everyone knows that game!”</p>
<p>Hardwire searched his memory, he dimly remembered an episode in which Bulkhead and Wheeljack, or had that been his impostor? Had taken turns throwing a metal ball at each other as hard as they could while Arcee told Jack something about it being a warrior-class game. “A little sister and two twin mechling brothers are not exactly conducive to those kinds of games, Bulkhead.”</p>
<p>Starwish piped up curiously, “Isn’t that the one where you throw a ball at someone’s helm as if you intend to knock it off?” Jazz started to laugh in the middle of drinking his energon and choked a little bit as some energon got in his intakes.</p>
<p>Buffer grinned from where he was polishing an energon glass, “I guess it would look that way from a femme’s perspective wouldn’t it? Nice call Starwish.”</p>
<p>She dipped her head, “Thank you, Buffer. Jazz, are you all right?” Jazz finished coughing and waved a hand to signal that he was fine. Starwish’s mouth twitched and Hardwire knew she was fighting a smile, “I need to remember not to say things like that when others are drinking.”</p>
<p>Hardwire raised his cube in a salute and intentionally quoted one of her favorite movies from earth, “I believe you’ve just had an apostrophe.”</p>
<p>Starwish grinned, recognizing the quote and retorted with the traditional reply, “I think you mean an epiphany.” They both chuckled, remembering the fun times they had had with that movie, completely oblivious to the strange looks they were getting from Jazz and Bulkhead.</p>
<p>The four talked for a while, slowly growing more friendly and comfortable in each other’s presence. Just as Bulkhead was regaling them with a story about his Wrecker adventures, Starwish’s eyes flicked up and left suddenly and she squeaked, “Oh! Sorry to cut and run but I need to go or I’ll be late! Bye Hardwire, bye Jazz, it was nice meeting you Bulkhead. Bye!” She darted out the door before anyone could say a word.</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked a few times, “Any idea what that was all about?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “She’s got lessons with Ironhide on self defense and weapons. He was already teachin’ anotha' younglin’ on base so he figured he’d make it a class. He’ll probably let yah join in if yah need it.”</p>
<p>Hardwire wrestled within himself briefly, his logical side immediately wanted to go attend the training session, but he had just agreed to go play ‘Lob’ after lunch with Bulkhead. The last thing he wanted was to brush off the ex-Wrecker’s attempt to be friendly, but on the other hand he was a human turned into a robot who’s race was currently embroiled in a civil war. It was also worth noting that he while he had excelled in gym training at school, if he got into a fight he knew that he would have about as much chance of surviving as a soap bubble in a hurricane of needles.</p>
<p>He glared at his energon cube, trying to figure out how to tactfully bale out of playing with Bulkhead in a way that wouldn’t make him look unreliable or selfish. To his surprise, Bulkhead suddenly patted him on the shoulder, “Ah, stop glaring at the cube and finish it already. I’ll take you down to the training rooms.”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked at Bulkhead searchingly, “Are you sure? I mean, I did agree to play Lob with you…”</p>
<p>Bulkhead gave him a very serious look, “If you think you need more training, then more training it is. What kind of roommate would I be if I would rather have a game with you than ensure your survival? Now go on and finish.”</p>
<p>Hardwire flashed him a grateful grin before tilting the energon cube back and gulping it’s contents down. Sliding off of the stool, he followed Bulkhead out of the pub. Jazz followed them lazily out into the hall before bidding them goodbye, “Got some new music sticks Ah just been waitin’ ta listen to. Good luck with yah trainin’ ‘Wire.”</p>
<p>“Thank’s Jazz, have fun with you music.” <em>I somehow doubt I will have the same chances of enjoyment.</em> The walk to the training rooms wasn't incredibly long and Bulkhead filled it with happy chatter, Hardwire found himself smiling quietly at they headed down various corridors to a different section of the base. As they entered a new hall, Hardwire ground to a stop in awe. A long window stretched along one side of the corridor wall, revealing the outside world to his astounded eyes.</p>
<p>Many TV shows, comic books, video games, and movies had tried at one point of other to portray what the Cybertron landscape would look like. None of them compared to the real thing. Silver skyscrapers of many shapes and sizes towered to the sky, glowing blue and chrome lines weaving back and forth between the many buildings, interconnecting them to each other like a million metallic spider web strands. The buildings seemed to glow under the light of the afternoon sun, their polished surfaces gleaming in a manner that he was sure would have blinded human eyes.</p>
<p>As he continued to stare, dumbfounded, Hardwire realized that the ‘lines’ were really roads and highways. “It’s … wow.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead cocked his head slightly, looking from Hardwire to the landscape outside in confusion, “Uh, I guess,” he paused, “Algol <b>is</b> pretty impressive. Iacon’s even bigger though. Is this your first time here?” Hardwire nodded mutely, unable to formulate any coherent words about the alien landscape he saw. <em>New York has nothing on this place… and Iacon’s even bigger? </em>Bulkhead patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, successfully breaking him out of his revere, “Come on, I’ll show you around Algol later if you like, but for now we need to get to the training rooms.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head and followed Bulkhead, trying not to give in to the urge to stop and stare out the window again, “Right. Sorry about that.” <em>Now I really feel like I’m on a Sci-fi movie set.</em></p>
<p>Bulkhead glanced over his shoulder, “You know, if you wanted to, I could teach you some combat moves. Unless you’d prefer Specialist Ironhide of course. Which is totally okay! He is said to be one of the best fighters in all of the Autobot army after all. But, uh…”</p>
<p>Hardwire considered Bulkhead’s offer, it sounded appealing, Bulkhead was a former Wrecker, so naturally he would have all kinds of experience and advice to pass on to a utter rookie like himself. Ironhide would have the same amount of experience true, but Ironhide was also known for having a ‘thing’ about blowing up bots with red optics. He didn’t know if his eyes would garner some kind of subconscious prejudice from the mech.</p>
<p>Also, Ironhide was Chromia’s sparkmate and Hardwire didn’t really fancy running into the woman who’d blasted his leg just yet. Hardwire looked up from his musings and grinned, “Sound’s great Bulkhead, I’d love it if you taught me. Uh, you do know that you’d have to start from scratch, right?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead laughed, “Aw come on! You can’t be that bad!”</p>
<p> </p>
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<hr/>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p>Several breems later, as Bulkhead stared at his new roommate, the bulky Wrecker couldn’t help but think back on those words. “Uh…” Hardwire slowly rolled back onto his pedes from where Bulkhead had easily, and accidentally, punched him to the floor.</p>
<p>The younger mech groaned slightly and rubbed his jaw ruefully, his red optics twinkling in a self deprecating way as he said weakly, “Told you. My guardians didn’t believe in violence.” <em>Oh, mech.</em></p>
<p>Feeling more than a little bit flummoxed, Bulkhead asked non comprehendingly, “You really <b>don’t</b> have any training. Do you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire raised an optic ridge dryly, his ruby optics boring hard into his blue, “What clued you in? My own confession to it, or the fact that you floored me without even trying afterwards?” Bulkhead chuckled sheepishly, Hardwire had a point. The mech had confessed to not knowing the first thing about close quarters combat, but Bulkhead hadn’t believed him.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was the tiny, constantly suspicious part of his processor that he’d been trying to ignore all cycle, but some part of him just hadn’t been able to believe that the tall, clearly warrior-caste mech hadn’t received any training whatsoever. A nasty little voice in his helm had insisted that Hardwire was faking his lack of knowledge, so, Bulkhead had tried to catch his new roommate off guard with a sudden mock punch. He hadn’t expected the punch to actually land.</p>
<p>Rubbing the back of his helm in embarrassment, Bulkhead grunted, “Uh, sorry about that. Just trying to test your reflexes.”</p>
<p>Hardwire laughed hollowly, “My reflexes are fine, it’s how to use them where I have trouble. So, do you still want to teach me? I’ve been told that I’m a quick learner.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead tried not to show just how distressed he was about Hardwire’s lack of survival skills. When, not if, the cycle came that the mech would be forced into combat with the Decepticons, the savage backstabbers would no doubt rip him limb from limb. As Hardwire’s new friend, roommate, and fellow Autobot, it was his duty to make sure that the green mech in front of him would be able to survive a Decepticon onslaught.</p>
<p>Seeing Hardwire’s doubtful look Bulkhead hastily reassured him, “Of course I’ll train you! We just need to start from the basics.”</p>
<p>Hardwire offered him a lopsided grin as he carefully applied pressure to his lip component to stop it from leaking energon, “Fun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bulkhead trained Hardwire steadily for two joors, starting from correct stance, basic blocks and punches, and slowly working up. Hardwire did indeed turn out to be a fast learner, Bulkhead almost felt silly that he, the slowest of the Autobots was the one teaching Hardwire. However, he pushed that thought aside, he was a <b>Wrecker</b>, if anyone could teach Hardwire the skills needed to survive behind enemy lines, it was him. As the second joor of training drew to a close, Bulkhead called a halt. He could tell that Hardwire’s leg was beginning to bother him, “All right, let’s take a break for the day. Doc Ratchet will have both our helms if we overstrain that leg of yours.”</p>
<p>Hardwire huffed through his intakes in relief as he slid to the floor, back braced against the wall, “And to think … ‘bots do this … for a hobby. Oof.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead chuckled at his friend’s exaggerated show of exhaustion as he heavily sat down next to him, “Yeah well, once we build up some stamina in your cables, you just might become one of those ‘bots. You’ve got the frame for it.”</p>
<p>Hardwire eyed him curiously, “Really?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead nodded confidently, “Really. You’ve got a frame that would make you a perfect heavy weapons specialist. Speaking of, you’re going to need a weapon in case the ‘cons ever show. We can drop by the armory and pick one out for you on the way to our quarters if you like.”</p>
<p>Despite his reputation as being a slow witted bot, Bulkhead couldn’t help but notice the suddenly guilty look that flashed over Hardwire’s faceplates. His battle computer began booting up under the influence of his sudden suspicion. The Decepticons had once tried to plant one of their own in the ranks of the Wreckers and his instincts were suddenly screaming that such a setup might be happening again.</p>
<p>Cocking his head to one side and trying not to act suspicious, Bulkhead asked bluntly, “Why the long face?”</p>
<p>Hardwire started staring at his servo as if it was the most interesting thing on Cybertron. The silence dragged on for several kliks and Bulkhead found himself beginning to tense up, “Hardwire…”</p>
<p>There was the sudden sound of transformation and Hardwire’s right servo morphed into an impressive looking sniper rifle. Bulkhead was on his pedes in a nano-klik, his own blasters out and fully charged. Hardwire looked up at him in surprise, “Whoa! Take it easy Bulkhead! I was just … showing you this.” He twitched the sniper rifle slightly to indicate his meaning.</p>
<p>Bulkhead didn’t lower his blasters, he recognized the make and model of the sniper rifle, “That’s a Kaonian Sniper Cannon MX-115, only twenty-five were ever made and those models are practically <b>exclusive </b>to the Decepticons. How did you get one?” His vocalizer growled out the last sentence aggressively as he inwardly decided that if Hardwire couldn’t come up with a good excuse, he was calling for backup.</p>
<p>Bulkhead could have sworn that Hardwire suddenly looked sad, “I don’t know. At least, I don’t remember. The cycle Jazz found me and the others, I discovered this in my subspace. I didn’t think to tell anyone, it just never came up. When you said I’d need a weapon, I thought I should show you this.”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared at the rifle for several kliks before returning it to his subspace with a chime, “Figures it would be a ‘con weapon.” The words were muttered in a lonely and bitter tone that almost made Bulkhead lower his guard. Almost.</p>
<p>Keeping his optics and blaster trained on Hardwire, Bulkhead accessed his intercom, ::Bulkhead to Base Security. I have a situation in training room 4C.::</p>
<p>The response was immediate, ::Base Security, this is Flash Fire. What is the situation?::</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t move, he just watched Bulkhead with veiled red optics. ::I have uncovered a possible Decepticon plant. Requesting backup and explanations right slaggin’ now.::</p>
<p>Flash Fire’s voice sounded excited, ::Acknowledged, Bulkhead, backup is on the way. Is the suspect violent?::</p>
<p>Bulkhead studied Hardwire, feeling a slight twinge of confusion in his spark as he realized that the latter hadn’t moved a micro-meter, ::Uh, negative. I’ve got him covered and he hasn’t made so much as a twitch.::</p>
<p>A new voice entered the conversation, ::This is Commander Prowl, is the suspect designated Hardwire?::</p>
<p>Bulkhead stiffened slightly at the knowledge that he was now talking to the head of all Autobot Security, ::Yes sir, he is. He pulled a Kaonian Sniper Cannon MX-115 on me but put it away once I pulled my blaster out, sir. Uh, orders?::</p>
<p>There was a short pause, ::Escort him to my office, I will personally see to the problem.::</p>
<p>::Yes, sir, on my way.:: Inwardly wondering at why Commander Prowl would say to take Hardwire to the office and not the brig, Bulkhead motioned for Hardwire to stand, “Come on, we’re headed to Commander Prowl’s office.” Hardwire stood stiffly, his faceplates betraying no emotion as Bulkhead escorted him to where Commander Prowl was waiting.</p>
<p>The entire journey was painfully silent, Hardwire made no sudden moves and said nothing. Bulkhead found it unnerving. <em>Probably the way he really acts. When he isn’t playing refugee.</em> Despite what Bulkhead told himself, a quiet nagging voice in his processor was telling him that the Hardwire he had first seen was the real one. He shoved that thought aside, he had seen too many of his friends offline at Decepticon servos to simply trust Hardwire, not after seeing that rifle. But then again … why would a ‘con plant show a weapon that would make him stand out like a crushed optic?</p>
<p>But how could someone <b>not know</b> how an item like <b>that</b> got into their subspace? Wasn’t that impossible? The questions bounced endlessly through Bulkhead’s processor even as they arrived at Commander Prowl’s office and were let in by a glaring guard. Prowl was standing in front of his desk, his faceplates devoid of any emotion, his door-wings fixed in a neutral position.</p>
<p>Prowl stared at the two of them for several kliks before speaking, “Weapons down, Bulkhead.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead jerked in surprise, “What? Sir, are you sure?”</p>
<p>Prowl flicked his door-wings ever so faintly and asked very quietly, “Are you questioning my orders, soldier?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead knew a warning tone when he heard it, he subspaced his weapons, “No, sir.”</p>
<p>Prowl turned to Hardwire, “Show me the weapon stated in Bulkhead’s intercom.” The red opticed mech paused and stared at his right servo, just as he had the first time he showed the cannon to Bulkhead. With a whir of gears the Kaonian Sniper Cannon reappeared and was held out slightly for inspection. Bulkhead subconsciously tensed, but Prowl appeared to be unperturbed. Finally, he asked, “Is this the only weapon you have?”</p>
<p>There was a long pause, Hardwire was staring stubbornly at the wall just over Prowl’s shoulder, “No.”</p>
<p>Prowl raised an optic ridge ever so slightly, “What other weapons do you have then? A complete list.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged slightly, barely contained emotion adding a hard edge to his voice, “I don’t know for sure. I have trouble accessing subspace.”</p>
<p>Prowl folded his hands behind his back calmly, “Are there any other pieces of weaponry that you know of?” Bulkhead couldn’t believe his audios, the commander was actually accepting the ‘I have trouble accessing subspace’ line? He ground his jaw workings to keep from protesting. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that there was more to the situation than what he knew.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics darted to the floor, he didn’t reply. Commander Prowl repeated the question, “Are there any other pieces of weaponry that you know of in your subspace?”</p>
<p>Finally, the taller mech ground out, “Sir, with all do respect, I am already under suspicion for being a Decepticon. I have answered your questions to the best of my ability. If you are going to shoot me or brig me or <b>whatever</b>, just fragging do it already.”</p>
<p>Prowl stared Hardwire down silently, his expression painfully unreadable. Finally he turned to Bulkhead, “You are dismissed. Wait outside until I send for you.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead sputtered, “Sir?” <em>What the slag is going on here?</em></p>
<p>Commander Prowl’s voice remained quiet, but it took an icy edge, “I said, dismissed. Remain outside this office until I summon you again.” Bulkhead hesitated for a klik, he didn’t want to leave the office until the matter was resolved, but he knew that he had to obey orders. Reluctantly, he saluted and left the office to stand nervously in front of the door.</p>
<p>He was half tempted to try and listen through the door, but quickly dismissed that idea, the Commander had sent him out of the room for a reason. Also, the infamously logical Security officer was known for being able to find out about infractions of rules that anyone else would miss. Better to just suck it up and wait until he was summoned.</p>
<p>It was almost twenty breems later when Prowl and Hardwire stepped out of the office and into the hall. Hardwire nodded his head submissively to Prowl and began to walk off without so much as a glance in Bulkhead’s direction. Bulkhead started after him, his battle computer whirring to life once more before Prowl cut it off with the cold command of, “Halt. Hardwire has been cleared of all charges and is free to go.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead blinked in shock and tried to fight off the sudden sinking feeling in his spark, “What? How?”</p>
<p>Prowl fixed the taller mech with a stare that could only be described as cold, “That is the matter we will be discussing in my office in three breems. Inside.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead followed the Commander inside the painfully neat office again, his processor feeling more and more achy as his confusion mounted. <em>Now what?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Meltdown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright, stop!” Starwish dropped into an easy ready stance and panted to cool her systems as she awaited her teacher’s next command. Ironhide strode up to her, his blue optics critical, “Not bad, Star. You’re improving. But your guard still slips whenever you attack from the right. That’s how Bee here is able to take you down so often.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, shamefaced. Although she appeared to be older than Bumblebee physically, the adorable yellow mech had much more training than she did. Leading to her often getting her rump proverbially handed to her during the practice fights Ironhide refereed. Still, she had managed to defeat the lithe young scout-to-be once or twice today and for that she was inwardly pleased.</p>
<p>Ironhide’s fist came out of nowhere, threatening to smash her faceplates in. With a yelp, she leaned away from the incoming hit and performed a backward roll, coming out of it and into a combat stance seamlessly. Only to be staring into the glowing barrel of Ironhide’s right hand cannon. With a small whine, the cannon powered down and Ironhide dropped his hand, a stern look on his face, “Pay attention, youngling. What I’m saying is <b>important</b>.”</p>
<p>Starwish stood and dipped her head apologetically, “I’m sorry, Ironhide.”</p>
<p>Ironhide grunted, “Saying ‘sorry’ won’t stop you from getting blasted to bits on the battlefield if you let your guard down like that. Now, the way you rolled to dodge my punch was admirable, as was your come out into a combat stance. But you didn’t access your subspace and get a weapon. By the time you settled into your stance and <b>then</b> pulled a blaster, a ‘Con would have blasted you already. <b>Always</b> keep your focus on the world around you. Even when you don’t think there is a threat nearby.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded obediently, mentally promising to do better the next time and fighting the random urge to sniffle. An urge she’d been fighting a lot lately. Ironhide had turned to Bumblebee and was critiquing his performance just a sternly as he had critiqued hers. One thing Starwish had noticed early on was that while Ironhide clearly adored his adopted son, when it came to combat and weapons training he took no excuses. From anyone. She had mentioned his almost heavy handed fairness in training to Jazz once, to which the saboteur had grimly replied, “If he let ‘Bee off in trainin’, then it wouldn’ do him much good now would it? ‘Cons don’t take it easy on no bot. ‘Hide’s just makin’ sure thah those he cares abou’ have all tha tools they need ta come home ta him.”</p>
<p>As her thoughts unconsciously wandered off of the topic of Ironhide in favor of the smooth talking Jazz, some instinct inside her suddenly caused her to raise her arms in a defense and spin to face the looming motion that her mind translated as a threat.</p>
<p>There was a yelp of surprise and a crash of metal as her right hand lashed out in a preemptive open style strike and collided with a sensitive point on the intruder’s wrist. The strike to the wrist wires caused her opponent to stagger back in surprise, trip over a spare punching bag laid out on the floor, and fall with a terrific cacophony of noise.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until her brain finally caught up with her reflexes that she realized that Ironhide was laughing so hard he had to sit down. Vents working to cool her systems, again, she blinked a few times before catching sight of a certain tall red and blue mech sprawled out on the training floor mats with a startled expression on his face. <em>Oh-!</em> Several unrepeatable english expletives that she had accidentally picked up from her foster father Rodney lanced through her mind at the sight of Optimus Prime carefully rolling back onto his feet from where she had inadvertently knocked him down.</p>
<p>Starwish felt like either running away, melting into a horrified puddle of goo on the floor, or laughing at the absurdity of what had just happened. Since she was too scared to laugh, physically couldn’t melt at that current moment, and couldn’t summon the will power to run away, she instead just stood there, mouth agape as the leader of all Autobots stood to his feet and rubbed his wrist ruefully. Despite her desperate urge to cry and apologize profusely, all she could manage was a squeaky sounding, “I … sorry.”</p>
<p>Ironhide lumbered over to her and lightly patted her shoulder, his, highly misdirected in her opinion, approval practically suffocating the room like a cloud of smog, “Don’t apologize, femme! That was perfect! Serves Prime right for trying to sneak up on a student of <b>mine</b>.”</p>
<p>Optimus’s face was neutral as he eyed first Ironhide and then Starwish, “It was not my intention to ‘sneak up’ on anyone. I was merely arriving for our scheduled sparing session. Seeing as you were not quite finished with your combat lesson, I was attempting to move to the sidelines to wait. Although,” he looked down contemplatively at Starwish, who immediately averted her eyes to floor and blushed, “that wire strike was admirably executed. I apologize for startling you Starwish, it was not my intent.”</p>
<p>Starwish glanced shyly up at the Prime, surprised by his apology to her. But then again, he was the most compassionate of all of the characters in the Transformers continuity. Realizing that she was supposed to reply, she murmured quietly, “It’s fine. I should have been paying attention. Just like Ironhide said. Sorry … for knocking you over, sir.”</p>
<p>Ironhide tapped her head firmly, “A lesson to both of you then. Class dismissed for today, you two go wash up and have fun the rec room or something. I need to kick Prime’s aft-er plating for what he did.” Starwish couldn’t stop the smile that flickered across her face at his sloppy coverup of the curse word as she and Bumblebee left the training room. Ironhide apparently had a very foul mouth when younglings weren’t around and sometimes he would slip up in his word usage. Not that Starwish minded much, he was much more careful about it than most adults on earth.</p>
<p>As the door to training room 2B slid shut, successfully muting the noise of the two larger mechs talking, Bumblebee finally blurted, “I can’t believe you caused Optimus to stumble like that!”</p>
<p>Starwish glowered defensively, “I didn’t mean too!”</p>
<p>Bumblebee laughed, his door-wings splaying outward in a show of pleasure, “I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying that he’s normally more alert and composed. It really is his fault for tripping over the punching bag.” Starwish cocked her head to one side, the adolescent Cybertronian was very cheeky.</p>
<p>Curiosity overcame her and she asked, “You talk about Prime like you know him well. Have you known him long?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee tucked his wings shyly, “Ever since I can remember. I don’t know who my creators were, Ironhide just found me one day in the wreckage of a housing unit, half starved and bawling my optics out. Ironhide and Chromia are my guardians, but Optimus has always been there for me when I need him most.” Bumblebee looked absently out a window as they passed it, “He’s there for everyone when they need him. He’s more than a leader to us, he’s … he’s … I don’t know what to call him. Prime cares about us, fights for us, he may punish us, but never unfairly. Everybot in this army trusts him and would gladly give up their spark for him, because they know he’ll do the same.”</p>
<p>Starwish thoughtfully gazed at the floor, Bumblebee’s trusting description sent a pang of longing through her, <em>he’s a father. A father to everyone. </em>“A what?”</p>
<p>Starwish jerked her head up and blushed, “Oh, did I say that out loud?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee nodded, his huge optics bored into hers curiously, “Uh-huh. You said that Prime is a …” he paused, his mouth working to say the word, “Fa- fah- <em>fa’her</em>. What does that mean?”</p>
<p><em>Boy does that word sound strange when he says it. I keep forgetting that I’m somehow speaking Cybertronian. </em>Starwish scrambled for an answer, looking up at the ceiling to buy time as they weaved through a small crowd of mechs, “Well … <em>father</em> means the same thing as what you described Prime. A mech who is loving, kind, firm but fair, and is always ready to defend you against the enemy. <em>Father</em> is well … I guess you could say it’s a word for a mech creator. Only a <em>father</em> doesn’t have to be directly related to you. In fact, some of the best ones aren’t. But they are mechs who treat you with the same love and devotion as they would their own creation.”</p>
<p>She paused and glanced at Bumblebee, he was staring at her intently, “Does that make sense?” She asked hopefully.</p>
<p>Bumblebee nodded, “I think so. Where did that word come from? It doesn’t sound Cybertronian.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt like running off somewhere to smack her head against a wall repeatedly for letting an English word slip. <em>Then again, you couldn’t know that you would say it out loud.</em> “It isn’t. It’s a word from a language that is spoken on a planet really, really far away. My … my creators taught it to me.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s wings rose, “Really? That’s amazing! I wish I could speak in another language!” <em>You will someday.</em></p>
<p>“Well, now you know a very important word in another language.” Looking up ahead, Starwish felt a wave of relief come over her at the sight of the wash rack doors, “Here we are. You’d better wash up, Ironhide won’t like it if you go wandering around looking like something the Cyber Cat dragged in.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee snorted, “Says the femme who looks like an old toy a Turbo Hound buried for a vorn. See yah when you’re done.” Bumblebee disappeared into the mech’s side of the wash racks and Starwish breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the femmes side.</p>
<p>And into total chaos. She froze just inside the room, staring slack-jawed at what appeared to be a femme convention. <em>I thought Chromia and I were the only ones on base!</em> As if summoned by the thought, the blue and white femme looked up from where she was lounging in the cleaning pool with a half smirk, “Speak of Unicron, here she is now. Elita, femmes, meet Starwish, youngest of our noble make currently on base and the <b>only</b> femme to actually carry out the threat of using a buzz saw on Jazz.”</p>
<p>While the others called hellos or raised a hand in greeting, a teal colored femme waved enthusiastically, “Hello there, Starwish! Come and join us, won’t you?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked several times, “Um…”</p>
<p>The tall femme calmly washing a pink painted chest plate smiled indulgently at Chromia and the teal femme, “Come now, Moonracer, you cannot expect her to simply come and join us when she doesn’t even know our designations.” Looking up, she spoke gently, “My designation is Elita-1 and these are my companions, Moonracer and Flareup. You have already met Chromia I see. Please, do not let us stop you from your washing.”</p>
<p>Starwish shot Chromia a hooded look, she hadn’t quite forgiven the blue woman for shooting Hardwire and up until that point had even been purposely avoiding meeting Chromia for fear she would say or do something that would get her in a lot of trouble. Inching forward, Starwish quietly mumbled hello and shuffled over to stand underneath the shower head farthest from the cleaning pool. As she palmed the control to turn it on she mentally argued on whether or not to remove her armor.</p>
<p>She knew she should, the medical encyclopedia in her head advised removing all armor and washing her protoform at least every two metacycles. Her modesty and shy demeanor however, quailed in fear at the thought of exposing her cables and wiring to strangers. <em>And the one who shot Hardwire.</em> Starwish shook her head as the cleaning solution poured over her, making her shiver. She despised the stuff, it felt almost like water, but it was just a tiny bit different. Just different enough to make her shiver in discomfort.</p>
<p>Stubbornly refusing to look over at the quietly chatting ladies, Starwish reluctantly began to peel off her armor piece by piece, trying desperately not to cringe as she sensed someone in the cleaning pool watching her. That someone turned out to be Chromia.</p>
<p>The cheeky blue femme called out, “Aw, come on femling! Join us! It’s nice in here and much better for washing protoform.”</p>
<p>Starwish ground her teeth together, “No, thank you. I’d rather wash over here.”</p>
<p>Chromia’s tone turned sarcastic, “Too high class for us hard working femmes, eh? Come on! It’ll be fun!”</p>
<p>Although she had tried her best not to let it show during the day, Starwish was on a knife’s edge of stress. Being changed into a Cybertronian, being on Cybertron during a war, constantly wondering about how both of those things had happened and what it must seem like to her foster parents and friends who she would probably never see again. All of those things and a host of other tiny happenings from over the past four metacycles placed a constant strain on her temper and emotional control.</p>
<p>Chromia’s snarky prodding finally broke the dam. Whirling on Chromia and glaring at her from her position in the shower Starwish snarled venomously, “Well excuse me if I don’t happen to feel like showing off my protoform to you over there. Excuse me if I happen to be shy around others and not prefer to socialize to often. <b>Excuse me</b> if I’m not very inclined to have a playdate with three total strangers and the femme who <b>shot my brother</b>.” Impulsively, she grabbed a cube of soap and flung it at Chromia with an angered scream of, “<em>Just</em> <em>leave me </em><b><em>alone</em></b><em>!</em>”</p>
<p>Chromia’s hand whipped up to grab the soap cube right before it hit her head and Starwish felt her vision film over with tears. She suddenly felt like she was suffocating, her shoulders heaved as she took sobbing breaths and bolted for the door blindly, forgetting that she was without armor.</p>
<p>There were startled shouts from behind and just before she darted out of the door, strong arms wrapped around her middle and dragged her back. Starwish struggled blindly, her vents working harder as the suffocating feeling grew stronger and stronger, “<em>Let me go! Let me go!</em>” The strong arms around her middle were aided by other arms grabbing hold of her flailing limbs as she was dragged back into the wash racks.</p>
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<p>Chromia helped Elita and Flareup drag the small but fierce white femme away from the door. She was currently unarmored and letting her run outside where mechs could see would be even worse than fighting it out with her inside. “Hey! Stop! You can’t go out there, you’re unarmored!”</p>
<p>Even though Starwish’s optics were clouded by energon tears, she still managed to land a hard kick against Chromia’s shin, causing the older femme to grit her denta in pain. Elita commed her hastily, ::Chromia! Stop and get out of her line of sight, you’re only making it worse!:: Chromia stepped back obediently, moving to stand unobtrusively in an unoccupied shower stall while Elita, Moonracer, and Flareup worked to calm the near hysterical Starwish.</p>
<p>Chromia tried not to let her spark break as she was forced to watch from the sidelines as Starwish stopped struggling and just lay on the wash racks floor, sobbing. Elita pulled the tiny femling to her chest and shushed her gently while simultaneously holding an intercom conversation with Chromia, ::Chromia, start explaining. Right now.::</p>
<p>The blue femme chewed unhappily on her bottom lip component, ::I … I’m sorry Elita. I didn’t know she’d break like that. I was just trying to get her to loosen up. Ironhide always says that she’s a shy femling who needs to be encouraged a little before she opens up to others. I thought a little good natured teasing would help. I in no way meant to make her cry.::</p>
<p>Elita looked up sympathetically at her second in command, obviously things between the neutral youngling and her long time friend were far from smooth, ::I know you didn’t. I do not think this is entirely your fault either. The past few cycles have most likely been a huge strain on her systems.::</p>
<p>Moonracer paused in the act of gently petting Starwish’s back and commed, ::Uh, is it just me, or is she muttering nonsense? Because I can’t understand a word she’s saying.::</p>
<p>Chromia mentally weighed the consequences of telling her friends that Starwish was a creation of Novalek survivors. <em>I can trust them, but Ratchet will probably have my helm if I spill.</em> Deciding to go with only a few of the facts for the moment she said, ::Her creators taught her a non-Cybertronian language as a sparkling. That’s probably what you’re hearing.::</p>
<p>Flareup cocked her head to one side, ::Poor thing. Her creators are dead aren’t they?::</p>
<p>Chromia sighed softly, ::Probably. Her former guardians too.::</p>
<p>Elita gently lifted the youngling into her arms, smiling compassionately down at Starwish, who’s crying and stressed frame had driven her recharge protocols to activate. ::That explains the meltdown. Her spark must be under enormous strain after losing multiple bonds. Come help me clean her up a little bit. No sense in bringing her out of recharge, poor thing would offline from embarrassment in all probability.::</p>
<p>Chromia smiled thinly at Elita as she came out of the corner and picked up a piece of discarded white armor, ::I’ll handle her armor. You can dip her in the pool for a while.::</p>
<p>As the four femmes voluntarily worked on washing the new comer, Flareup suddenly asked, ::Did you really shoot her brother?::</p>
<p>Chromia did her best not to glower, ::Unfortunately, yes. We were scouting an abandoned ‘Con base and he came tearing around the corner. He’s got some of the reddest colored optics I’ve ever seen and, well, … I nailed him in the leg with my blaster.::</p>
<p>Moonracer looked mildly scandalized and Flareup snarked cheerfully, ::Only the leg? You’re slipping teach’.::</p>
<p>Chromia absentmindedly took just enough time from her dutiful scrubbing of a vambrace to throw a polishing cloth at her former student, ::I was under orders to capture not kill, student mine. Anyways, I got him good in the leg and because he was suffering energon deprivation he went straight into shock. I got a major lecture from Ratchet and when Starwish saw her brother in medical stasis she fritzed. We’ve been avoiding each other ever since.:: Chromia decided not to mention that this wasn’t the first attack. But, technically, the time when she saw her brother in stasis didn’t really count. Anyone would have done that in her place.</p>
<p>Moonracer raised an optic ridge, :: All that and she only now attacks you? I fairly certain that Flareup would have done <b>much</b> worse.::</p>
<p>Flareup grinned dryly, ::Yes, yes I would have.::</p>
<p>Elita finished carefully scrubbing the recharging Starwish’s frame and lifted her out of the cleaning pool to dry, ::No wonder she threw a soap cube at you.:: Glancing tenderly down at the youngling in her arms she commented, ::I suppose this is what taking care of a sparkling is like. Are you finished washing her armor Chromia?::</p>
<p>Chromia nodded and carefully helped Elita fasten the oblivious femme’s armor back on. Stepping back, Chromia eyed the now sparkling clean femling critically, ::Okay, now what?::</p>
<p>Elita gingerly settled Starwish on a bench, ::We finish our own washing and then deliver her to her guardian. Who is her guardian by the way? I presume Optimus assigned her one until she comes of age.::</p>
<p>Chromia snorted softly as she stepped under a shower head, ::Yes he did. Prime saw fit to assign Ultra Magnus as her guardian until something better could be arranged.::</p>
<p>Moonracer’s optics went wide and she sputtered out loud, “<b>What</b>?” She then blushed as the other three femmes shushed her. ::Sorry about that. But seriously, Ultra Magnus? A <b>mech</b>?::</p>
<p>::Yes, a mech. In case you hadn’t noticed, most of the ‘bots on this entire base are comprised of that make. Most of them are also unmated and highly interested in femmes. Since having her bunk with me, Ironhide, and Bumblebee was clearly not a good idea and you were all off base, Ultra Magnus was really the only choice Prime had other than himself.::</p>
<p>Elita sighed, ::I will speak with Optimus about ratifying that situation as soon as possible.:: The pink and white leader of all female Autobots finished latching the last piece of her armor into place and moved to pick up Starwish once more, ::For the moment though, I will take her back to Ultra Magnus’s quarters.::</p>
<p>Chromia stood up from where she’d been attaching a leg guard, ::I’ll meet up with you later. I believe I have an apology to go plan for::</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Art</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fast Track inched forward, watching Sunstreaker carefully out of the corner of his eye in case the yellow mech noticed him. It was after lunch and Zipline was playing a racing game with Sideswipe. But Fast Track didn’t want to play that right now, he was itching to do something special, something secret.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker remained absorbed in whatever he was painting, enabling Fast Track to sneak past him to the closet and pull out a datapad and stylus after a bit of rummaging. Clicking happily to himself, Fast Track crawled under a berth and after some inspection, figured out how to power on the datapad. As soon as the totally blank white screen popped up, Fast Track knew he had exactly what he wanted.</p>
<p>With a pleased smile, Fast Track set his metal drawing utensil against the smooth screen of the pad and began happily tracing the images only his mind could see. It didn’t take very long for the blank screen of the datapad to become increasingly filled with swirls, loops, random character designs and pictures of fictional super weapons. Sensing his brother’s giddy excitement at how fast his digital race car was going, Track let it influence his picture, paying painstaking attention to the shape and details of the race car he was now drawing.</p>
<p>When his work surface was finally covered to the breaking point with sketches and doodles, Fast Track paused and sighed. <em>Great, now what?</em> He cocked his head to one side, he remembered that on human touch screen computers, to change a page a person would swipe their fingers across the screen from right to left. <em>Why not?</em> Setting the stylus down for the moment, he swiped his fingers experimentally across the pad and grinned with delight when the datapad chimed softly and switched to a blank page.</p>
<p>He resumed drawing, happily oblivious to the fact that Sunstreaker was now silently crouched by the berth, watching his every move with puzzled optics.</p>
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<p>Sunstreaker watched the red and grey mechling happily scribble away on one of <b>his</b> drawing pads but made no move to take the pilfered article back. He was, frankly, dumbfounded. What were the odds of one of the twin heralds of Unicron would be interested in art?</p>
<p>Sideswipe, sensing his brother’s bafflement, sent a question over the bond,<em> “Everything okay, Sunny?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker decided in that split nano-klik that the younger twin’s drawing habits were to remain a secret to all but himself, <em>“I’m wondering why that pit-spawn your playing against hasn’t fully kicked your aft yet. For a mech who claims to be so amazing on the race track, you’re a glitch when it comes to racing games.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe directed an angry growl at Sunstreaker without bothering to look away from the holo-track were Zipline was stubbornly beginning to outpace him. <em>“Very funny, Sunny. Are you keeping an optic on the other one?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker slowly stood up, careful not to make any sound that would disturb the doodling mechling, <em>“Yeah, he’s fine. Entertaining himself with something harmless.”</em> He kept his face neutral as Sideswipe crashed his game avatar into a building, causing it to explode spectacularly, <em>“Unlike some. You do know that if you keep doing that you’re going to teach him to love explosions even more than Ironhide does, right?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe huffed and leaned closer to the holo-track, <em>“Nah! Explosions come after Pranks 1-0-1.”</em> Sunstreaker suppressed a groan as he went back to painting in a copy of the sketch he had done of Starwish. <em>Great. I can’t wait to see what happens when they’re given over to a temporary caretaker so that we can go on patrol. I should probably tell Prime not to let those two anywhere near Prowl … or Red Alert.</em></p>
<p>While the mental images of stiff and logical Prowl having to deal with the hyperactive youngsters made him smile a little bit, he had to pause in his painting to shudder at the thought of what Red Alert might unintentionally do to the younglings in the name of ‘safety’.</p>
<p>He heard Zipline give a triumphant whoop of glee and felt a wave of stunned disbelief wash over the bond from Sideswipe and briefly glanced up to see Zipline’s digital race car doing triumphant laps in celebration of a won race. <em>“Congratulations Sides, you just got beaten by a sixteen vorn old youngling in a complex holographic racing course. For the twenty-fifth time. In. A. Row.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe twisted in his seat to glare daggers at Sunstreaker, who just smirked smugly and returned to his painting. Zipline grabbed Sideswipe’s arm and shouted, “Again! Again! I wanna go again!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe groaned and looked helplessly at the controller, “That’s the twenty-fifth game Zipline. Haven’t you had enough?” Zipline gave him a long look that indicated that the youngling considered his complaint proof that Sideswipe was clinically insane. Sideswipe sighed, “Can’t Fast Track play with you for a while?”</p>
<p>Zipline’s optics glanced briefly over to the berth Fast Track was hiding under before looking back at Sideswipe, “He’s too busy to play with me.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe looked incredulously at the hiding place, “Seriously? With what?” Eager to take a break from getting his after-plating holographically handed to him, Sideswipe began to roll forward to investigate.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker bristled protectively, “Just can it and play with Zipline, Sides. Fast Track is being <b>quiet</b> and I’d like to keep it that way.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shot his brother a long, withering look, <em>“Says the one who has been pointedly ignoring everybot! Give me break here, Sunny!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker remained, as ever, unmoved by his sibling’s plea, <em>“Your fault, your problem. Besides, you don’t have to play a vid game with him, do something else that’s interesting.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe paused, thinking Sunstreaker’s suggestion over while Zipline struggled to use the red mech as a climbing apparatus. The mechling was doing an admirable job of it too, until Sideswipe became irritated, working Zipline loose from his shoulder plating and setting him on the floor. Zipline whined and began wander dangerously close to Sunstreaker.</p>
<p>The golden mech spared a glance from his painting to shoot the youngling a warning look. He didn’t trust the mechling he personally considered to be the mini version of Sideswipe, especially not around his traditional style paints. The pit-spawn and his sibling had already ruined a good supply of his favorite brand. <em>“Sides … get it away from me, now.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe glowered and answered out loud, “And do what? The least you could do is offer an alternative!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker huffed in exasperation, “Take him on a tour or something! Let him become familiar with others on the base. They’ll both need temporary caretakers when the rest of our leave is up anyway. Might as well find out who Zip gets along with at least.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe perked up, “Hey! That’s a great idea!” Looking down at the decidedly bored Zipline, Sideswipe said, “So, Zip, want a tour of the base?”</p>
<p>Zipline instantly perked and started chattering fast enough to befuddle Blur, “Really? Yes! Yes! Yes! Can we meet more Autobots? Can we fight some Decepticons? How big is this base? Can we go the armory? I want a sword! How big are they? <em>This is so cool</em>! <em>Fast Track! Fast Track! Come on! Sideswipe is going to show us the base and get us a sword</em>!” Sunstreaker eyed Zipline uneasily. That was the second time the youngling had suddenly spouted sounds that made absolutely no sense. <em>Hope the little Scraplet doesn’t have some kind of glitch.</em></p>
<p>Before he could mentally confer with Sideswipe over that possibility, Fast Track came shooting out from under the berth, spouting the same indecipherable sounds Zipline had started to use, “<em>Really? Cool! I want dual blades, like Optimus</em>!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe glanced worriedly at Sunstreaker, <em>“I’m beginning to think that there is something seriously wrong with those two.”</em> Accompanying his mental words was a ‘please don’t leave me alone with them’ feeling over their bond.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker repressed his first urge to say ‘no’, instead choosing to set his paint brush down and stand. While he would have preferred privacy, the memory of what had happened the first cycle of being a guardian when Sideswipe had been left to supervise the younglings was still too fresh to ignore. Better to accompany the three and run damage control. <em>And hope that I don’t wind up in the brig.</em> “All right you two, settle down.” The younglings didn’t settle down, if anything they became even more hyper. Sunstreaker ground his denta together as he palmed the door open and ‘released the turbo-hounds’.</p>
<p>Sideswipe bolted through the door with the same eagerness as Zipline and Fast Track, causing Sunstreaker to roll his optics heavenwards pleadingly, <em>What did I do to deserve this? Recently?</em></p>
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<p>Sideswipe rolled down the hallway with his twin, finding himself once again surprised at how anything with as small a set of legs as younglings had could move so glitching <b>fast</b>. This was technically the first sanctioned outing for the younger twins, he and Sunstreaker had managed to keep the younglings mostly contained in their quarters, entertaining them with games as best they could. <em>Well, best I could.</em> Throughout the entire grueling process, Sunstreaker had kept his distance, leaving Sideswipe to deal with Zip and Track for the most part unless the situation called for his icy glare and stern resolve.</p>
<p>After the washrack disaster, Sideswipe had been afraid to let the twins out to the rest of the base, thus leading to a competition of what would break first, Sideswipe’s sanity or the younglings resolve to escape. It had turned out to be neither as yet, because Sideswipe’s sanity, or what little he possessed in the first place, was still there even after the fifth successful escape attempt. <em>Good thing we know every inch of this base and every hiding place there is.</em> However, the most recent containment effort had been successful the longest, no one wanted a repeat of the power grid incident.</p>
<p><em>I still don’t know how Zipline managed to wrap himself in power couplings and not get fried.</em> He couldn’t help but snigger slightly at the memory of Red Alert glitching out and running around screaming like a femling about how many security and safety protocols the youngling was blatantly ignoring. His snigger died when he remember the lecture he had gotten from Prowl followed by a sound aft kicking from Ironhide and Chromia all for not paying better attention to the mechlings.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker pinged the bond sharply, <em>“Pay attention!”</em> Sideswipe jerked from his thoughts just in time to skid to stop, barely avoiding crashing into a tall green mech who was being turned into a climbing apparatus by Zipline and Fast Track.</p>
<p>The twins were squealing happily, “Hardwire! You’re free!”</p>
<p>The green mech, who stood about a head taller than them, chuckled quietly as he was climbed, “Sure am, how about you two? Getting into tons of trouble?”</p>
<p>Zipline perched on the mech’s right shoulder cheerfully, “Lots! Lots and lots!”</p>
<p>Fast Track, who was perched on the mech’s left shoulder, began chattering eagerly in the strange non-Cybertronian ‘language’ he had earlier when excited. Instead of looking confused, the mech simply nodded and laughed as if understanding. Sideswipe felt his body go tight as the mech turned around, revealing deep ruby optics. Sunstreaker was also tense, his combat computer working in conjunction with a previously dormant string of parental subroutines to scream mentally, ‘my younglings! No touchy!’</p>
<p>Sideswipe fingered his swords but kept them in subspace. There had to be a good reason a red opticed mech was here in Algol, plus, Zip and Track seemed to know him. The mech looked up, sensing their hostile gazes. He stiffened slightly and a tiny fake smile slid over his mouth, “Hey, you two must be their guardians, right?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest plates, “That’s right. Who the frag are you?”</p>
<p>The mech dipped his helm submissively, “Name’s Hardwire, I’m their older brother.” Zipline, apparently irritated at the sudden lack of attention from his older sibling, lightly rapped his fist on Hardwire’s helm.</p>
<p>Hardwire reached up, casually grabbed Zipline’s ankle, and with one swift movement held him upside down, “What have I told you about hitting to get attention?”</p>
<p>Zipline squealed and laughed, waving his arms in pleasure at the odd position. Sideswipe paused and slowly felt his frame relax a tiny bit. <em>Oh yeah. Prime did say that Starwish and the twins had an older brother with red optics. </em>Sunstreaker also seemed to relax a fraction, now that their primary concern was appeased.</p>
<p>Sensing that Sunstreaker was not quite in the mood to say anything friendly, Sideswipe stepped up as spokesbot, “I’m Sideswipe and this overly glossy mech is my brother Sunstreaker. Mind giving Zipline back?”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced down at the upside-down youngling who was still shrieking and squirming, “Sure.” With an expert flip, dull green mech righted his sibling and set him on the ground. The moment his little pedes touched the ground, Zipline was attempting to climb Hardwire again, chattering eagerly about the games Sideswipe had played with him and such.</p>
<p>Fast Track piped up from where he was perched contentedly on Hardwire’s shoulder, but his words were unintelligible to Sideswipe. Hardwire appeared to understand them however, because he immediately scowled and looked over darkly at Sideswipe, “What is this about giving my brothers a giant sword?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker eyed him blankly, “What?”</p>
<p>Hardwire placed his servos on his hips, “He just said that you were going to give him a giant sword. Is that true?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe mused a little, “You know-”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker cut him off immediately, well aware that Hardwire most likely had a very finite patience and that getting into a fight in front of the younglings would just earn them another beating via Ironhide, “No. We aren’t.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shrugged, willing to go with Sunstreaker on that one and asked, “How can you understand him anyway? That all sounds like nonsense to me.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics darted to the floor briefly, “It’s another language. Our guardians taught it to us.” Reaching up, Hardwire grabbed his twin brothers and set them on the ground, “You two have fun, alright? I need to go do something.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track whined pitifully, reluctant to let Hardwire simply walk away. The taller mech remained unmoved by the twins’ pleas however, and soon had disappeared around the corner. Sideswipe scowled, <em>“Well isn’t he just a happy go lucky mech.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker seemed more thoughtful, <em>“He was in a bad mood, that’s for certain. Probably having trouble getting along with everyone because of his optics.”</em> Sideswipe considered the theory and found it valid, by now it was instinct to regard anyone with red optics with suspicion, even if Optimus himself said he was cleared.</p>
<p>Sideswipe was jerked from his thoughts by the feeling of something climbing steadily up his leg, “<b>Ah</b>!” He rolled backwards and flailed his arms at the foreign feeling.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker calmly caught him by the shoulder plate, “Look down.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe stopped flailing and looked down, Zipline grinned up at him from where he was clinging to his guardian’s left leg. “What. Are. You. Doing?” He hissed irritably.</p>
<p>Zipline smiled sweetly, “Wanna ride!”</p>
<p>From beside him, there was a soft, ‘klink’ noise that signaled that Fast Track was now latched onto Sunstreaker’s leg. Sunstreaker snarled, “Hey! Watch the finish, glitch!”</p>
<p>There was a firm ‘clang’ and Sideswipe winced as the unexpected cuff from Ironhide sent Sunstreaker rolling forward a few meters against his will, “What have we told you about watching your language? No slurs around younglings!”</p>
<p>Fast Track giggled, he had managed to hold on to Sunstreaker during the forward motion and was apparently having fun. Sideswipe raised his servos defensively, “I didn’t say anything!”</p>
<p>Ironhide eyed him balefully, “What are you four doing just standing in the hall?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker rubbed the back of his helm as he replied, “Taking the sla-t twins on a tour.” Ironhide nodded in brief approval for his save before looking down at the giggling mechlings.</p>
<p>Crouching down he asked, “And what are you two doing?”</p>
<p>Zipline inched a little bit higher on Sideswipe’s leg, causing the unwilling climbing-apparatus to wince as some of his more sensitive cables were pinched, “Gettin’ a ride to the armory! Sides is gonna get me a sword!”</p>
<p>Ironhide’s helm jerked up and Sideswipe said hastily, “When he’s <b>older</b>! Not right now! We were headed to the rec room right now!”</p>
<p>Ironhide looked like he only half believed the trouble making twin, but refrained from cuffing him none-the-less, “Alright then.” Reaching down, he artfully pried Zipline from Sideswipe’s leg and set the mechling on his own broad shoulder. The process was repeated with Fast Track and soon the weapons specialist was carrying the twins to the rec room, the older two trouble makers trailing along behind.</p>
<p>The door to the rec room slid open and Zipline and Fast Track gasped at the new sights, sounds, and smells that assaulted them as they entered the well populated room. Mechs on break crowded around the gambling table in the corner or perched on top of the sofa to watch the holo-movie playing on the floor.</p>
<p>A few mechs glanced up to see the newcomers and gasped when they spotted the curious younglings perched on Ironhide’s shoulders. Blur, having looked up from the movie, leaped off of the sofa and was at Ironhide’s side in a klik, chattering away eagerly, “Are-those-younglings? Where-did-they-come-from? They-are-so-cute! Can-I-hold-one? What-are-their-designations? Are-they-yours? Well-of-course-they-can’t-be-yours-yours-because-you-and-Chromia-clearly-stated-that-you-weren’t-having-younglings-yet-but-still-they-look-like-they-could-be-yours-not-to-call-you-a-liar-or-”</p>
<p>Ironhide reached over and clamped a servo over Blur’s mouthplates firmly, “Slower Blur. Slower.” Removing his servo from Blur’s mouth, he motioned to the slack-jawed younglings, “This is Zipline and Fast Track, they’re two of the refugees we brought in a few metacycles ago. As for who’s they are,” reaching up he calmly lifted the younglings and plopped them into Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s arms, “They belong to Sunny and Sides here.”</p>
<p>There was total silence at that statement. Sideswipe became painfully aware of how many open stares he was receiving. Zipline squirmed in his arms slightly, “Want down!” Sideswipe hesitantly set the mechling down and watched in befuddlement as the green and grey bundle of trouble zeroed in on Blur, “Hi! I’m Zipline! Who are you? You talk really fast! Are you a racer? Cause you look like you could go really really fast! Have you fought lots of Decepticons? Can-you-teach-me-to-talk-as-fast-as-you-do?”</p>
<p>Blur smiled down at Zipline and made a audible effort to speak slower, “Hello Zipline, my designation is Blur. Thank-you! I am indeed a-racer. I can go over nineteen-hundred-kilometers-per-hour.”</p>
<p>Zipline’s mouth made a tiny ‘o’ shape of awe and admiration. His optics were focused solely on Blur, completely oblivious to the growing crowd of wondering mechs, many of whom hadn’t seen a youngling his age before. Sideswipe bristled protectively and shoved his way through the crowd to stand possessively over Zipline.</p>
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<p>Fast Track squirmed free of Sunstreaker’s arms and darted into the forest of legs before his guardian could catch him again. The crowd was slightly unnerving, but the urge to be with his brother and Zipline’s feeling of utter confidence gave him the courage he needed. Unfortunately, the courage didn’t last for long. The forest of hard metal legs was too thick even for the short distance required and Fast Track was nudged roughly by unseeing pedes until he became completely lost.</p>
<p>Terror clutched at his spark and he called out desperately for Zipline, his distress causing him to forget their telepathic bond, “Zip? Zip, he! I lo! <b>Zip</b>?” Of course, Zipline could not hear him over the growing hubbub of mechs. Fast Track clutched his hands close to his body, trying unsuccessfully to huddle away from all of the strangers. Although he was reckless and bold when his brother was by his side, Fast Track was naturally the more timid and easily frightened of the two. So, a large crowd and no twin in sight was an almost sure recipe for panic.</p>
<p>“<b>Zip</b>!” Fast Track darted blindly around and between the moving metal pillars, trying to find a familiar face, any familiar face, within the group of strangers. His mad dash was halted when he collided shoulder first into a thick red leg. Landing hard on his butt, Fast Track whined miserably, Zipline’s own panic over the seeming loss of his twin adding to his own.</p>
<p>Big hands gently scooped him up, eliciting a frightened squeak from the lost youngling, “Hey there little fella. A little bit lost?” Fast Track looked up with wide eyes into an unfamiliar silver faceplate of the red leg’s owner. Large blue optics with the tiniest hint of green mixed in smiled comfortingly at him, “What’s your designation youngling?”</p>
<p>“F-fast Track. Wh-who are you?” Fast Track couldn’t shake off the feeling that he knew the big red mech, something about his easygoing smile slowly assuaging his anxieties.</p>
<p>“My designation is Cliffjumper, but you can call me Cliff if you like. Need a lift?” Fast Track stared intently at Cliffjumper’s face for several seconds before deciding that this mech was trustworthy.</p>
<p>Fast Track settled in the Cliffjumper’s hands, idly listening to the big red Autobot’s sparkbeat as he nodded, “Yes, please.” Cliffjumper flashed him a grin and began nudging his way through the crowd, which was becoming slightly hectic thank’s to Sunstreaker’s frantic shouting.</p>
<p>As he studied Cliffjumper’s frame, Fast Track spotted two bull-like horns on Cliffjumper’s helm, one on each side, and his memory clicked into place, “You’re Cliffjumper.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper paused in his jostling of other mechs, “Yep, that’s my designation and I believe we already determined that yours is Fast Track. Why, have you heard of me?”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded, his mind briefly thinking back to the episode he had watched where Arcee recounted where she had first met him, “Uh-huh, but I’m not supposed to tell where.”</p>
<p>Their conversation was put on hold when Cliffjumper finally made his way to the center of the crowd and was spotted by Sunstreaker, “Track!” The golden front-liner snatched Fast Track from Cliffjumper’s hands fast enough to make the youngling slightly dizzy, “You glitch! What were you thinking running off into the crowd like that? You could have gotten hurt!”</p>
<p>Fast Track squirmed unhappily, his previous panic forgotten in favor of how Sunstreaker was holding him too tightly, “Nu-uh! Cliffjumper found me and took care of me. Put me down!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glowered, “No way you little spawn of a-” Cliffjumper coughed sternly and Sunstreaker hastily rephrased, “a mischief maker! You’re staying with me!” Sideswipe rolled into view, Zipline held firmly in his arms.</p>
<p>Zipline shared an exasperated look with his twin, “Th’ i no fu’. Wh’ i tha?”</p>
<p>Fast Track motioned to Cliffjumper, oblivious to the surprised stares their twin speak were earning, “Th’? I Cliff! Ember? Fro th’ T sho’? H’ i Arc’s par un’ h’ lef’.”</p>
<p>Zipline regarded Cliffjumper with something akin to admiration, “Coo!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper butted in, his tone one of amused confusion, “Uh … are your vocalizers working properly? ‘Cause they don’t sound like it.”</p>
<p>Zipline rolled his eyes, Cliffjumper’s question was by far one of the most idiotic ones yet, “Of course our vocalizers are working. Couldn’t you hear us talking?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe muttered darkly, “Is that what you two were doing?”</p>
<p>Ironhide abruptly dispersed the crowd with a bellow, “<b>Hey</b>! What are you trying to do? Make the mechlings claustrophobic? Go back to what you were doing and let them play!” There was a reluctant pause that was hastily shattered when Ironhide roared, “<b>Move</b>!”</p>
<p>The mechs scattered around the room obediently and after much coaxing and pleading, Fast Track and Zipline were returned to the floor. Reunited and with their previous panic totally forgotten, both younglings proceeded to explore everything, and everyone, they could conceivably reach.</p>
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<p>Cliffjumper watched Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s small charges in amusement, no wonder the two normally energetic front-liners were subdued and flopped on the couch. <em>I think those two could run anyone into the scrap heap. Cute mechlings though.</em> The easy-going red mech jerked slightly in surprise when Fast Track seemed to materialize on his shoulder, “Hi!” The youngling said excitedly.</p>
<p>Cliffjumper chuckled, “Well, hi again Fast Track. How’s it going?”</p>
<p>Fast Track was looking around, “You’re tall.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper shrugged, causing the mechling to giggle as he rode his newfound perch up and down, “I’ll take that as a compliment, mechling.” Fast Track smiled at him brightly, unintentionally causing the veteran’s spark to melt at his cuteness.</p>
<p>As Cliffjumper turned his helm to eye the second mechling who was valiantly attempting to scale his leg, Fast Track asked, “What’s that?”</p>
<p>He glanced down at the long, barely noticeable weld mark running along the length of his left shoulder plate, the one Fast Track was sitting on. He smiled, “Oh, that little thing? Just a little battle trophy I picked up orns ago during a mission to Protihex.”</p>
<p>From his lap, Zipline panted slightly from his exertions and asked eagerly, “Really? What happened?”</p>
<p>Genuinely pleased that someone wanted to hear his stories and pointedly ignoring the chuckles and ‘aww’ sounds coming from the other mechs, Cliffjumper launched into a youngling proofed version of his mission to Protihex, “Well, it all started out when we got a report that Decepticons had been sighted in the ruins of Protihex square. Myself and a few others were sent to investigate and mech, did we find the biggest surprise ever!…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. New Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish groaned softly to herself as she returned to the land of the living. Sitting up, she winced at the throbbing headache she immediately experienced upon committing the action. Looking around, she was surprised to find herself in her berth room, covered in the medical blanket First Aid had given her and with the lights mostly dimmed but not completely off. <em>What happened?</em> It took several moments, but memories suddenly rushed back to her, bringing with them a flush of immense embarrassment. Starwish buried her head miserably in her hands, <em>please tell me I didn’t do that! Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! Ultra Magnus is going to lecture my head off … or put me in the brig … or both.</em></p>
<p>The triangular audio amplifiers on her ears suddenly twitched, an uncomfortable motion that she had grown mostly used to over time. The twitching was caused by the amplifiers picking up sounds and attempting to pinpoint them. As Starwish listened carefully, the sounds turned into voices. “Her behavior was unacceptable, Prime. She attacked Chromia and repeatedly refused to listen to orders from your sparkmate, Elita-1. Surely she needs to be disciplined.”</p>
<p>Starwish curled tightly in on herself, feeling hideously like a frightened child who wanted to avoid punishment. Which, in a sense, she was. Optimus Prime’s voice rumbled softly from the other side of the door, “She is a youngling, Magnus. Her spark is under an enormous amount of stress as are her systems. Her outburst was not in defiance of Elita or Chromia. Also, I highly doubt that her act of throwing a cube of soap at Chromia was a premeditated assault.” <em>So … I’m not to be punished?</em> Somehow, the thought did not make her feel any better.</p>
<p>There was a pause, “Now that the femmes have returned to base, might I presume that she is to be assigned new living quarters?”</p>
<p>A soft chuckle, “Yes, upon some discussion, Elita and I agreed to transfer her to Flareup and Moonracer’s quarters. She is also to be placed under Elita’s command and training. You however, will still be her official guardian.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus actually sounded uneasy, “…yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“What troubles you old friend?” Optimus’s voice was so soothing and despite her humiliated misery, just listening to him made Starwish feel calmer.</p>
<p>Ultra Magus’s voice sounded slightly tight, “I do not feel that I am optimal for the task of being the femling’s guardian. She … permission to speak freely, sir?”</p>
<p>“Granted.” Starwish could almost see Optimus nodding along with the statement.</p>
<p>A sigh emanated from the other room, “She is frightened of me, sir. I have attempted to … befriend her, but any time I speak to her, she becomes extremely unresponsive and withdrawn. I have set down rules that she follows to the letter, yet I feel more like I am more of a … a <b>prison warden</b> to her than a guardian that she can trust to protect her. In all honesty, sir, I have had no idea how to handle her from cycle one.”</p>
<p>Starwish didn’t hear Optimus’s reply, she was too busy thinking about what Ultra Magnus had said. <em>He sounds so insecure. Is that how he sees this? I thought … I thought he wanted me to quiet when he was around and only asked about my day to be polite. He was trying to be nice?</em> Starwish rolled this over in her mind a few times. Memories of their interactions over the past metacycles coming to the front to be examined.</p>
<p>Now that she studied the memories carefully, Ultra Magnus’s actions could have been attempts to ‘befriend’ her. Very poor attempts, but still, perhaps the rule orientated mech Optimus had chosen as her legal guardian wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps he was simply inexperienced and afraid to make a mistake, just like her.</p>
<p><em>Maybe I should try to be nicer. More friendly. If he really wants to be my guardian, than he won’t get angry if I treat him more like one instead of a drill sergeant will he?</em> She heard the sound of heavy footsteps fading and realized that Optimus was leaving their quarters. <em>Ultra Magnus’s quarters, I’m moving. Again.</em></p>
<p>She expected to be left alone with her unfavorable thoughts, Ultra Magnus had never actually stepped inside her quarters after all. There had been the one time he’d stood in the doorway, but usually if he wanted to see her, he knocked on her door and requested her presence. So she couldn’t stop herself from looking up in surprise when the door slid open and Ultra Magnus’s distinctive shadow loomed in her room. His shoulders shifted slightly as he rumbled, “May I enter?”</p>
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<p>Ultra Magnus stood in the door to his charge’s berth room, doing his best to hide his nervousness. He had only been coming to check on her, he hadn’t expected her to be awake. <em>Did she overhear my conversation with Prime?</em> Resisting the urge to retreat, he asked as softly as he could, “May I enter?”</p>
<p>Vulnerable optics stared at him for a klik before Starwish nodded, “Uh-huh.” Ignoring her improper word use, Ultra Magnus slowly entered the room. His optics briefly swept around and he was startled by how bare the room was. There were a few datapads haphazardly lined up on a shelf and the blanket First Aid had given her, but nothing else. It was the same as the one time prior that he had intruded to fetch her on behalf of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. <em>I thought she simply hadn’t finished settling in. This is all she has?</em></p>
<p>He abruptly realized that he’d been staring at the room and returned his gaze hastily to Starwish, “Did you overhear the conversation I had with Prime?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus felt his spark twitch uncomfortably as he spotted a flash of fear briefly flicker through her optics, “Yes, sir. Parts of it. Mostly just how I was to be moved to new quarters.” She blushed suddenly and hid her face in her servos, her voice became muffled, “I made such a scene…”</p>
<p>Remembering the words Optimus had spoken to him only moments ago, Ultra Magnus strode to the side of her berth and, hesitantly, reached out a broad servo to stroke her upper back. She stiffened underneath his touch and looked up at him in surprise. Magnus’s lips twitched as he struggled to shed the military air that had been with him for most of his life, “You … you are not to blame. The trials you have been put through are many. Chromia is at fault for provoking you. Your new roommates are honorable femmes and will hold neither scorn nor malice in their sparks for your actions.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s frame began to incrementally relax under his touch, “It was still embarrassing. I don’t like it when others see me cry.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus knew how she felt, he did not like to show his emotions to others that often, especially not grief. His fingers gently brushed the base of her prosthetics, the action eliciting an involuntary purr of pleasure from Starwish’s engine, “I am confident that you will get along Flareup and Moonracer, they are both kind and welcoming.” He paused and debated whether or not to ask the question that had been bugging him ever since entering her room, “Are these the only possessions you have?”</p>
<p>Starwish sat up and glanced around the room, “Yes. Unless you count my buzz saw.” Ultra Magnus fought not to frown, <em>a youngling, especially a femme like her, should have more than this. Surely she had personal items from her home or guardians.</em></p>
<p>“Did your guardians not give you things?” He instantly chided himself for asking such an intrusive question.</p>
<p>He was surprised by the short bitter laugh that fell from Starwish’s lips, “Oh, sure. But it all got blown to smithereens when my guardian’s housing unit exploded and-” she abruptly stopped and bit her lip, glancing up at Ultra Magnus nervously. It was as if she was afraid she’d said too much.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus felt his spark tug with sadness, he was certain he knew what had caused her housing unit to explode. <em>Curse this war.</em> His hand stopped and he glared into the distance. Too many suffered because of one mech’s petty whims. Too many lost those dear to them, all because of one mech who had a lust for power and an army of like minded filth.</p>
<p>“Sir?” He looked down at Starwish, she was eyeing him curiously, “May I ask a question?”</p>
<p>He nodded, “Ask freely.” She bit her bottom lip component and curled her legs up to her chest.</p>
<p>Wrapping her arms around her legs, she stared at the wall and asked, “Why did Optimus Prime choose you to be my guardian?” Ultra Magnus had asked himself that many times, but it hurt to hear it from her. It was simply another sign of how inadequate he was for the task. He was a tactician who helped lead armies, he wasn’t built to be a creator or a guardian, not anymore.</p>
<p>“Well…” He wasn’t sure how to answer the question, he could answer with the logical reasons, but somehow he got the impression that wasn’t what she was asking.</p>
<p>Looking up at him she continued, “I understand the logic behind it and I’m not questioning his judgement. It’s just that … I get the feeling that there was another motive behind it. A, a second set of reasons that made him think of you. I heard what he said outside, even though I’m being reassigned to different quarters, you’re still my guardian. I just get the feeling…” she averted her optics again, her voice lowering to a whisper, “I get the feeling there is more to this than meets the optic.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus was surprised by her intuition, and her show of courage to tell him her suspicions. Also, the theory he had just been told mirrored his own. He thought that perhaps Optimus was trying to teach him something by assigning him as a guardian of a femme.</p>
<p>Optimus’s words came back to him, <em>“You must learn to let go, Magnus. I do not believe that she fears you as much as she is afraid to approach you. I have read the observations of other mechs who have had contact with her and they all say that she is sweet but shy. She is also well aware that you have many duties. Reach out to her, she will accept your advances of friendship, but only if you make them in the first place.”</em> His leader and friend had paused before adding gently,<em> “Perhaps she is not the only one who withdraws when you two are in the same room?”</em></p>
<p>Returning to the present he said, “I believe you are correct.” She blinked at him in surprise, “I am … not the most social of mechs. Perhaps he believed that you would …” he searched for a proper term.</p>
<p>“Draw you out of your shell?” Starwish hazarded quietly.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded, “Indeed.”</p>
<p>She seemed to be considering something for several kliks before shyly saying, “Perhaps, sir, we could make a bit of deal?”</p>
<p>He frowned quizzically, “Explain.”</p>
<p>She vented once or twice, unintentionally reminding Magnus of Ratchet’s words about her damaged processor, “How about, if you teach me more about staying in control of my emotions I … I’ll teach you about showing emotions more often?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus considered her proposal in complete seriousness for a full bream before hesitantly nodding and saying, “Very well, Starwish. You have a ‘deal’.” Looking up into his face, she smiled at him for what he realized was the first time. He hesitantly smiled back. As they smiled at each other, his hand resting gently on her back, he felt a tug pull on his spark, faint and somehow musical. His spark skipped a beat, <em>a guardian bond request…</em></p>
<p>He briefly hesitated from accepting it, to do so would forever seal his position as her guardian, even if another should come along who was more worthy. Also, he hadn’t had a bond since the death of his beloved sparkmate and the scars of her offlining still haunted him. But, looking down into the innocent face of the femme before him, he decided that perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to let someone else in.</p>
<p>He answered the tug and saw Starwish’s eyes widen in shock, she either hadn’t expected him to accept or hadn’t even known her spark was making the request. The tiny thread that was a beginning bond thrummed slightly with surprise and happiness and Magnus decided that his decision was the right one, “I believe we have much to learn from each other … young spark.”</p>
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<p>Hardwire sat on the floor, knees curled up towards his chest, arms splayed backwards to keep himself balanced, watching the life of an alien city rush by absently. Algol’s beautiful and exotic cityscape was amazing, but despite how enchanting it appeared, Hardwire’s thoughts were troubled and far away. After being released by Prowl, something that still surprised him, and his encounter with the twins and their guardians, he had attempted to find his way back to the training room to hit something. A punching bag maybe, the wall if nothing else was available. Unfortunately, he had gotten totally lost and after the incident with Bulkhead had not been in the mood to risk asking for directions.</p>
<p>Purely by accident, he had found the observatory. Peeking inside, he had discovered it to be empty and had stepped inside to marvel at the view. The observatory was huge. With walls and a ceiling made totally of a see-through material Hardwire could only assume was Cybertronian glass, any who entered the room would have an almost three-sixty view of the city of Algol.</p>
<p>Hardwire tilted his head back to watch someone fly overhead and briefly wondered who it might be. <em>I heard that there were some Autobots who could fly. Wonder what it’s like? To fly under ones own power.</em> “Great view isn’t it?” Hardwire yelled in surprise and jolted, falling ungracefully on his side in an attempt to put distance between himself and the voice.</p>
<p>Rolling onto his back, he lifted his head to blink uncomprehendingly at the chuckling femme. <em>Ah, pit. It’s her.</em> Chromia stood over him, her hands resting on her hips, chuckling at his embarrassing display. Hardwire felt his spark start beating a crazy rhythm against his chest and he started taking deep breaths in an effort to calm. The blue femme who had shot his leg previously abruptly stopped chuckling and eyed him, “Relax, mech. I’m not here to shoot you.”</p>
<p>Sitting up slowly, Hardwire tried not to show just how scared he was of a femme less than twice his size, “Good … good to know.” Looking around, he suddenly wished that he wasn’t alone, a witness might have helped matters. <em>Stop panicking!</em> A little voice in his head berated, <em>she already said that she isn’t here to shoot you! She probably just came to the observatory to enjoy the view and didn’t even know you were there!</em></p>
<p>Hardwire scrambled to his feet and inched for the door, murmuring, “I’ll leave you alone.”</p>
<p>Chromia’s hand whipped out and grabbed his arm, eliciting a surprised noise, “Hold up. I came here to talk to you.”</p>
<p>Hardwire suppressed a groan, <em>great. Now what?</em> “Yes, ma’am?”</p>
<p>Chromia glanced briefly down at the floor before looking up into his optics, “I came to apologize for … ah … shooting you in the leg and the threats I made afterwards.” Hardwire stared at her, <em>okay, I did not see </em><b><em>that</em></b><em> one coming.</em> Taking his silence incorrectly, she released his arm and continued, “I’ll completely understand if you hold a grudge and want to beat the scrap out of me. I won’t let you, naturally, but I’ll understand.”</p>
<p>Hardwire couldn’t stop a tiny chuckle from escaping him, “I don’t really like to hold grudges, especially against bots who could kick my skid-plates with both servos tied behind them.”</p>
<p>Chromia looked both relieved that he’d accepted her apology and amused at his opinion of her, “Smart mech.” Glancing around at the lively cityscape outside, she asked, “So, what are you doing up here? Would have thought you’d be getting to know the others on base.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his bad mood return with a vengeance, “Yeah … tried it. Didn’t really end well,” he glowered at a particularly tall skyscraper, “surprise, surprise. Mechs with red optics who so much as twitch incorrectly end up in the security office under heavy guard.”</p>
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<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p>Chromia raised an optic ridge, <em>ouch. Bitter much? Can’t blame him though.</em> “They’re just twitchy around strangers. The bots’ll warm up to you in time.”</p>
<p>The tall green mech grunted noncommittally, his expression still dark and contemplative. Feeling the urge to lighten his mood, Chromia joked, “Trying to activate a laser vision mod? Because I don’t think that skyscraper is the best target.”</p>
<p>Her words had the desired effect, he blinked at her in confusion for a klik before suddenly realizing what she meant and smiling, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He paused, clearly unsure of how to proceed in her presence. Chromia was having a similar problem. She wasn’t a ‘small-talk’ type of femme, especially with mechs. If she knew the mech, than she could talk to them about relevant things, but talking to strangers wasn’t her strong point. Scrap, this was so out of character for her. But, she did feel the need to make things right between herself and the newcomers on base and this was the route Elita had advised.</p>
<p>Studying his frame thoughtfully, she latched onto a conversation idea, “What’s your function? You look like a heavy lifter.”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced down at his frame briefly, “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He frowned, “I don’t really know what my … function is. I was mostly doing odd jobs up until now.”</p>
<p>The new found knowledge stabbed at Chromia’s spark, a mech his age should at least have an idea of his function. Most knew what they wanted to do when they were entering their second-frame. War didn’t leave to many non-army options though, “Any interests then?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, “Well … when I was a youngling I wanted to be an actor.” Chromia couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement, Hardwire actually grinned at her laughter. His expression morphed into one of concentration, “I also like to read about weapons … does that count?”</p>
<p>Chromia felt her interest peek, “Sure does. How much have you learned?”</p>
<p>Again, he shrugged, “I can identify weapon models fairly well and I can usually identify their main function.”</p>
<p>Chromia impulsively decided to prove his words and drew one of her battle pistols out of subspace. Hardwire saw the motion and leapt backwards with a yelp. Chromia was quick to reassure him, “Take it easy, mech. I just wanted to see if you could identify this one.”</p>
<p>He eyed her suspiciously for a klik before looking down at her blaster. Hardwire’s response time was nano-kliks before he started rattling off info, “Energon battle pistol model X-224. Equipped with a 5x scope, it can hold roughly ten rounds of armor piercing 50-90 ammo. Used mostly by the scout-caste, but occasionally by the warrior-caste for emergency anti-sniper situations.” Chromia felt her jaw go slightly slack at the database-like knowledge Hardwire had just rattled off.</p>
<p>After showing him three more guns, all of which were completely different, and getting a perfect summery of each from the mech before her, Chromia was fairly convinced that she was in the presence of a weapons prodigy. Or at least a weapons geek.</p>
<p>He looked at her shyly, “Uh … did I get all that right?”</p>
<p>Chromia grinned, “Close enough. You would get along with my sparkmate so well.” She brightened, “Hey! There’s an idea, how about I introduce you to him? He’s got a joor or two of free time before his next patrol and would love like processored company.”</p>
<p>Glad for a way to get out of making awkward small talk and without waiting for his answer, she subspaced the plasma rifle she’d been showing him, grabbed Hardwire’s servo, and began cheerfully dragging him out of the observatory. The confused mech trailed after her, mumbling, “Well, if you’re sure.”</p>
<p>Chromia smirked, “Sure I’m sure!” Reaching out through her spark bond, she called, <em>“Hey ‘Hide, where are you?”</em></p>
<p>Ironhide’s reply was swift and tinted with amusement, <em>“In the rec room watching Cliffjumper have a willing audience for once, why?”</em></p>
<p>Chromia raised an optic ridge in surprise even though Ironhide couldn’t see the motion, <em>“Really? Huh, well, head back to our quarters, I’ve found an apprentice for you.”</em></p>
<p>There was a long pause, <em>“Come again?”</em></p>
<p>Chromia was fully aware of the stares her mildly crazed smirk and red opticed companion were receiving. She also couldn’t have cared less, <em>“You’ll see. Just be there!”</em></p>
<p>Ironhide sent her a wave of amused bafflement, <em>“Alright then. See you there.”</em></p>
<p>Chromia went silent over their bond, inwardly pleased to no end. Not only would this get Hardwire out of a bad mood, thus helping to make up for shooting him and the crying spell she had caused his sister to have, but it would also help the mech to gain a friend. Besides, who didn’t like to talk about weapons?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Getting Along</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish felt like hiding behind Ultra Magnus when she caught sight of her new roommates. Seeing them again made the recent memories of her ‘meltdown’ all the more painful. Ultra Magnus paused in his strides and Starwish felt a gentle feeling of reassurance softly brush her spark. She looked up wonderingly at the tall mech again. Being able to pick up or be ‘sent’ emotional impressions was … new and interesting to say the least. <em>I wonder if this is what the twins feel like all the time … only stronger and more immature.</em></p>
<p>The reassuring ‘nudge’ in her spark pushed a little harder, accompanied by a ‘pay attention’ vibe that had Starwish obediently looking over to the other two femmes. The two femmes, one a sea green, the other a mix of red and orange, appeared to be keeping their distance, an act which made Starwish blush in shame. <em>Probably think I’m a spoiled brat.</em></p>
<p>She whispered softly, “Ultra Magnus, sir? I would not think to question the orders of a Prime … but is this really a good idea?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded firmly, “Yes. Now, go introduce yourself to them. They are both quite friendly, as long as you adhere to proper etiquette, you will get along adequately.” <em>Adequately? Proper etiquette?</em></p>
<p>“Not the best way to be comforting, sir.” Her sullen mutter was deflected smoothly.</p>
<p>“I have a meeting on the other side of the base in two breems, go.” There was a hesitant pause and Starwish blinked in surprise when Ultra Magnus briefly brushed the base of her prosthetics, “You will do fine.” His hand returned to his side and without waiting for any further protest from her, the tall mech strode away.</p>
<p>Starwish watched him go for several seconds, feeling very much like a sheep left to the mercy of wolves. Huffing slightly, she slowly turned to face her two new roommates. Moonracer smiled, “Hi there, I’m Moonracer, and this is Flareup.”</p>
<p>Flareup grinned, “Hey there.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded timidly, “Hey.”</p>
<p>Flareup cocked her head to one side, “Come on over, I promise we don’t bite.” Feeling like she could melt into the floor, Starwish padded over to them. She squeaked in surprise as Flareup flung an arm casually over her shoulder, “So, I get the distinct impression that you’d rather pretend we’ve never met before this cycle. Therefor, I suggest we do just that and show you to your new quarters. Sound good?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked up at the femme who was, surprise, surprise, a head taller than her. Caught off guard by Flareup’s bluntness, she stammered “Uh, okay. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Flareup nodded decisively and released Starwish’s shoulders, “Good! Our quarters are this way.” Without another word, she strode down the hall, her body posture nothing but cheerful purpose.</p>
<p>Moonracer giggled at Starwish’s baffled look, “Yeah, she’s like that a lot. You’ll get used to it.” Starwish nodded mutely and followed Moonracer and Flareup to her new quarters.</p>
<p>Moonracer and Flareup’s quarters were nowhere near as large as Ultra Magnus’s. Instead of several rooms, this was just a single, albeit large, room filled with three berths, a large weapons rack and miscellaneous items that testified to it status as inhabited. Flareup spread her arms expansively at the room, “What’s ours is yours. Except the explosives, those are mine.” <em>Is that what those are? Who keeps explosives on their </em><b><em>nightstand</em></b><em>?</em></p>
<p>Moonracer said more understandably, “Go ahead, pick a berth and make yourself comfortable.” Starwish smiled weakly and, after brief consideration, quietly picked the berth in the far corner. As she carefully pulled her blanket out of subspace, something she was getting steadily better at, she couldn’t help but think idly, <em>I wonder if collage roommates are like this. Unique right off of the bat.</em></p>
<p>Laying her blanket across the berth, Starwish then carefully removed her datapads one by one and stacked them neatly on the small shelf in the wall that served as a nightstand. Turning around, she noted the unreadable looks Moonracer and Flareup were directing her way, “Uh, is this okay? Did I take the wrong berth?”</p>
<p>Moonracer shook her head immediately, “Not at all, I said you could pick any one that you wanted. It’s just…” She hesitated, as if realizing that she’d been about to ask an insensitive question.</p>
<p>Flareup finished it for her, “Is that all you have?”</p>
<p>Starwish covered her embarrassment with a shrug, “Well … there wasn’t much left after the housing unit exploded. Mostly just Zip and Track’s two favorite toys and our lives.”</p>
<p>Moonracer looked about to apologize, but Flareup interrupted, “Ah, that makes sense. How about we find somewhere comfy to chat and get to know each other?”</p>
<p>Starwish mentally concluded that Flareup was not one to dwell on the past and preferred to move on whenever possible. A sentiment which was fine by her in this situation, even if she was most likely about to be grilled for info, “That … sounds good. Anywhere particular you have in processor?”</p>
<p>Flareup’s optics lit up slightly, “I know just the place.”</p>
<p>‘The place’ turned out to be a small corner booth in the pub where the femmes could huddle over cubes of sweetened energon and talk. Flareup swirled her cube expertly, “So, any hobbies?”</p>
<p>Starwish kept her eyes firmly on the contents of her cube as she muttered, “I like to dance sometimes. I sing a little bit too.”</p>
<p>Moonracer sipped at her energon before replying, “That’s cool! I’m a racer myself. They call me the fastest femme on the track.”</p>
<p>Flareup took an unladylike swig and said cheerfully, “I blow up stuff.” Moonracer nudged Flareup firmly with her elbow and Flareup glared, “What? I do! I blow stuff up and I glitching enjoy it!”</p>
<p>Moonracer protested, “You’re <b>job</b> is to blow up stuff, so it doesn’t count as a hobby.”</p>
<p>Flareup seemed to ponder this newfound information, “Okay, then I guess my hobby would be … polishing my guns? Or maybe racing? But that’s kind of your thing Moon so…”</p>
<p>Starwish bit back a giggle, she couldn’t tell whether Flareup was honestly confused on the definition of ‘hobby’ or if the two were just trying to get Starwish to lighten up. But if it was the latter, it was working.</p>
<p>Flareup finally gave up trying to find a subject that Moonracer counted as a hobby and turned to Starwish, “All right. So, tradition states that whenever a femme joins under Elita-1’s direct command, at least one of the senior femmes has to make sure they clear certain criteria. That criteria being…” Flareup paused as a group of mechs sauntered into the pub and sat down at the counter before resuming smugly, “you’ve been on base for four metacycles, how many mechs have started panting at your pedes and do you like any of them back?”</p>
<p>Starwish sat back slightly, this wasn’t what she had been expecting at all, “Uh…”</p>
<p>Moonracer put in helpfully, “For instance, when I first arrived on a mech populated base with Chromia and Flareup, I had about … twenty mechs all trying to flirt with me in the same cycle. However, none of them interested me, so I let Chromia chase them off with her guns.”</p>
<p><em>Why do I get the feeling that their just trying to dig up teasing material on me? Oh well, in the spirit of being a roommate,</em> “No one has really flirted with me per say. Well, except for Sideswipe, but Sunstreaker keeps him under control most of the time. I think Ultra Magnus being my guardian has kind of scared off most of the flirters.”</p>
<p>Moonracer snorted, “All but Sideswipe naturally. The mech has <b>no</b> self preservation protocols, I swear. You’re very lucky to have only Sideswipe chasing you openly, there is nothing more disconcerting than having a pack of mechs follow you wherever they can.”</p>
<p>Flareup idly watched the mechs at the counter, winking at one that happened to glance their way in an evil ‘flirt and I’ll kill you’ sort of way, “So, no obvious suitors. But that doesn’t answer the question of whether a mech has caught your optic or not. Sideswipe <b>is</b> kinda cute after all, it’s just a pity he has such a glitch as a sibling.”</p>
<p>Starwish came to Sunstreaker’s defense immediately, “Sunstreaker isn’t all that bad. He’s just anti-social. Besides, he’s always been fairly polite to me.” Her statement seemed to on the same scale of unbelievability as claiming to have seen a unicorn. Both of her new roommates stared at her.</p>
<p>Moonracer got an excited look on her face and leaned in conspiratorially, “Really? Sunstreaker has never so much as looked at the rest of us unless it’s to paint our portraits. Even then, he’s always on the rude side. I wonder … has a femme finally caught his optic?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt heat rush to her face and shook her head wildly, “No, no, no! It is definitely not like that! It’s only because I’m the sister of his wards! If I don’t like someone, the twins don’t like that someone and they’ll make no end of trouble. He’s only nice to make sure I’ll help keep my brothers under control, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>Flareup had a calculating look on her face, “Uh-huh. But do you like him? Sunstreaker?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her blush grow, “No! Not that way I mean … I’m not attracted to Sideswipe either. Sides is just too immature.”</p>
<p>Flareup actually looked relieved, “Good, now I don’t have to play matchmaker to keep you away from him. Sunstreaker is definitely not sparkmate material.” <em>How is playing matchmaker any better? Besides, who is she to judge a mech as ‘sparkmate material’ or not? Not that I care particularly.</em></p>
<p>Moonracer was smiling, “So … who do you like? Surely in a base filled with the Autobot’s finest there’s <b>somebot</b> who’s caught your attention.”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her head again, “I don’t think so. Sure, one or two of them might be … cute. But I’m not interested in relationships of that nature right now.” <em>Especially not with alien robot guys.</em></p>
<p>Moonracer nodded, “Perfectly understandable. I officially declare you passed on the ‘mech’ criteria. I must say, you did better than I did.”</p>
<p>Starwish cocked her head one side, “Really?”</p>
<p>At that prompt, Flareup and Moonracer happily launched into bold recantations of their various first adventures under the command of Elita-1. By the time a joor had passed, Starwish was giggling too hard to even flinch when Flareup recounted a tale involving the infamous Chromia and her temper.</p>
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<p>Listening to Starwish giggle madly over the tale they had just told her, all of her previous reclusiveness having vanished, Flareup and Moonracer shared a triumphant glance. Operation: Befriend the New Femme was officially a success. Operation: New Sister in Arms could now commence in safety.</p>
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<p>Ironhide patiently guided Hardwire through the steps of how to clean an energon battle pistol, inwardly marveling at how quietly and eagerly the younger mech listened. The mech was a regular database of knowledge when it came to weapons. The only thing Hardwire was truly lacking was actual field experience with the weapons he had read so much about.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>“You know, ‘Hide. When I said I was bringing you an apprentice, I was half joking. But now I’m slagging serious about it. He’d make a scary sight for the ‘cons on the battlefield with the proper training.”</em>
</p>
<p>Without breaking stride in his lesson, Ironhide replied, <em>“Definitely. He’s got the frame for it too.”</em> Ironhide paused, checking his internal chronometer, <em>frag.</em> Straightening up from where he’d been leaning over his shoulder, “Sorry, Hardwire, but we’re going to have to finish this another time. I’ve got patrol in a few breems.”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked up from his work and nodded obediently, “Sure. Thank you for teaching me, Ironhide. This … this was fun.”</p>
<p>Ironhide grinned broadly as the younger mech stood up, rubbing oil off of his servos with a polishing cloth, “Not a problem. It’s good to finally teach someone who already knows the muzzle from the trigger for once.” Hardwire smiled back at him, his red optics lighting slightly. Ironhide firmly pushed down the automatic alarm bells the mech’s optics set off, Hardwire was not a Decepticon and not to be blasted. Optimus had made that <b>very</b> clear to the entire base.</p>
<p>Escorting Hardwire to the door, Ironhide couldn’t help but ask, “You got any weapons of your own?”</p>
<p>Hardwire actually flinched at the question for reasons lost on Ironhide, “Yeah … one or two … they were my creator’s before he offlined. I don’t really…” <em>Ah, that explains the flinch. The weapons are probably Decepticon make, not good things to flaunt when your a red opticed new recruit.</em></p>
<p>Ironhide replied easily, “It’s fine. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to. But if you ever want to show them off or need advice on them, feel free to drop by.”</p>
<p>As they reached the door, Hardwire smiled slightly, “Thank you Ironhide, I might do that next-” the door slid open to reveal a very rotund and uncomfortable-looking green mech standing outside.</p>
<p>Hardwire stiffened silently, his red optics hardening with anger at the sight of the mech. Ironhide recognized the mech as Bulkhead, a transfer from the Wreckers. Ironhide also recognized signs of tension between Hardwire and Bulkhead and narrowed his optics calculatingly. If the two started to fight, Ironhide would have to break them up, and that would make him late for patrol.</p>
<p>Bulkhead rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly, “Uh … I … some of the mechs saw you headed this way, Hardwire, and I thought that I should, you know, show you where your quarters are…”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared stiffly at Bulkhead for several kliks before curtly nodding, “Sure. Lead the way.” Ironhide raised an optic ridge, wondering if he should be worried about Hardwire’s drastic attitude change.</p>
<p>Ironhide placed a servo on Hardwire’s shoulder and asked, “You okay, Wire? Prowl could always give you a map.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave Ironhide a tight, fake smile, “No, it’s fine. Bulkhead’s my roommate.” The not-smile dropped and Hardwire stepped out into the hall, looking expectantly at Bulkhead who rumbled uncomfortably in his vents and shuffled off.</p>
<p>Chromia came to the door to watch Hardwire walk off with Bulkhead, waiting until they disappeared around the corner to comment, “Well, don’t they just look like the best of pals.”</p>
<p>Ironhide grunted worriedly, he couldn’t help but feel a touch protective of Hardwire, Wreckers were very violent, sometimes at the drop of a credit chip. He should know, he had been a founding member back in the cycle. Chromia patted her sparkmate’s arm comfortingly, “Don’t worry, anyone who can hold a civil conversation with a femme who shot his leg can handle the roommate jitters without resorting to violence.”</p>
<p>Ironhide snorted and started striding off towards the base entrance, “That wasn’t what I was worried about.” <em>There are other mechs on base that’ll intervene if something happens anyway. Besides, mech can probably hold his own in a fight if he gets desperate enough.</em></p>
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<p>Hardwire knew he wasn’t exactly being fair to Bulkhead, but in all honesty he didn’t know how to breach the metaphorical wall of ice. Bulkhead’s sudden ‘betrayal’ had hurt. A lot. The fact that the former Wrecker’s reaction was logical given the era and setting didn’t help to soothe his injured dignity.</p>
<p>Also, he wasn’t really sure if Bulkhead wasn’t still watching him for any signs of ‘Decepticon’ activity to turn him in to Prowl again. Hardwire had nothing to apologize for, except his own impulsiveness maybe, but it wasn’t like he could turn to Bulkhead and demand he say, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s head jerked up in surprise, he hadn’t expected Bulkhead to speak, “Come again?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead looked decidedly uncomfortable, “I said I’m sorry. I should have given you the, uh, ‘benefit of the doubt’ instead of going all security guard on you.” Bulkhead’s blue optics blinked at him almost shyly, “So, uh, if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you… unless you don’t want to speak to me anymore, which I can totally understand. It’s just that I really am sorry and I … aw, scrap I have no idea what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>Hardwire tried to decide whether he should laugh at the look on Bulkhead’s face as he stumbled out an apology or demand to know what Prowl had done to the Wrecker to make him so … repentant. Instead of either reaction, Hardwire smiled lopsidedly to hide his lingering resentment and said, “You’re forgiven, Bulkhead. I probably would have reacted the same way in your place.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead’s shoulders sagged with relief, “So, no hard feelings?”</p>
<p>Hardwire knew that even if he still felt a little bit miffed right now, it would be better to agree with Bulkhead, thus opening the door to letting the feelings go in reality, “No hard feelings. So … where’s our quarters?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead stopped and pointed, “Oh, they’re right … over there? Uh…” Bulkhead blinked at the blank wall he had pointed to and looked around, “I could’ve sworn it was this way.”</p>
<p>Hardwire deadpanned, “So, we’re lost?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead looked mildly insulted, “Of course not! I’m just a little turned around is all. It has to be nearby, its got my designation plate on it and everything.”<em> We’re lost.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire sighed and chuckled at Bulkhead’s befuddled mutterings as the latter looked around and scratched his helm. He had somehow expected the Wrecker to be a little more … directionally competent. <em>Apparently not. Or at least, not yet.</em> Hearing someone else just around the corner, Hardwire cautiously went to go ask for directions.</p>
<p>Hardwire stepped around the corner and into sight of an Autobot he didn’t recognize, “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>The smaller white and blue Autobot blinked at him in surprise but, thankfully, made no move to attack, “Oh, hello. I did not see you there. Can I be of assistance somehow?”</p>
<p>Hardwire smiled, grateful for the non-hostile reaction, “Um, yeah. See, my roommate is lost and I have no clue where he was taking me anyway. Could you help us get our bearings?”</p>
<p>The bot nodded politely, “Of course.” As Hardwire motioned for the stranger to follow him back to a still befuddled Bulkhead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the bot’s voice was familiar. <em>Maybe it’s because he sounds like he’s from England?</em></p>
<p>Bulkhead looked up from his confused mutterings and blinked at the sight of the Autobot following Hardwire, “Wire, what are you doing?”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a casual gesture towards the blue and white english-mech, “We are lost. So, I have asked this kind mech to give us directions.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead looked flabbergasted, “We don’t need directions to our quarters!”</p>
<p>Hardwire just blinked in a deadpan manner, his expression clearly saying ‘yeah, we do’. The mech whom Hardwire had approached coughed slightly, “Excuse me, but perhaps if you were to state where you wished to go, I could provide some assistance?”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared expectantly at Bulkhead. Bulkhead sighed and muttered something about ‘Wreckers never needing directions’ before answering, “Living quarters twenty-one B, hall thirty.”</p>
<p>The aristocratic sounding mech nodded calmly and pointed in the opposite direction Bulkhead had been going, “Just head that way and take the first hall on your right. After that, turn left and you will be there.”</p>
<p>Hardwire dipped his head, “Thank you, sir.”</p>
<p>The helpful mech actually smiled a tiny bit, “Fortunately or unfortunately, I am not a commissioned officer, so you need not call me ‘sir’. My designation is Mirage. It is a pleasure to see you up and about Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Hardwire started, “You know me?”</p>
<p>Mirage seemed to hesitate, “Well, yes. Though I suppose you do not know it. I was with the search party that found you and your family unit.” <em>Oh. Guess that makes sense. Maybe that’s where I heard his voice before?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire grinned agreeably, “Nice to meet you officially then, Mirage. Thank you again for the directions.” Mirage merely waved a hand in dismissal of his thanks and continued on his way.</p>
<p>Once Mirage was gone and the two tall green mechs had resumed the trek to their quarters, Bulkhead asked, “So … wanna play Lob next cycle?”</p>
<p>Hardwire watched as his roommate opened the door to their quarters and followed him in, thinking over the proposition while observing the room. It was sloppy, chaotic, and filled with bits and pieces of equipment Hardwire could only begin to guess the purpose of. In other words, it was like walking into a sci-fi version of his own room back on earth. Striding to an uncluttered berth, Hardwire stretched out on it and placed his hands comfortably behind his head as pillows, “Sure, why not?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead heedlessly knocked the clutter off of the second berth and began happily chattering about Lob and the various games he had previously played in his old unit. Looking up at the ceiling and only half listening to Bulkhead as he drifted to sleep, Hardwire mentally reviewed the day and decided something. <em>Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Two Orns Later</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enthusiastic shouts filled the air as the tightly compacted ball of metal hurtled through the air, constantly changing course as it was hit, helm-butted, bashed, and kicked in a wild game of the sport known as Lob. One green mech bounded forward with an agility belying his big frame, easily reaching over the head of a shorter competitor to bat the ball away from its target wall. From the sidelines, a red and orange femme laughed and shouted, “Denied!”</p>
<p>Starwish weaved her way through the tightly knit throng of spectating mechs to stand next to Flareup, “How’s it going?”</p>
<p>Flareup smirked lazily, the glint in her optics betraying her excitement, “Thanks to your brother, great. I’ve never seen anyone give Whitestrike such a run for his credits before.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled at Flareup’s enthusiasm, “Yeah, well, make sure you don’t get too into it Flareup. When I left the medbay Ratchet was muttering something about annual checkups. I’d hate for him to have to bring out the wrench because you joined in on the mechs’ game.”</p>
<p>Flareup snorted, “Yeah, yeah, I won’t start beating up the mechs-<b>hey</b>! That was a clearfoul! Cheater!” Flareup continued to shout insults at Whitestrike and his team while Starwish rolled her eyes, <em>I give her two joors to show up at the medbay with bruised knuckle plating and smug look.</em></p>
<p>Just as the ‘battle of the ball’ reached it’s zenith, Starwish’s intercom activated, ::Red Alert to Starwish! Red Alert to Starwish! Red Alert to <b>anybody</b>! I need help!::</p>
<p>Starwish blinked, wondering what could possibly be happening to get Red Alert to call her of all the beings on base, ::I’m here, Red Alert, what’s wrong?::</p>
<p>Red Alert sounded as if he was well into the middle of one of his infamous paranoia sparked glitch attacks, ::It’s a disaster! A total, utter disaster! Those brothers of yours are ruining everything! You need to get them out before they kill somebody! Or themselves! Or <b>me</b>!::</p>
<p>Starwish could see Hardwire and the other players grinding to a halt as she tried to calm Red Alert down over the open channel intercom, ::Okay, okay. Just calm down Red Alert, calm down and tell me where you are.::</p>
<p>Red Alert’s voice reached a painful octave, ::Calm down? Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down when these pit-spawned Decepticon saboteurs you call brothers have magnetized me within the confines of my office so that I can’t see my monitors! Decepticons could be swarming toward the base at this very klik and I wouldn’t be able to warn anyone! I need you to get the remote from them and let me down! Now!::</p>
<p>Starwish sighed darkly as she trotted through the sympathetically wincing crowd and towards Red Alert’s security office. <em>Sideswipe’s apprentices strike again. I am officially going to murder that red painted glitch for teaching the twinlings how to prank.</em> ::Alright Red Alert, I’m on my way, just … take a few deep vents and concentrate on something pleasant.::</p>
<p>Starwish tried not to get a headache from Red Alert’s frantic shouting over the intercom as Hardwire caught up to her from behind. Starwish glanced at him, “What about the game?”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a face, “Nobody can concentrate with Red Alert screeching over the broadband. That, and I figured you might need backup.”</p>
<p>Starwish tried to smile gratefully, but it was more a pained grimace, “Thanks for the help, what does this make? The tenth prank they’ve pulled on their own?”</p>
<p>Hardwire mentally counted, “Twelfth by my count.”</p>
<p>Starwish huffed irritably. A little under two orns ago, Sideswipe had taken it upon himself to teach Zipline and Fast Track everything there was to know about pranking. Needless to say, her two siblings had taken to the ‘teachings’ like ducks to water and they had been Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s sidekicks in making ‘ripples’ in the proverbial pond ever since.</p>
<p>Both of the older twins were currently locked in the brig after repainting Ironhide a bright red and scribbling the insulting words on each of his cannon holsters. Prowl had not been happy about receiving two thoroughly beaten up mischief makers for incarceration and had declared that they would not be out pranking for at least three metacycles. However, it would appear that Sideswipe had given Zip and Track last minute instructions on the ‘next big prank’. <em>At the rate this is going, Prowl is going to insist on putting Zip and Track in the brig along with their guardians.</em></p>
<p>Starwish and Hardwire trotted into the security office to see Zipline and Fast Track, cheerfully sitting on the only chair in the room, laughing at Red Alert. Said mech was magnetized spread-eagle style to the ceiling, face up, and very clearly not happy about it. Starwish didn’t wait for her siblings to notice her, she charged them with the intent on getting the remote that would free the paranoid security officer.</p>
<p>Zipline spotted her halfway across the room and dived under the monitor console with a yelp. Fast Track, however, paused half a second to long. Starwish snagged the scruff of his neck plating and held him down firmly while the mechling yowled in protest. Hardwire smoothly crouched and grabbed Zipline’s ankle just before it could disappear into the maze of wiring with the rest of his body.</p>
<p>As he was dragged out from under the console, Zipline yelled, “Put me down! This isn’t fair! Let go!”</p>
<p>Fast Track piped up, “Yeah! It wasn’t us! It was … uh … Prowl! Prowl did it!”</p>
<p>Hardwire held Zipline upside down and worked on snatching the magnetizer remote from the mechling’s flailing servos, “Sure he did, Fast Track, and he just happened to give you the remote too.” Finally resting the remote from Zipline, Hardwire pressed the deactivation button and Red Alert fell unceremoniously to the floor.</p>
<p>Leaping to his pedes, Red Alert charged frenziedly to his monitors and began studying them intently, all the while muttering about Decepticon infiltration and twitching at random times. Starwish and Hardwire began to slip out of the office with their brothers, not very keen on the idea of being a captive audience for one of the Security Officer’s rants on protocol and spies.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Flash Fire’s voice came over the com, ::We have a security breach! I just a saw a Decepticon Sab-Drone leave the building! I repeat, we have had a brea-:: His words were cut off abruptly and Starwish’s tanks churned in fear.</p>
<p>She had learned quite a bit of army ‘lingo’ over the past two orns and the term Flash Fire had used was a familiar one. Sab-Drone, otherwise known as a Specialist Saboteur Drone, was a sparkless machine programmed to infiltrate an enemy facility and sabotage their defenses by either implanting a virus into the main computer, self destructing, or messing with the facility wiring so that it would be easier for an incoming attack to make full impact on the target.</p>
<p>If the Sab-Drone was leaving, that meant it had already completed its task and that a Decepticon attack was inbound. <em>Wait, Flash Fire patrols the southern perimeter, which is this section of the base. That would mean-</em> Looking up at her older brother, she hissed, “Get the twins out of here Hardwire. Right now.” Starwish whirled and shot back into the security office, “Red Alert! Get out of there! Now!”</p>
<p>Red Alert glared at her, “What? No! I need to find where the Sab-Drone made a breach! I need my-”</p>
<p>Starwish grabbed his arm and shook it, “The only room of strategic importance in the southern perimeter is <b>here</b> Red Alert! Whatever the Sab-Drone did, it will affect this room. We need to get out, now!”</p>
<p>Red Alert’s optics widened in realization, “Oh Primus.” He stepped back and scanned his console, “No!” Before Starwish fully knew what was happening, Red Alert had whipped round and tackled her to the floor, practically smothering her with his larger frame as an explosion shook the room, rattling her denta and hurting her audio receptors.</p>
<p>Starwish felt like her spark was going to leap right out of her frame as she struggled to climb out from under the suddenly limp mech on top of her, “Red Alert? Red Alert!” The intercom was alive with frenzied reports and orders as the base shook with more distant explosions, but Starwish didn’t hear them. All she could hear was her own panicked venting as she stared in mute horror at Red Alert.</p>
<p>What parts of the white and red mech’s back armor that wasn’t shredded by heavy pieces of shrapnel was dented and singed. Energon dribbled and splashed, coating his damaged chassis a sickly green-blue as it slid and dripped down to the floor. <em>No … no, no, no, no! Please no! This has to all be a bad dream … please no!</em> Starwish dimly heard someone screaming as she remained frozen on the floor, but she couldn’t tell if it was her or not. Everything in her felt numb.</p>
<p>A large hand clamped down on her shoulder and Starwish heard Hardwire yelling something in her ear. “Star! Wake up! Wake up!” A sharp slap suddenly broke her trance.</p>
<p>Starwish looked up at Hardwire, her optics filling with tears, “We need a medic, Wire. Frag, we … we need- I-”</p>
<p>Hardwire slapped her again, “Snap out of it Star! We need to get Red and the twins out of here!” As if on cue, the twins screamed shrilly. Both Starwish and Hardwire were on their pedes and moving in the direction of the sound before the fully registered what was going on. Starwish felt a scream get stuck in her throat as several Vehicons stepped through a newly formed hole in the wall and froze at the sight of them.</p>
<p>The Vehicons raised their weapons and Starwish knew she should dodge behind cover, but her pedes felt rooted to the spot. The twins screamed again and Hardwire suddenly dropped on all fours, engine growling as his back started to transform. A poorly aimed shot whipped past her head and Starwish’s limbs suddenly regained the power of movement. She dropped to the floor, unsubspacing the Energon Battle Pistol Chromia had given her and firing wildly.</p>
<p>A bright ball of plasma thundered from out of nowhere and slammed into the middle of the vehicon group, blasting them apart like a rock through a window. Starwish looked over at Hardwire, who was crouched on all fours, a wild look in his optics and a giant cannon mounted on his back. He glanced at her, “The security room, go!” Starwish nodded numbly and hastily herded the shaking twins back into the room where Red Alert lay motionless on the floor.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track were crying, Starwish felt almost like joining them. She had played a few rounds of Call of Duty back on earth, but the chaos of the game was nothing like what was happening right now. Right now was far, far worse. Trying not to faint from her racing spark, Starwish opened the emergency medical channel, ::Starwish to med team, I’m in the Security Room and Red Alert is down and critical! I repeat, he’s down and looks bad! We need someone down here!::</p>
<p>Ratchet’s cursing filled her with dread, ::Pinned down in the north wing!::</p>
<p>First Aid sounded grim ::Same. We’ll try to get there as soon as we can!::</p>
<p>Starwish stared at the growing pool of energon with a feeling of foreboding, <em>he won’t make it that long. I need to do something … I can’t just let him die! But what can I do? I’m not a … medic.</em> An image flitted briefly before her mind, an image of wings. A fuzzy static noise burst in her ears and just beyond the static, a feminine, knowing voice whispering words she couldn’t quite catch. Words danced across her vision rapidly as a hitherto dormant program came online.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Emergency surgical prosthetic limbs: Activating.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Healing Mode: Activating … activated</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Syncing with logic center … sync complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Deactivating emotion core … deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Commencing level one Healing Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A strange feeling flooded her spark, a feeling of cold logic and calm that she had never felt before. Starwish looked up sharply at Hardwire, who was now crouched in the doorway with his cannon, “Keep them out, Wire. Twins, go to the far corner and stay there.” She only dimly noted how detached her voice sounded as she crouched beside Red Alert.</p>
<p>Inside her mind, her medical encyclopedia had booted up. However, instead of merely giving a calm examination of the horrible sight in front of her, the words were accompanied by an urge, an image of what she needed to do and how to do it. <em>Triage needed, examine for spark pulse.</em></p>
<p>Swiftly, Starwish reached out a servo and felt Red Alert’s neck cable, feeling a weak and erratic pulse in response to her touch. <em>Subject still online, clamp off damaged energon lines in back and clear shrapnel from subject’s frame.</em> Starwish felt like she was in some kind of trance as she reached into her subspace and pulled out emergency clamps that she hadn’t previously known were there. Emergency surgical prosthetic limbs: Activated. Almost before the message had registered on her internal HUD, her prosthetics came online and slid apart, a tool forming on the end of each one.</p>
<p>With an unshakable feeling of calm knowing, Starwish obeyed every command from her Healing Mode, Her six spider-limbs working quickly to remove the bits of shrapnel from Red Alert’s back while her hands patched the large gashes in his energon lines. She never even flinched whenever Hardwire’s huge cannon went off, signaling the demise of another unfortunate band of Decepticons. Nothing mattered but the patient. Nothing mattered but saving Red Alert’s spark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ultra Magnus dodged the clumsy punch from the vehicon with agility that belied his large frame. Taking advantage of the momentary loss of balance on the part of his enemy, he fired a quick round into the vehicon’s helm, ending its life instantly. Spinning to face the next wave of attackers, Ultra Magnus felt the wild panic from his ward suddenly vanish. For the briefest second, he thought he heard the words ‘a second chance’ flicker over the bond before a feeling of total calm washed over his spark from Starwish’s end of the bond. <em>What?</em></p>
<p>A plasma round shooting past him jerked his mind back to his own situation. He shoved his concerns for her to one side as he charged the vehicons. If Starwish was calm, than hopefully that meant she wasn’t in danger. For now, he had to focus on repelling the Decepticon surprise attack and staying online.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s sword was effortlessly ending the life of an eradicon that had foolishly landed on the ground when he felt it. Sheer terror flooded his spark from a foreign source followed swiftly by a mute plea for rescue and comfort. Sunstreaker felt the world slow as he abruptly knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the terror was from Zipline and Fast Track. His younglings were in danger, someone was attacking <b>his</b> younglings.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt the red fog over his optics thicken as Sideswipe roared next to him. Sunstreaker echoed the feral sound as he too fell into an unquenchable rage formed from their parental subroutines linking with their battle computers to scream ‘leave my younglings alone!’. With a snarl that would have made Megatron himself flinch, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe dived into the ranks of the Decepticons, hacking, slashing and firing as they fought to get to Zipline and Fast Track.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bulkhead pounded his way to Optimus Prime’s side, inwardly marveling at the feline grace with which his leader fought off two non-vehicon Decepticons. Through the maelstrom of conflicting com messages, Bulkhead felt someone open his private channel, ::Bulk? Where are you?::</p>
<p>Bulkhead felt his spark drop as he hastily nailed a ‘con in the faceplates with his wrecking ball, <em>scrap! I forgot all about him! A rookie shouldn’t be in this without backup!</em> ::In the east sector, Wire. Where are you? Are you hurt?::</p>
<p>Hardwire’s voice sounded strained and panicky, ::Nah, I’m fine. In the south sector. Kind of getting into a scrap with about oh, fifty Vehicons! If you happen to, I don’t know, swing by, backup would be nice!::</p>
<p>Bulkhead fired at some other Decepticons, forcing them to hastily duck around the corner to keep from getting their helms blown off, ::Wire, get out of there! You can’t hold off that many by yourself!::</p>
<p>There was pause in which Bulkhead rapidly imagined the worst, when Hardwire replied, his voice sounded decidedly strained, ::I can’t! Red Alert’s down and Starwish can’t carry him! The twins are freaking out in the corner and- holy frag! You’ve got to be kidding me!::</p>
<p>Bulkhead ducked behind cover as a heavy weapons ‘con opened fire on his position, ::Wire! Wire, what’s happening over there! Come on, mech, don’t up and offline on me!::</p>
<p>A well placed shot from Optimus Prime stunned the ‘con just long enough so that the Prime could get in closer and end him with a swift strike of his sword. Bulkhead kept pace with his leader, only dimly aware of other Autobots joining up with them as he frantically yelled over the com, ::Hardwire! Hardwire! Respond, frag it all!::</p>
<p>Finally a response came, but it was unintelligible and panicked. Bulkhead realized that whatever was happening, it was enough to drive Hardwire to speak in that strange language he used sometimes with his family. <em>Frag it, frag it, frag it! Frag it all to the pit!</em> Bulkhead switched channels, ::Any ‘bots near or in the south wing, head to the Security Room right slagging now! Hardwire and his siblings are under attack and need backup!::</p>
<p>::This is Elita-1, my team and I are on our way. ETA is a breem, barring any complications.:: Bulkhead felt a tiny amount of relief, but not much.</p>
<p>His processor was jerked to his surroundings when Optimus lightly touched his shoulder, “Focus, Bulkhead. Hardwire is in good servos. We must focus on our task of driving back the Decepticons here in the north wing.” Bulkhead nodded silently, knowing that his leader was right. Even if every instinct told him to go help Hardwire himself, Bulkhead was needed here, therefor, here he would stay. Optimus let go of his shoulder and turned to the other assembled Autobots, “The Decepticons have focused most of their attack here in the north wing, they are no doubt seeking to breech the command center. Ratchet, tend the wounded that are here and then follow me. First Aid, go to the west wing and help Prowl with the casualties. Buffer, Trailbreaker, you will escort First Aid.”</p>
<p>The indicated Autobots nodded curtly and departed. Optimus turned to Ironhide, “Ironhide, is Bumblebee safe?”</p>
<p>Ironhide nodded shortly, “He’s with Cliffjumper and Hound in the Bunker.”</p>
<p>Optimus didn’t miss a beat, “You and Bulkhead will help me clear a path to the command center.” An unspoken command for the other Autobots to run ‘backup’ was sensed as Optimus turned towards the hall the Decepticons had been coming from, and were now pouring through again, and roared, “Autobots! <b>Attack</b>!”</p>
<p>With roars of assent, the Autobots barreled into the midst of the enemy, firing, hacking, slashing, and bashing at the intruders. Bulkhead felt the energon in his lines flow hot and fast as he fought with the ferocity and skill only achieved by Wreckers. His thoughts briefly brushed over his roommate again, <em>hang on Hardwire, just remember what you’ve been taught and you’ll be fine. In the mean time…</em> A Decepticon heavy warrior stepped forward, his faceplates a snarl of contempt. Bulkhead smiled and bashed a servo against his wrecking ball, “Ah, yeah! Let’s kick some tailpipe!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Taste of Rage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwire twisted to the side, barely dodging the blow aimed for his helm. The large hammer thudded into the metal floor, causing a sizable dent and a loud clang. Taking advantage of the split second that his opponent was crouched on the ground, Hardwire kicked out savagely with his left leg. The mech he was fighting attempted to lean back and away from the blow, but only partially succeeded. Hardwire’s pede clipped orange faceplates, causing a pained curse to rip from its owners lips.</p>
<p>The mech swayed backwards and into a standing position again with fluidity that belied his heavy frame. Backing away, his attacker briefly touched his now energon stained lip. Hardwire did his best not to be disconcerted when this revelation actually sparked a smile, “Not bad mech, you’ve got some good moves for a rookie. Designation’s Breakdown, by the way.”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t sway his focus from Breakdown’s body posture, looking for clues as to the mech’s next attack, “Oh, I know who you are.” He almost winced when he realized he was still speaking in English, something he always seemed to revert to when stressed. <em>Well, this certainly counts. But I guess this means witty banter is out.</em></p>
<p>Breakdown cocked his head to one side curiously, his yellow optics glinting as they slowly circled each other, “What’s that scrap supposed to mean? Can’t you talk Cyber-Standard?”</p>
<p>Hardwire wondered if he could distract Breakdown with the novelty of the English language enough to find an opening to attack. <em>Worth a shot,</em> “Oh I can speak it, I just don’t feel like it at the moment. Nice frame colors by the way, where do you get your maintenance done?”</p>
<p>Breakdown looked amused, “Huh, I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Gotta ask though, what’s a big red-sight like you doing with lousy Auto-afts like these?”</p>
<p>Hardwire replied with a dark snarl of both his vocalizer and his engine coupled with a wolf-like curl of his lips. It was a look he’d perfected as a kid in high school for whenever he wanted others to back off and leave him alone. Breakdown just laughed, “Primitive glitch aren’t you? Can’t speak Cyber-standard, can’t fight like a mech-<b>oof</b>!”</p>
<p>Hardwire couldn’t stop the maliciously satisfied feeling that came with successfully catching Breakdown off guard. His fist collided with Breakdown’s lower chassis, right where the ultra sensitive part of the lower abdomen would be on a human. Apparently, hitting a mech there caused vertigo in the fuel tanks, causing a similar reaction as when being punched in the stomach. Which it essentially was.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, before Hardwire could follow up his attack, a hard impact on his helm caused his optics to explode with a myriad of colors. Disorientated, he staggered back, trying frantically to fend off Breakdown as the other mech charged him viciously. Breakdown head butted him and wrapped his arms around Hardwire’s middle, driving him backwards for a painful collision with the wall.</p>
<p>Hardwire slumped down onto the floor, dazed. His vision was swimming as Breakdown backed up and raised his hammer, “Not bad, but not good enough.”</p>
<p>Two shrill cries pierced the air, “Hardwire!” <em>The twins! No!</em> Hardwire watched in mute, spinning horror as the fuzzy image of Breakdown turned away from him and towards the sound of his little brothers’ cries.</p>
<p>Breakdown’s hammer swung almost lazily as he drawled, “Well, well, a sweet looking femme and two younglings. They yours, Primitive? Don’t matter, I’m sure Lord Megatron will be thrilled to hear about this. Who knows, he might even let me keep the femme for a while, repopulate the Decepticon ranks so to speak.” Breakdown chuckled and started to walk towards the security room. Hardwire could hear his spark pounding in his ears in horror. He wanted desperately to get up, to stop Breakdown, but his limbs felt too heavy to move.</p>
<p><em>Leave them alone!</em> The words screamed through his mind, but whether they were voiced out loud, Hardwire never knew for certain. What he did know for certain was the feeling of total rage that washed over him as Breakdown sauntered forward and roughly grabbed Starwish’s arm and lifted her up from where she was still trying to save Red Alert, “Come on, femme. You and me are going to have a little alone time to get to know each other. I’m sure Shockwave would love to meet those younglings too.”</p>
<p>Starwish pulled against his grasp, whimpering in English desperately, “No, I am still needed here. Let me go.” As Breakdown continued to pull her away from Red Alert, Hardwire slid painfully into a crouch, struggling vainly to fully regain his equilibrium in time to intervene.</p>
<p>The twins suddenly bolted from their corner and began hitting Breakdown’s leg, “Let her go! Let her go!”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his spark stop when Breakdown scornfully kicked the twins away, sending them spinning to the far wall with identical shrieks of pain, “An entire family unit of glitching primitives, Prime must be scraping the bottom of the cube if this is what he has on base with him. Stop whining femme!” He shook Starwish, eliciting a wail from Hardwire’s sister.</p>
<p>With each cry from his family, Hardwire had felt himself being pushed closer and closer to some kind of mental precipice. Starwish’s wail, adding to the sobbing shrieks of the twins, finally pushed him over the edge. His vision cycled, tinting Breakdown a deathly red as static hissed in his ears, almost drowning out the deep voice that rumbled something dangerously.</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a feral hiss slide from his lips as he pushed himself to his pedes, feeling in his subspace for … something as words danced across his vision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Guardian Mode: Activating … activated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Syncing with battle computer … sync complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Deactivating pain receptors … deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Commencing level one Guardian Mode.</span>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words acted as like the final catalyst. With a deadly chime of transformation, Hardwire pulled the desired item from subspace. A sleek short sword slid comfortably into his servo instead of replacing it. His engine growled darkly, attracting Breakdown’s attention as the edges and tip of the sword came to life with deadly electricity.</p>
<p><b>No one</b> harmed Hardwire’s family and lived to tell about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Breakdown turned at the sound of a growling engine, <em>so, the rookie’s still wants a … woah.</em> The Decepticon mech paused in confusion at what he was seeing. Not only was his ‘punching bag’ standing, he was holding a crackling Energon Conduit Sword, an illegal item originally seen in the gladiatorial rings before the war. Very few Decepticons had them anymore as most had been broken or lost in the beginning days of the war. To see the red opticed Autobot holding one was a surprise.</p>
<p>More of a surprise however, was the mech’s optics. They looked … focused somehow, uncomfortably sharp and clear. Well, as clear as a gaze can be when filled to the overflowing with pure venom. Breakdown let go of the femme, his instincts telling him that it would be best to have both of his servos free, “You really want to go another-” the rest of his statement was cut off when the mech charged him with optic-blurring speed, the deadly sword edge slicing the air dangerously close to the main energon line in his neck as Breakdown dived to the side.</p>
<p>Breakdown retaliated with a swift strike of his hammer. The mech attacking him didn’t even seem to notice the large dent in his back plating, he just twisted around a stabbed with the sword. Breakdown backed up, unwilling to get caught on the business end of the deadly blade. The mech attacked again, his servo moving like a lightning bolt in repeated stabbing motions. Breakdown continued to give ground, trying to get some distance between himself and the crazed Autobot.</p>
<p>As the Autobot switched from stabbing to slashing sweeps, Breakdown took the offered chance and lashed out with his hammer again. A clang pierced the air, followed swiftly by a spasming wave of pain as his hammer was blocked by the sword, successfully sending jolts of dangerously powerful electricity through the hammer and into his frame. Breakdown howled and jerked away, his sight becoming fuzzy as his systems tried to dissipate the overdose of electricity.</p>
<p>The Autobot was already on him again, stabbing, slashing, and stinging, heedless of how many injuries he was receiving as Breakdown spasmodically fired at him with his shoulder mounted blaster whenever he wasn’t paralyzed by the Conduit Sword. One of his wild blasts hit his attacker in the side of the helm, almost hitting the optic, and finally causing the Autobot to reel backward slightly. Breakdown took the opportunity to slam the glitch in the helm and retreat down the hallway, limping and groaning from the pain of his now numerous wounds.</p>
<p>Twisting around, Breakdown aimed his cannon, intending to take out the snarling Autobot, when a volley of shots whipped past his helm. Breakdown cursed at the sight of four, heavily armed femmes running him down, blasters blazing. <em>Scrap it all. </em>Breakdown snapped off one last wild shot before hastily retreating. While others might have scoffed at his fleeing from battle, Breakdown had long ago learned that survival was the better part of valor. Especially when outnumbered and injured. ::This is Breakdown, I’m gonna need backup and an evac!::</p>
<p>As he staggered out of the gaping hole in the wall that had been his entry point, a sizable group of vehicons rushed past him into the base, giving him the time he needed to transform and painfully drive away. As he drove for the evac point, Breakdown heard the sound of a energon-curdling roar. He shuddered briefly, now that he wasn’t being stabbed and electrocuted every few kliks, Breakdown’s processor could finally label exactly what his opponent had been, <em>a Bāsākā mech. Thought the Senate had exterminated their kind megacycles ago … Megatron will definitely want to know about this.</em></p>
<p>Another spasm of pain wracked his frame and Breakdown hissed, <em>that’s assuming I survive these wounds, and Knock Out’s treatment of them, long enough to write the report.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elita-1 felt her tanks churn slightly as she witnessed yet another vehicon meet an swift but gruesome end at the servos of Hardwire. Elita and her team had fought through two waves of vehicons to provide Hardwire with backup, only to discover that the mech had gone into some kind of … blind rage. Chromia had instantly commed all of the other femmes, warning them to stay back and well out of his line of sight.</p>
<p>Elita and her femmes had retreated back into the hall they had come from to wait out Hardwire’s fury. As she watched the heavily damaged mech turn vehicons into scrap metal, heedless of any blows his opponents managed to land, she commed quietly, ::Chromia … what exactly are we seeing?::</p>
<p>Moonracer shuddered, ::Yeah, that mech’s normally so mellow! He also should not be able to walk right now from all those dents and cuts, let alone be … did he really just take two vehicons and smash their helms in against each other?::</p>
<p>Chromia’s tone was grim, ::Yes, he did. From the looks of it, I’d say that Hardwire’s suffering from Bāsākā Syndrome.::</p>
<p>Flareup jerked and stared at Chromia briefly in shock, ::Wait … you don’t mean the Syndrome that drives Cybertronians totally ‘I’m going to offline anything near me’ insane when they’re put under enough stress, do you?::</p>
<p>Hardwire’s vicious snarl as yet another vehicon was offlined seemed to answer her question. Chromia finalized it by nodding grimly, ::I saw one in action once, in the Gladiatorial Rings when I was newly upgraded. Acted just like Hardwire is now. We need to stay out of sight, or more likely than not, he’ll see us as a threat to his survival and attack us too.::</p>
<p>Moonracer squeaked, ::Problem! He just finished the last of the vehicons and is looking this way!::</p>
<p>Elita mentally adjusted her blaster setting to heavy stun, ::Do not engage unless he starts it. We do not want to hurt him. If he does attack, use heavy stun only.::</p>
<p>Flareup eyed the battered mech uneasily, ::Yeah, you sure that won’t just tickle him? Trying to offline him hasn’t seemed to work out so well for the ‘cons, so how will stunning be any different?::</p>
<p>All of the femmes went rigidly alert as Hardwire started slowly making his way towards them. Hardwire stopped, his helm cocked to one side silently. Elita noted that the murderous gleam had left his optics, <em>is he snapping out of it?</em> “Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire resumed walking towards them, his Conduit Sword dangling easily in one servo as he motioned for Moonracer to follow him. When none of the femmes moved, he looked mildly confused and motioned again. Chromia’s voice came over their channel, ::Okay … this is definitely <b>not</b> normal Bāsākā behavior.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 tentatively stepped forward, “Hardwire? Can you understand me?”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded, then motioned firmly towards the security room. Elita frowned, wondering why he wasn’t speaking. <em>Perhaps his Cybertronian translator has malfunctioned? </em>“All right, we will follow you.” ::I do not think he is going to harm us. Follow him.:: As the femme squad cautiously trotted after him to the security room, Elita commed Optimus and Ratchet, ::Elita-1 to Optimus’s squad. Are you finished in the north wing?::</p>
<p>Optimus’s deep voice held no emotion except calm, but Elita could feel his concern for her over their spark-bond, ::Affirmative, Elita-1. We have driven back the Decepticon assault and are on route to your location. What is your status?::</p>
<p>Elita heard Moonracer gasp and nearly mirrored the sentiment. In the middle of the security room, Red Alert lay unmoving on the floor, his body covered from the shoulders down with an emergency medical blanket. “Moonracer, is he still online?”</p>
<p>Moonracer crouched next to Red Alert and swiftly scanned him, “Yes, he’s online and stable. Just in medical stasis.” A whimper drew their attention to the far corner of the room. Starwish was bent over the twins, crooning softly in her strange native language while working on Fast Track’s clearly broken arm. <em>Oh, Primus.</em></p>
<p>Elita swiftly returned to her com conversation, ::We are all online, however, Red Alert is in medical stasis, the younglings have been injured and Hardwire is exhibiting symptoms of Bāsākā Syndrome. Requesting Ratchet’s presence in the security room immediately.::</p>
<p>Ratchet’s rich curses poured over the com as Moonracer, steadily ignoring the rich vocabulary, hurried to Starwish’s side to see to the younglings. Optimus’s warm voice rippled over her spark, <em>“We are on our way, My Elita.”</em> She sent back a grateful feeling before beginning to answer Ratchet’s barrage of questions.</p>
<p>Just as she finished answering the questions of Hardwire’s symptoms, Flareup coughed slightly, “Uh, Commander? Hardwire’s starting to get that look in his optics again…” Elita whirled to face the doorway. Hardwire was standing stiffly in the hall, still oblivious to his wounds, optics raptly watching the right side corridor.</p>
<p>Elita stepped toward the security room doorway, cautiously approaching Hardwire, “Hardwire?” Hardwire’s servo whipped out, holding her back from exiting the room. A low growl was forming in his engine. Elita felt her spark begin to pulse with dread, <em>I thought he had snapped out of it. Why is he reverting?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Someone was coming. A lot of someones, in fact. Their steps were too heavy to be femmes, so that meant they were mechs. Mechs who no doubt wanted to harm the femmes under <b>his</b> protection. Hardwire sensed one of the femmes beginning to leave the safe area and swiftly extended a servo to hold her back. He gave her a warning growl, it wasn’t safe to leave yet.</p>
<p>True to his suspicions, a large pack of red-tinged mechs came charging around the corner, their optics instantly settling on the femmes. <em>Oh no you don’t!</em> Hardwire tightened his grip on his sword and snarled angrily, taking a menacing step forward as they slid to a surprised stop. They obviously hadn’t expected their ‘prey’ to be guarded. A large, round mech called to him, “Wire?” Hardwire peeled his lips back to show his denta, <em>not fooling anyone with that trick, murderer.</em></p>
<p>Apparently, self-preservation protocols had never been installed in the round mech’s processor, because he continued forward, “Come on ‘Wire, you know me! It’s Bulkhead, I’m your-” Hardwire roared and lunged as the mech came too close to his charges, intent on slicing open the threat’s main energon line as he had so many others that cycle.</p>
<p>A deep voice reverberated through the air, freezing him in his tracks, mere millimeters away from his target, “Hardwire! <b>Stand down</b>!” Hardwire turned his head to look at the speaker. The mech was tall and seemed to glow with a commanding blue aura, an aura Hardwire had to obey. His sword slowly lowered to his side and Hardwire blinked in confusion, what was this noble Guardian doing among a group of enemies? It didn’t make sense.</p>
<p>The mech spoke again and slowly strode towards him, “Stand down soldier, there is no need for further violence.”</p>
<p>Hardwire struggled to form words, he knew he could speak in the language of the other Guardian, yet his vocalizer didn’t seem to want to work. Finally, after a lot of effort and false starts, he managed to ask, “It …. over?”</p>
<p>The Guardian before him nodded, “Yes, the battle is over, there is no need to fight.”</p>
<p>He sounded so sure, so correct. Hardwire backed up a little, he had to make sure before standing down. Pointing to the femmes he choked out slowly, “They … say- safe?”</p>
<p>The blue aura slowly seemed to extend and encompass Hardwire, “They are safe now. Stand down.” Hardwire dimly felt his sword drop nervelessly from his fingers as words flashed across his view.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Foreign identity confirmed: Optimus Prime, bearer of the Matrix of Leadership.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Stand down order … confirmed: Beginning deactivation protocols.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Disconnecting from battle computer … disconnected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Reactivating pain receptors … reactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Deactivating level one Guardian Mode … deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Resuming normal functions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire’s sense of reality rushed back to him with a wave of pain that sent him crumbling to his knees with a groan. Bulkhead cried from not too far away, “Wire!” A servo, presumably Bulkhead’s, touched his shoulder, causing it to flare with pain, Hardwire hissed and vented heavily, “Slaggit!”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s familiar voice barged into his unfocused awareness, “Ad-da-da-da-da! Back off! Let me see him! Frag, mechling, what did you do to yourself now?”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt Ratchet inject him with something and within moments the pain had retreated to a more tolerable level. Looking up from where someone had propped him against the wall, Hardwire panted, “No … idea. I feel like someone … just hit me … with a building.”</p>
<p>Ratchet began doing something to him that Hardwire assumed was supposed to either keep him alive or make him feel better. He guessed it was the former, because every time the medic touched him, it hurt like pit. Hardwire lifted a servo and tried to push Ratchet away from him, “Zip and Track … Breakdown, he kicked them. They’re more important than me … see to them first.”</p>
<p>Ratchet pulled out a wrench and raised it threateningly before apparently thinking better of it and subspacing the item, “Moonracer has already seen to them. Now just relax and let me work on keeping you online.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his optics begin to close, “Sure … doc. Whatever you say…” He heard Ratchet yelling at him, but didn’t consider it worth the effort of waking up to find out what he was saying. Hardwire drifted off into a light recharge, fervently hoping that doing so would banish the pain he felt all over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish stepped back from the twins, allowing Moonracer to take over in their treatment. For a moment, she looked around for other wounded. Seeing none, words flashed across her vision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Prosthetic extensions deactivating … deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Medical team: On site.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Healing Mode: No longer needed. Deactivating.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Disconnecting from logic center … disconnected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Reactivating emotion core … reactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Healing Mode: Deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Resuming normal functions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish blinked and shook her head, she felt as if she’d just woken up from some kind of dream. Her gaze fell upon Red Alert, covered in a medical blanket, and her spark stopped in horror. Shakily, she looked down at her servos, they were stained blue with energon. <em>It wasn’t a dream … oh mercy it wasn’t a dream! It was all real, I really operated on someone without any prior medical training … I’m really covered in someone else's energon!</em></p>
<p>Her vents began working overtime as the enormity and horror of the recent events crashed down upon her. Dropping onto her knees, Starwish covered her mouth, trying desperately not to purge her tanks. Losing the battle, she emptied herself of half processed energon onto the security room floor and began to cry. Concern washed over her from her Guardian-Ward bond and Starwish looked blearily up to see Ultra Magnus standing in the doorway, panting heavily from exertion.</p>
<p>His armor was dented and his paint was scuffed in a million places from the battle, but all Starwish could think of right at that moment was that his presence meant safety. Safety from the terrible things she had just witnessed and experienced, safety from reality. With a sobbing cry, Starwish staggered to her pedes and lunged at him, arms outstretched in the universal plea for physical comfort.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus immediately slid into a crouch and wrapped his arms tightly around her as she stumbled and fell into his embrace. Burying her face against his chest plating, Starwish cried her spark out like a terrified child while her stalwart guardian shushed her gently and rubbed her back comfortingly. Starwish clung desperately to him, drinking in the comfort of both his presence and his soothing emotions over their bond. One word choked from her lips between gasps and tears, a word she couldn’t fathom the meaning of at the moment, but instinct said to say, “O-opi…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing to one side, unnoticed in the chaos, a tall femme stood, watching everything with calm optics. She was a strange femme, her frame towering over the helm of others, even mechs. Her armor was well polished and cared for, but it was clearly old. Made up of almost offline grey, her frame’s only decoration were the strange glyphs that traced up her arms, helm, and upper torso like ancient scars.</p>
<p>Her yellow optics slid back and forth, observing everything through a filter of wisdom only acquired through countless Aeons experience. A mech ran right through her, oblivious to her existence on the very edge of his dimension in time and space. That was good, for they were not meant to notice her.</p>
<p>The femme slowly swept her optics over the scene again, not acknowledging when another of her kind approached to stand by her side. The newcomer, a tall, scarred mech, rumbled darkly, “I see they have activated their modes for the first time.”</p>
<p>The femme nodded, her own vocalizer sounding firm and deep, a sound cultivated from many megacycles of knowledge, “They have.”</p>
<p>Her companion snorted, “Now do you see what I meant? Look at them! The ‘Guardian’ has accumulated too many wounds to even stand and your ‘Herald’, well…” he motioned to the sobbing femme who was currently curled in the arms of her chosen guardian, “need I say more?”</p>
<p>The femme shook her head at her companion’s naivety, “You still do not see it, Lance. You still do not see it.”</p>
<p>Lance growled impatiently at her cryptic tone, “See what? What is there to see? All I see are four innocent <b>children</b> whom you ‘proclaimed’ had a special destiny and allowed to jump dimensions! Forced them to even! I do not see how this … debacle warrants breaking one of our most important laws!”</p>
<p>The femme sighed and finally turned to look at Lance, her yellow optics shining with untold memories, “She saved his life, Lance. She gave Red Alert a second chance at life when the Ripplers would have ended him prematurely. Not just anyone can activate the Healing Mode instinctively. In fact, no one has been able to activate that mode at all within this time stream for well over ten billion megacycles.”</p>
<p>Turning back to her surroundings, she murmured, “They belong here, Lance. I am sure of it. Even more so than before, now that I have seen them in battle.”</p>
<p>Lance huffed and glared at the chaos all around, grumbling a little as the twin mechs named Sideswipe and Sunstreaker inadvertently fazed right through him, completely unaware of the two strangers’ presences as they rushed to check on their adopted younglings. Finally, he asked softly, “Do you really think she can do it?”</p>
<p>The femme nodded, “I do. She will spread her wings someday … I am sure of it. Just as I am sure that when she does, her Guardians will stand triumphantly by her side.” Having seen enough, the femme turned and walked away, fading easily from the shadow of that dimension and passing into her own. Lance lingered for a moment after she had left, throwing one last uncertain look at the two beings whom had caught his leader’s optic. With a final shake of his helm, he turned and followed her back to their home dimension. <em>I hope she is right about this. If she isn’t … we may very well have a Ripple that cannot be contained.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Missing Pieces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Only after he had triple checked that the last of his patients was stable and in recharge did Ratchet allow himself to sigh and stagger to his office for some high-grade. The Autobots had successfully repulsed the Decepticon attack, but not without casualties. Ratchet felt his spark cry out bitterly at the recent memory of three mechs slipping away into the Well of AllSparks despite his best efforts.</p>
<p>True, any commander would look at the statistics and point out that the loss of three mechs was minuscule compared to what the potential losses could have been. But Ratchet was never interested in ‘statistics’, all that mattered to him was doing his duty of saving lives … and the painful fact that he had just failed that duty three times. Reaching his office, Ratchet slumped wearily into his chair, pulled out a cube, and brooded over the events of the last few joors.</p>
<p>Somewhere around twenty mechs had been injured during the fight against the Decepticons. Vehicons might have been terrible shots, but get enough of them together and they could do a surprising amount of damage. Not to mention the small group of Decepticon Cloakers who had infiltrated and wreaked havoc until Prowl and his team had taken them out.</p>
<p>All in all, Ratchet, First Aid, and Moonracer had had their servos full treating all of the blaster wounds their patients had accumulated in the battle. Despite the presence of Cloakers, Red Alert, Flash Fire and Hardwire had taken the worst damage by far.</p>
<p>Red Alert was the luckiest, Moonracer had operated on his back wounds and repaired him enough to keep him safely in medical stasis. Quite masterfully too, Ratchet would have to ask her how she’d known what to do later. Flash Fire’s right arm and a good portion of his chest armor had been blown off in his attempt to stop the Sab-Drone that had started the entire mess. It was nothing short of a miracle that the mech had survived long enough for Whitestrike to find him and drag him to Ratchet.</p>
<p><em>As for Hardwire</em>, Ratchet swigged at his cube and sighed, the mech had received so many dents, armor fractures, and blaster wounds he would be confined to medbay for at least a metacycle. After that, he would be on strict probation around the base. If it hadn’t been for his pain receptors being obviously offline during his rage, Hardwire would have gone down long before Ratchet got there. Pinching the bridge of his nasal plating, Ratchet grumbled softly to himself. <em>A Bāsākā mech, how could I have missed something that drastic in his processor? How could I have missed that?</em></p>
<p>Bāsākā Syndrome was a dangerous Cybertronian disease that had cropped up in the slums of warrior-class cities. No one knew what had originally caused it, though Ratchet personally suspected that it was a combination of horrid living conditions, constant fighting, and sparked femmes consuming too much high-grade, but whatever had caused it, everyone knew what it did. When placed under just enough stress, the logic center and pain receptors of a mech or femme with Bāsākā Syndrome would completely shut down in favor of the battle computer, thus creating a roaring, near unstoppable killing machine that would slaughter anything in its path until they either offlined from energon loss or ran out of ‘enemies’ to fight. Usually both.</p>
<p>The Syndrome was hereditary and incurable, <b>but</b> it was also easily identified. It was fifty-two digit string of code that usually existed somewhere near or in the victim’s battle computer. Before the Senate had ordered the complete extermination of all infected Cybertronians, a debacle in and of itself, all medics who were slated to be shipped to medical facilities near the slums had been thoroughly trained to look for it whenever they scanned a new patient. Ratchet himself had undergone Bāsākā identification training as a rookie medic and the habit of scanning for it had become so ingrained in his systems he still did it, even after all of the infected were supposedly offline and gone.</p>
<p>So how had he missed it? Ratchet had scanned Hardwire’s processor thoroughly multiple times, first to ensure there was no Decepticon or slave coding, then later to keep track of how well his glitches were repairing. Angrily, Ratchet pulled up Hardwire’s file and began comparing the various processor scans on file, hoping for an answer to his oversight.</p>
<p>After a joor of glaring at the scans and swigging his energon reaped nothing more than a massive processor ache, Ratchet finally called it a lunar cycle and stiffly lay down on the berth he kept in his office to recharge. Ratchet had no trouble activating his recharge protocols and dropping off, but even in recharge, his sluggish processor continued to muddle over the problem of Hardwire’s processor.</p>
<p>Images flitted, seemingly unconnected and disjointed, in a rare instance of a holographic flux. A glitch here, another over there. Each time, Ratchet felt his senses focus briefly on one digit in the glitch’s code before flitting away to the next one. The pattern repeated several times before the ‘highlighted’ codes suddenly separated from their original places and connected together into a whole new string. Realization was beginning to dawn just as Ratchet was jolted awake by someone shaking his shoulder.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s optics snapped open and he sat up with a startled noise. First Aid hastily retreated, well aware that a startled Ratchet often meant a wrench to the helm, “Sorry, Ratchet!”</p>
<p>The CMO blinked a few times in an effort to clear his helm before replying, “Yes, First Aid? What is it?”</p>
<p>First Aid held up a scanner, “I finished those scans you wanted and … I think you need to see this.”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled darkly and slid off of the berth, “Alright, alright, show me.” First Aid nodded and plugged the scanner into the holographic projector on the desk. The projector flickered to life, revealing yet another scan of Hardwire’s processor, as well as oneof Starwish.</p>
<p>First Aid pointed at a specific spot on the scans, “See? There and there. I … wasn’t sure what to make of it.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared at the indicated areas, did a double take, and vented softly, “By the AllSpark…” An entirely new program stared back at him from each of the scans. Ratchet leaned closer to one of the images to examine it, his optics immediately picking out a Bāsākā string of code within the program as well as … <em>For the love of Primus. Slave code!</em></p>
<p>Ratchet hastily switched his gaze to Starwish’s scan, dreading what he would see. A foreign program had also appeared, it’s main strings attached to the code written in the language of the Primes that he had alerted Optimus about over two orns ago. He allowed a tiny sigh of relief to escape him when he didn’t spot any slave coding or Bāsākā coding. <em>But still, how could a program of this size and complexity simply appear? It isn’t possible! The code had to come from somewhere!</em></p>
<p>Seemingly without reason, Ratchet remembered the holographic flux he’d been having before First Aid woke him up. <em>It can’t be…</em> First Aid piped up timidly, “Uh, we didn’t somehow miss a program that size in our last scans did we?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm, “No, we couldn’t have … unless…” He hastily pulled up images of previous scans, his optics scrutinizing the many glitches that showed up in the first ones. He jabbed triumphantly at one of them, “There, look! Fifth digit in the string.”</p>
<p>First Aid leaned closer, “I see it.”</p>
<p>Ratchet was already pointing out more, “There, seventeenth digit in the third string and there, the second digit. See the pattern?”</p>
<p>First Aid’s optics widened, “Pieces of the new program…”</p>
<p>Ratchet finished his sentence for him, “Concealed within the glitched codes.”</p>
<p>First Aid straightened up again and frowned, “How could that happen? Did the program fragment somehow and scatter into those glitches?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “No. There is no way a program could fragment that thoroughly. Even if it somehow did, the chances of the fragments <b>only</b> bonding to already glitched code strings is astronomical if not completely impossible.”</p>
<p>First Aid shifted uncomfortably from one pede to the other, “So where does that leave us?”</p>
<p>Ratchet downloaded the scans to a datastick as he replied, “It leaves me with an emergency meeting with Prime while you keep an optic on the medbay.” Turning to face First Aid, he said grimly, “Make sure to check regularly on Red Alert, Flash Fire, and Hardwire. I don’t want them destabilizing for any reason.” As Ratchet strode purposefully out of his office and commed Prime, Ratchet darkly admitted one irrefutable fact to himself, <em>there is no way in pit that a program that size could fragment and hide so cleanly by accident. Let alone repair itself and activate right in the middle of a fire fight. Someone fragmented the program on purpose and used those minor glitches as a cover for the pieces.</em></p>
<p>Ratchet growled softly to himself as he stormed out of the medbay. It would probably take at least a joor to get everyone together, especially since Prowl would be busy with damage reports. But that was fine, it would give him time to fully study the two programs. He thought back to First Aid’s question about whether the fragmentation could have been accidental. <em>Oh no, not accidentally, not even partially so. Everything was exactly according to someone’s plan. A</em> s<em>omeone who is very, very good at messing with processors.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz glared at the scans Ratchet had just finished explaining. <em>Oh all the pit-spawned things to do to someone else's processor…</em> Chromia sounded just as disgusted as he felt, “So it was all a cover? All those glitches, all that slag those two had to go through in rehab, all because some fragger wanted to hide those programs?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded slowly, “That would be my guess, yes. Both programs were fully hidden within the glitches in their processors. I suspect the programs were already well on their way to repairing and resurfacing, however, the stress of battle somehow accelerated the process.”</p>
<p>Jazz jabbed a finger at Hardwire’s scan, “Ah thought thah Bāsākā was a hereditary thing. But you said it’s in thah program?”</p>
<p>Ratchet corrected him, “<b>Part</b> of it is in the program. Someone took a copy of the Syndrome and adapted it. Several of the digits in the code have been changed, I suspect that it was to give the rage a focal point. Elita, you said that Hardwire did not attack you, he even communicated with you?”</p>
<p>Elita nodded, “Yes, he did. It was … slightly disturbing I will admit. One klik he was destroying vehicons, the next, he was leading us to the security room.”</p>
<p>Ratchet place his servos on his hips, “Yet, when we arrived, he clearly did not recognize us as friendlies. He tried to kill Bulkhead, even though when in control of his senses, they are close companions.”</p>
<p>Prowl commented tonelessly, “You believe that the changes in the Syndrome code are responsible for this.”</p>
<p>Ratchet dipped his head in affirmation, “Yes. I studied the code thoroughly in the joor before this meeting. Whoever did this successfully adapted the Syndrome code so that Hardwire would not see any femme or youngling as a target, only mechs. It was designed so that Hardwire would destroy any mech he saw, but not anyone else.”</p>
<p>Ironhide frowned, “But he stopped when Prime told him to stand down. Bāsākā mechs don’t do that. They don’t listen to anybody. Why’d he stop?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked uncomfortable, “That … is because of this.” With a motion of his servo, Ratchet highlighted a string of code in the strange program.</p>
<p>Jazz may not have been a medic, but he had hacked enough computers to read codes fairly well, “Is thah what Ah think it is?”</p>
<p>Ratchet suddenly sounded very tired, “It’s a slave code.”</p>
<p>The meeting erupted with exclamations of horror, disbelief, and anger. Jazz felt his denta grind together, <em>I knew it. </em>When Prime finally managed to call order, he asked, “A slave code? To whom does it give control over Hardwire, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shifted his arms over his chest plating, “That is the confusing part. Up until I studied the slave code, I had suspected that this was Shockwave’s work. However, the slave code, in fact the entire program, remains completely dormant until given the right stimuli. When that happens, the only Cybertronian who can control Hardwire … is you, Optimus.”</p>
<p>A stunned silence fell for several breems, no one really knew what to say. Finally, Ultra Magnus asked softly, “Are you absolutely sure, Doctor?”</p>
<p>Ratchet sighed and threw an apologetic look at his leader, “Positive. Optimus Prime is the sole designated Master of the program. When the program is active, Hardwire has no choice but to do anything Optimus says.” Jazz suppressed a wince, knowing that the new found knowledge must really hurt his Prime. After all, Optimus was fighting for freedom, fighting for the right of all sentient beings to choose their path in life, and here was a program that made Hardwire a veritable slave to him.</p>
<p>Prowl spoke up, “Have you any idea on the purpose behind these programs? Or who may have created them?”</p>
<p>Ratchet scowled, “I can’t find anyone who matches both the skill and ruthlessness required to succeed in such an operation other than Shockwave, who is impossible for obvious reasons. As for the purpose, I believe Hardwire’s program may be a defense measure of sorts. A way to ensure the destruction of anyone who threatens our species hope of survival whenever Hardwire is near. I cannot be sure until Hardwire wakes up and I can ask him more on the matter though.”</p>
<p>Mirage spoke up, “And what of Starwish’s program? Is it an adapted form of the Syndrome as well?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm, “No. It does not serve a combat purpose, that much I can tell. From what I can understand of it, the program grants Starwish access to a large database in her processor, as well as temporarily shutting down her emotion core and increasing the capacity of her logic center. What the purpose of all that is, I have yet to fully determine.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus was nodding ever so slightly and Jazz guessed that the tall mech had sensed something over his guardian bond with Starwish to confirm Ratchet’s statements. Elita-1 frowned, “That is the absolute extent of what you can glean from the program’s code, Ratchet? Are you certain?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked irritated, “Yes, I am certain! The program centers around a string of code I cannot translate. It seems to be a cycle for mysterious femmes anyway.”</p>
<p>Chromia raised an optic ridge, “Come again?”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled darkly for a klik before answering, “All I am saying is that first, Moonracer pulls off a highly advanced medical surgery, which saved Red Alert’s life by the way, and now Starwish’s program proves to be almost indecipherable.”</p>
<p>Jazz noted Elita and Chromia stiffen. Elita’s tone was sharp, “What do you mean, a medical surgery? When we arrived in the security room, Red Alert was in medical stasis and covered in a blanket. Moonracer scanned him for life signs, nothing more.”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked utterly shocked, “Then who repaired him? <b>Someone</b> performed an emergency surgery on Red Alert after shrapnel cut several of his important energon lines and it certainly wasn’t First Aid or myself!” All optics swung to Starwish’s processor scan, where the mystery program was highlighted, as realization dawned at the same time in nine different helms.</p>
<p>Ratchet murmured, “It can’t be,” before leaning closer to the scan and swiftly fiddling with several settings on the holographic projector. After several breems of careful scrutiny and muttering, Ratchet straightened up and announced in an almost hushed tone, “That’s it. That’s what the program does. The database it grants access to is a <b>medical</b> database! It shuts down the emotion core so that she wouldn’t have the sense to be nervous and increased her logic center’s capacity so that she could process the instructions on how to perform the operation!”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a disbelieving laugh, “Genius! Whoever did this to them was a genius! Hardwire’s program must be a defense measure to protect Starwish when she is operating on somebot! This … this is unbelievable!”</p>
<p>Chromia growled darkly, “I can agree with the last bit.”</p>
<p>Optimus stood up from behind his desk and thoughtfully folded his servos behind his back, “Suggestions on how to handle this newfound situation, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ratchet snapped back to reality, “There isn’t anything we really can do, Optimus. Both programs are completely dormant now and if I try to remove them, I’ll inevitably end up doing more harm than good. The only thing I can see to do is to monitor them … and make sure Hardwire stays in the same relative location as you.”</p>
<p>As other suggestions and ideas bounced back and forth across the room, Jazz found himself tuning them out in favor of thinking the entire situation over. <em>A guardian and a medic, both of which probably had no idea that they could do any of this, and someone who went to all that slagging effort just to make sure they could. Why? Why Hardwire and Starwish? Does this mean the twins have programs locked away in their processors too? Why would anyone go to all this trouble?</em></p>
<p>Jazz felt a scowl slide unbidden across his face plates, <em>we’re missing something, something </em><b><em>big </em></b><em>about this entire situation. But what?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Calling Out, Opi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish sat up with a strangled cry, her optics snapping open wildly, her spark hammering in its chamber as the vivid dream images of Red Alert bleeding out onto the floor danced tauntingly in front of her vision. As her mind caught up with reality, Starwish look miserably around at her shared quarters with Flareup and Moonracer. The sight of their empty berths told her that they were probably on night patrol, she was alone.</p>
<p>Starwish curled up tightly, hooking her arms around her knees and hiding her face against her legs, <em>I hate being alone.</em> She had been so exhausted after … whatever it was that had happened to her during the battle, she must have passed out in Ultra Magnus’s arms. But now, she was awake again, trying unsuccessfully to banish the mental images of Red Alert’s damaged back. <em>I’m so sorry.</em> She didn’t exactly know what she was apologizing for, Red Alert’s damage or the fact that she could of killed him when she operated on his back. Perhaps she was even apologizing for whatever unintentional crime had caused her to be sent here, to this world, in the middle of a war. Questions she hadn’t thought about in metacycles surged to the surface, <em>why? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? What did we do wrong?</em></p>
<p>The silence that answered her was suffocating. Starwish suddenly slid off of her berth and to her pedes, she couldn’t stand being in here by herself. Starwish quietly exited her quarters and padded down the halls, not sure where she was going, but too afraid of being alone to really care. It was surprisingly easy to sneak past any night patrols she came across, even Flareup and Moonracer. She had learned not too long ago that no matter what your color, if you were small enough, quiet enough, and held still, no one noticed you. It also helped that the patrols were more focused on the hallways leading toward the outside of the base than the hallway behind them.</p>
<p>Her wandering pedes took her to the door of the Observatory, a place she had come to think of as her sanctuary from the world. Hesitantly looking around, Starwish stepped through the door. She studied the Observatory with mild awe, <em>it survived the attack.</em> Starwish shook her head in amazement, of all the things to survive, the giant glass dome was untouched. <em>Weird. Good, but weird.</em> Starwish sat down on the floor to watch the city of Algol during its lunar cycle. She was still alone, true, but now she could at least see proof that there was life other than her, proof that her horrible nightmares hadn’t completely carried over into reality.</p>
<p>A slight, lonely pressure in her chest plates seemed to push its way upwards and through her lips in a soft humming sound. Starwish froze for a klik then laughed miserably when she realized that she was humming the melody to The Edge of Night, the song sung by Pippin in the Lord of the Rings movie Return of the King. She had first seen the movie while attending a sleepover at a friend’s house and the song had immediately entranced her. She had even memorized the words.</p>
<p>The familiar urge to sing came over her, it and dancing had always been a release for her emotions and at the moment, she was too tired to dance. <em>Why not?</em> Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Starwish tilted her head up and softly began to let out her lonely and terrified feelings into the familiar song, “Home is behind … the world ahead … and there are many paths to tread…”</p>
<p>By the end of the short song, Starwish was feeling both mildly better and even more saddened. She didn’t know if they had lost anyone during the attack, but they probably had. There was so much meaning behind those words that she had never truly considered before. Starwish sighed and picked another song to sing, there was no way she was going to get any rest now. Irony struck her and she softly hummed a preparatory bar of notes to pick her key.</p>
<p>Finding the desired starting note, Starwish launched into the end credits song for the newly released movie, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ultra Magnus, in the middle of some late night paperwork, suddenly looked up with a frown. His bond with Starwish was vibrating softly with feelings of fear, loneliness, nostalgia, and … relief. A strange combination to be sure. Looking down at the datapad in his servo, Ultra Magnus debated between continuing his work or checking on his ward. His concern for his ward won out and he powered down the datapad with a soft sigh. Standing up, he strode out of his office and started looking for Starwish.</p>
<p>Their bond was not really developed enough for him to be able to track her down through it efficiently. However, Ultra Magnus could take a very educated guess. Passing by Flareup and Moonracer on their patrol, he stopped them just long enough to ask, “Have either of you seen Starwish since I delivered her to your quarters?”</p>
<p>They both shook their helms, “Not since we left to go on patrol, sir.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded in acknowledgement and absently told them to resume their duties, oblivious to the concerned look that passed between the femmes. Ultra Magnus carefully began following the spark impressions he was getting, allowing it to guide his pedes through the halls until he found himself standing outside the Observatory. He was not incredibly surprised, just worried now. He had figured out a while ago that Starwish went to the Observatory when she was distressed and needed ‘alone time’ as Chromia would put it.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus could already guess what had distressed her. He moved a servo to palm open the door, when his audios detected Starwish’s voice drifting faintly through it. Leaning closer, he strained to catch the sound and understand it. Her voice was moving up and down in a melody, yet she wasn’t performing her habitual ‘<em>humming</em>’, there were words to this melody.</p>
<p>Careful not to alert her to his presence, Ultra Magnus slowly opened the door and crept inside the Observatory to listen. Starwish was sitting with her back to the door, legs curled underneath her and her helm tilted up as if calling to the stars above. Moonlight cast an eerie silver aura over her armor, making her look like something out of a picture painted in the Golden Age. Through their bond, he could feel Starwish’s spark thrum in cadence with the words, her high delicate voice sending a chill up his back strut.</p>
<p>He listened silently through the song, feeling his spark throb slightly at the pain recorded in the words and how much his ward seemed to sympathize with them. She alternated back and forth from Cyber-standard to the language her creators had taught her seamlessly and despite the frequent switchovers, Ultra Magnus could easily understand the ‘gist’ of the song. It was a song of loss and longing, of a lonely creation who’s brothers and family were at risk of being destroyed by war as they were driven from their home.</p>
<p>Starwish’s voice gathered power as the climax of the song came closer,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And if the <em>night</em> is burning,</p>
<p>I will cover my <em>eyes</em>.</p>
<p>For if the dark returns,</p>
<p>Then my brothers will die.</p>
<p>And as the sky is falling down,</p>
<p>It crashed into this lonely town.</p>
<p>And with that shadow upon the ground,</p>
<p>I hear my people screaming out!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her voice suddenly dropped back into a soft murmur, the sadness and fear in her spark ringing so clearly through the last chorus of the song that Ultra Magnus felt something sting the corners of his optics as she sang the words ‘hollowing souls’.</p>
<p>When the last notes finally drifted away into silence, Ultra Magnus felt a question spring from his lips before he could stop it, “Where did you learn that song?”</p>
<p>Starwish shrieked slightly, springing to her pedes and whirling on him, Energon pistol glowing dangerously as it dropped out of her subspace. Ultra Magnus held up his servos in a placating manner, “Stand down, young one. It is only me.”</p>
<p>Starwish froze for a few kliks, then subspaced her pistol, she was venting hard and looked about to cry. Ultra Magnus inwardly cursed himself for frightening her as he hurried forward and placed a gentle servo on her shoulder, “I apologize, I did not mean-”</p>
<p>Starwish sniffled and shook her helm, “No, no, it wasn’t your fault … I should have paid more attention.” She paused and looked up at him shyly, “Did I … disturb you? Over the bond?”</p>
<p>Now it was Ultra Magnus’s turn to shake his helm, “I sensed when you awoke and came to check on you. Are you hurt?”</p>
<p>Starwish swallowed and looked away, “I am not injured.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus was not oblivious to the obvious dodge of his real question. He gently cupped her chin in his servo and tilted her faceplates up to look at him, deciding to try a slightly different approach, “Then why are you out after curfew?”</p>
<p>Starwish blushed softly, “Sorry, I forgot about the curfew and … I just …” Words flitted across the bond, <em>“I’m afraid to be alone.”</em> Ultra Magnus released her and pondered over what to do next. His past two orns, despite being seemingly the ultimate youngling care crash course, had yet to cover this. The fear and insecurity that came after a first taste of combat.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus gingerly placed his servo on her back and guided her out of the Observatory, “Come with me.” Starwish looked up at him questioningly, her optics hiding the vulnerability he could feel in her spark. Without so much as a glance at the occasional surprised patrol, Ultra Magnus led her to his office and let her inside. Once he had firmly locked the door from any intrusions, he turned and strode purposefully towards his desk.</p>
<p>Without looking up from sorting the stack of datapads on his desk, he answered Starwish’s unspoken question, “I must finish these reports for Prime by next cycle, however … I … could use some assistance if you are predisposed to it.” Ultra Magnus inwardly tried to stop himself from fiddling with the datapads as he hoped Starwish would recognize his clumsy attempt to help her for what it was.</p>
<p>He heard a soft, sad laugh leave her lip components, “I would love to, sir. Where do I start?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sat down and motioned for her to take a seat in one of the other chairs, “Most of these are reports from various locations around Cybertron on the status of the Autobot forces. Would you mind sorting them by relative coordinates on the hemisphere so that I may better correlate the information?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked baffled for a klik before comprehension dawned, “Oh, sure! I mean, yes, sir.” Ultra Magnus suppressed the urge to shake his head in despair, even after being his ward for over two orns, she still spoke unprofessionally. Not that he really minded anymore, it was simply one of her many quirks.<em> Quirks, like the ones forced into her processor to cover up the total extent of someone’s invasion of it.</em></p>
<p>He scowled at that thought, the meeting Ratchet had called and revealed the newfound programs in had been troubling. Very, very troubling. So troubling that he was doing reports in the middle of the lunar cycle instead of recharging. It physically hurt him to think that someone would adapt and toy with another’s processor, namely Starwish’s.</p>
<p>Just the thought of his small ward strapped to a medical berth, her helm open and cables running from her processor so that some … Shockwave wannabe could tamper with it made his energon boil and his axe servo twitch dangerously. True, the program was a medical one, but cramming such a complicated program into such a young mind, then fragmenting it, <b>then</b> auto repairing it and activating it in the middle of a fire fight was bound to leave trauma. Unexpected glitches at the least, a complete psychological breakdown at most.</p>
<p>But all that was just Starwish, that didn’t even begin to cover what Hardwire’s adapted Bāsākā and slave coding could do him! Ultra Magnus suppressed a growl in his engine. It didn’t matter what the motives behind the tampering was or what purpose the programs served, if he ever found the mech who had done the atrocious acts, there would be <b>Pit</b> to pay!</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s spark suddenly twitched, the uncomfortable feeling causing him to look up from the datapad in his servos. Starwish was quietly stacking datapads in the requested order, but her spark felt strangely strained. <em>She is still distressed.</em> He realized, <em>but why?</em> That was a hard question for the toughened SiC. Whenever he was emotionally strained, he threw himself into work, it helped him take his processor off of the distressing matter and got extra tasks done at the same time. However, his method of calming down was apparently not effective for Starwish. As she tilted her head slightly to inspect a datapad, Ultra Magnus thought he spotted a glint of unshed tears. That wasn’t good. <em>Why is she still distressed? What can I do to help?</em></p>
<p>While Ultra Magnus could easily guess the answer to the first question, the solution to the second one eluded him completely. He had never been an ‘emotionally competent’ sort of bot and the death of his beloved sparkmate had made him even less so. True, his interactions with Starwish were helping him to be a little bit … warmer, as she would put it, but this was totally beyond his knowledge. For the second time that lunar cycle, Ultra Magnus felt at a loss. Confusion warred with the desperate desire to help and the fear that asking would only insult his charge.</p>
<p>Finally, desperation won out and he set down his datapad with a sigh, “I am doing this incorrectly.” He declared aloud.</p>
<p>Starwish jerked and looked up at him, “Huh?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus motioned to her, “You are still distressed, my method of … ‘dealing’ with it is obviously incorrect. You are my ward, I am supposed to comfort you,” he paused and rubbed a servo over his faceplates, “however, I do not know how.” Leaning forward slightly he asked earnestly, “Starwish … what is it you need from me right now?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at him for several kliks, her optics searching. After what seemed like an eternity, she whispered timidly, “I don’t really know what I need right now, to be honest. I haven’t … felt like this in <em>ye</em>- a long time. But maybe … could I … sit on your lap?” Ultra Magnus felt his optic ridges shoot up in shocked surprise.</p>
<p>Sitting back, he answered in a voice that could only be labeled as dumbfounded, “Very well.” Hesitantly setting down the datapads she’d been organizing, Starwish crept up to him and slowly clambered onto his legs. Ultra Magnus couldn’t help but notice how he barely felt her weight at all, she was unnaturally light for a Cybertronian her age. He made a mental note to consult Ratchet about that. Turning his full attention back to the femme curled quietly on his legs, he asked, “Now what?”</p>
<p>Starwish snuggled up against his chest plates, “Could you … hold me? Please?” There was an aching feeling of insecurity drifting over from her side, a feeling that made Ultra Magnus almost instinctively wrap his arms around her, just as he had done earlier when he’d arrived at the Security Room.</p>
<p>One of his servos absently rubbed her back plating as he purred deep in his engine in an effort to soothe his youngling into recharge. It was an unconscious, instinctive action commanded by the half destroyed parental subroutines that lay somewhere deep inside him. “You are shaking.” He noted absently. Starwish nodded and buried her helm in his chest plates. He carefully sent a soothing emotion over the bond and murmured, “Why?”</p>
<p>His single word seemed to break the mercury dam. Sobs wracked her frame again as she sobbed, “I thought … I thought I would … lose everyone again!”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s rubbing servo froze in mid-motion, <em>what?</em> He did not even have to ask the question aloud this time, raw feelings swelled across the bond into his spark, bringing with it glimpses of half deleted memory files. Files that contained fire, screaming, but most importantly, two indistinct figures calling soothingly over the Pit-spawned noise of war in a language he didn’t comprehend, even if he recognized it immediately. Understanding flooded him and he instantly held Starwish tighter.</p>
<p>“Your creators were soldiers, you were with them on a base and saw battle before as a youngling. The last time you witnessed battle…” <em>you lost everything you knew and loved.</em> His words, both spoken and not, were acknowledged by a shaky nod and more tears trickling down his armor. Ultra Magnus cradled his ward close to him, his mind flitting back to when he had found her in the Security Room and the moment she had fallen into his arms. The moment she had curled into his arms, she had murmured a word that had shocked and puzzled him at the time, a word that now made perfect sense. Opi, the Cyber-Standard word for one’s mech creator.</p>
<p><em>Her processor must have accidentally registered the current situation under the same file link as her memory file. She must have thought I was her mech creator, finally come back. </em>His servo slowly resumed rubbing, “It is all right now, Starwish. You are safe and so are the ones you love. I promise.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s shoulders shook and much to his surprise, she repeated the word he had just been thinking of, “Opi…” her spark stretched out in sync with the word, brushing his through their bond in search of confirmation and comfort.</p>
<p>Everything in Ultra Magnus froze for a klik, his mind stuttering blankly. Were her memory files overlapping with her realtime data-filter again? But her spark… Gently pushing her away from his chest plating, he tilted her helm up to look at him and asked earnestly, “Little one, do you know where you are?”</p>
<p>Starwish sniffled, “W-what?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus almost felt his vocalizer hitch as he repeated his question, “Are you aware of your current surroundings? You … you called me Opi. I thought perhaps…” his voice trailed off unwillingly, he didn’t know what he thought, other than that it was impossible she meant him.</p>
<p>Starwish sniffled again and braced her servos against his chest, she looked confused, “Am I … not supposed to call you that? I heard Bumblebee call Ironhide that and I thought … I’m sorry.” She looked away, her blurred optics confused and her audio amplifiers drooping pathetically.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus felt like his processor was wading through a deep pool of energon and dimly wondered if he was about to glitch, <em>she does not know,</em> “That is not a word for a guardian, Starwish, that is the term for a … a mech creator. Bumblebee calls Ironhide that because he has never known his original creators, Ironhide therefore, has taken that place in his spark.”</p>
<p>Starwish made a tiny ‘oh’ noise and looked up at him again, a peculiar gleam in her optics, “So, I can’t call you that?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus made low baffled noise in his engine, it was far to late in the lunar cycle to deal with things of this befuddling nature, “It is not my place or intention to replace your original creator.”</p>
<p>Much to his incredulity, Starwish shook her helm and actually gave a tiny laugh, “You wouldn’t be. My creators are <em>Mama</em> and <em>Papa</em> to me, they always have been and they always will. The couple that took me in I always referred to by their names … you are the only one I see as ‘Opi’.” Tilting her helm down, she peeked at him shyly, “I … my processor started registering you under that name a few metacycles ago…”</p>
<p>At that revelation, Ultra Magnus stared at the far wall, not moving or speaking. He didn’t know what to do or think, he felt strangely choked in his throat, like his vocalizer was being crushed by some unseen force. She saw him as her ‘Opi’, that realization rattled endlessly around in his mind, his realtime data-filter constantly scanning it and rejecting it as impossible. Yet, he knew he had heard her correctly. Starwish’s voice timidly broke through his shocked stupor, “I won’t call you that if you don’t want me too.” She sounded sad.</p>
<p>His vocalizer suddenly regained functionality and sent words tumbling from his lips before he could fully consider them, “No! I … I would be … most honored if you called me that. But only if you truly see me as … deserving that title.”</p>
<p>Starwish cuddled back into his chest plates with a strangely content sounding sniff, “Of course I do.” Ultra Magnus continued to stare at the wall, his servo absently rubbing his charge’s back long into the lunar cycle, even after Starwish had fallen into recharge from stress-induced exhaustion.</p>
<p>Despite his soothing motions, his thoughts were in truth far away, deep in a long buried past.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Flashback</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <em>The femme laughed at the results of the self-diagnostic she had just run, her vocalizer producing a joyful alto voice that flowed over his adoring audios like freshly warmed energon, “I’m sparked Magnus! Sparked! Can you believe it?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His arms wrapped carefully around his sparkmate, a rare smile stretching across his faceplates so broadly it hurt, “That is wonderful news Andromeda, wonderful news!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Andromeda snuggled into him, her voice half muffled against his armor, “Just think, soon you’ll be an Opi!” Ultra Magnus felt his smile grow even wider, if that were possible. An Opi, he was going to be an Opi. One with a fine, strong creation that he would love and care for along with his beautiful, beautiful sparkmate. Andromeda leaned back slightly and lifted her helm to smirk at him, “It will be femme, I just know it.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ultra Magnus chuckled, perfectly willing to go with his sparkmate’s assessment, “I am sure it will. I am also sure that she will be just like her Dani. Strong, gentle, and pure.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Andromeda lightly smacked his chest, “Flatterer. Come on! Let’s start thinking up names!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>End Flashback.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A sigh escaped Ultra Magnus sadly, his sparkmate had offlined shortly after, inevitably taking with her the small spark developing within her sparkling chamber. He had never gotten to know if Andromeda was right about their sparkling being a femme. He had never gotten to say goodbye.</p>
<p>The femme in his arms stirred slightly, her frame twitching in response to sleepy commands from a processor trapped in a holographic flux. Finally looking back down at her, he soothed her unhappy flux over their bond, washing it away with gentle love and comfort. As Starwish settled into a peaceful recharge once more, Ultra Magnus felt a forlorn smile tug at his lip components. <em>Andromeda would have loved you so much, Little One.</em></p>
<p>Leaning back more comfortably into his chair, Ultra Magnus inwardly wondered if his creation would have been anything like Starwish or if the protective feelings he had been rapidly developing for his ward were anything like the ones he would have acquired for his creation. He closed his optics tiredly, not even noticing when his recharge protocols activated and slowly dragged him away from reality and into a more restful state.</p>
<p>Just as he hovered precariously between a total recharge state and dull awareness, he thought he heard a long silenced chuckle and sweet alto voice whisper, “She’s beautiful Magnus, a beautiful youngling, with a wonderful Opi.” <em>Andromeda?</em></p>
<p>Recharge claimed him fully, leaving him totally unaware of the soft blue optics watching him and his ward approvingly. A small bittersweet smile graced the face of the optics’ owner at the sight of two sparks, both with a piece missing for so long, call out to each other and finally hear the answer they had so longed for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Dark Horizons, Shadowed Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Megatron stood on the highest point of his home, the mighty Kaon fortress Darkmount, heavy mercury rain splashing down on his armor like angry tears, and smiled. Throwing his helm back to the rain, he laughed. A deep, twisted sound that made the many vehicons and other Decepticons far below shiver with dread. Turning on his heel strut and striding back inside his fortress, Megatron felt his feral smile grow even wider as he inwardly mocked beings who had long since ‘entered the Well’.</p>
<p><em>So, you failed in yet another endeavor, eh, </em><b><em>Council</em></b><em>? </em>Unsubspacing a datapad and pulling up the report again, he felt a chuckle build in his chest plates again. At first, he had been enraged when a report came in telling that the strike on Algol had been repulsed. He’d been counting on taking that city, it held an important and direct route to Iacon itself after all. But when Soundwave had showed him a private report filed by a soldier named Breakdown, his mood had evaporated.</p>
<p>According to Breakdown, the invasion of the south wing of the Autobot Algol base had been repulsed by a roaring, rampaging red opticed mech that had seemed to take no note of any injuries inflicted on his frame. The mystery mech hadn’t even been able to speak Cyber-Standard. The report noted that the mech had briefly communicated in primitive babbling sounds before suddenly losing all semblance of sanity and nearly demolishing the Wrecker-turned-Decepticon when Breakdown had discovered a femme and two younglings.</p>
<p>Naturally, Megatron had at first thought that the report was an excuse, a poorly constructed false tale to forestall punishment. After all, the only type of Cybertronian who would match that description would be someone infected with the Bāsākā Syndrome and the Council had wiped them from existence many vorns ago. However, out of curiosity, Megatron had told Soundwave to look into it. His communications officer’s findings, much to his surprise, had been favorable to the report. Because Prime was at the Algol base, Megatron had ordered Soundwave to have Laserbeak monitor the battle from afar. The keen opticed surveillance drone had been near the south wing towards the end of the battle and had briefly captured an image of a large green mech with red optics chasing Breakdown before vehicons had arrived and blocked Laserbeak’s view of the entrance.</p>
<p>Soundwave had zoomed the image and clarified, revealing that the mystery mech was covered in dents, burns and other wounds. Wounds that would have brought any normal mech to their knees from the pain. Only one kind of mech could have continued fighting with those wounds, let alone wipe out all of the vehicons assigned to attack the south wing, a Bāsākā mech. The very thought made Megatron’s spark pulse eagerly. <em>There is one that yet lives!</em></p>
<p>Settling down on the large throne that occupied the far end of his ‘audience hall’, Megatron steepled his fingers together and allowed all of the many possibilities the newfound knowledge provided to thrill his processor. If one had survived, others might have as well. Even if the mech Breakdown had fought was indeed the last of the Bāsākā, it still meant that there was a very powerful weapon out there, just waiting to be ‘donated’ to the Decepticon cause. Perusing the datapad, Megatron’s optic fell on the part of the report where Breakdown claimed to have seen a femme and two younglings who communicated in the same strange babble as the Bāsākā mech.</p>
<p>He hummed thoughtfully and raised an optic ridge, <em>the same form of communication. Could it be that the mech Breakdown encountered sparkmated and spawned? Now wouldn’t that just be so fortunate. Three Bāsākā and a pawn to keep them all in check.</em></p>
<p>The slightest shifting in the atmosphere alerted the Leader of the Decepticons to the return of his Communications Specialist, “Well Soundwave?” His silent follower answered his question with a grim shake of the helm, no accessible records held a match to the Bāsākā mech’s image. According the Decepticon, Neutral, and hackable parts of the Autobot datanet, the mech simply did not exist.</p>
<p>Megatron nodded his understanding, <em>so, Prime must be going through quite a lot of trouble to make sure I do not find out about his little collection of secrets.</em> A smile slid over his faceplates again, <em>too little, too late, Prime. They will be mine. It is only a matter of time.</em></p>
<p>Soundwave stood patiently next to his throne, awaiting further orders. Megatron turned to Soundwave to give his next command, when a high, grating voice clawed his audios, announcing the presence of his Second in Command. Starscream prowled in, a false smile stretched over his faceplates like a pathetic replacement to the one that had just fled Megatron’s. Bowing swiftly, Starscream announced, “Oh Great and Glorious Leader! <b>I</b>, your loyal Second in Command, have returned from the northern border of Kaon bearing a … present for you.”</p>
<p>Megatron concealed the disgusted curl of his lip components by baring his denta in a feral facsimile of Starscream’s expression, “Have you now, Starscream? Well, let us see it then.” Starscream’s optics shifted ever so subtly, a sure sign that he was contacting someone on a ‘private’ com frequency.</p>
<p>What Starscream still had yet to figure out was that Soundwave could effortlessly tap into any Decepticon frequency, and most Autobot ones if given the opportunity, and bounce the transmission secretly to Megatron. Starscream’s voice grated quietly over a Seekers only com channel, ::Bring him in.:: Megatron resisted the urge to raise an optic ridge, <em>what has Starscream started this time?</em></p>
<p>Two Seekers marched in, escorting between them a very small mech with bulky armor of a bright orange, yellow, and silver combination. <em>Well. This should prove … interesting. </em>Starscream announced grandly, “My Lord Megatron, this is Fermium. A neutral who has seen the glory of the Decepticon cause and humbly asked to join it.” <em>I somehow doubt that.</em></p>
<p>Leaning forward and propping his chin on his folded servos, Megatron kept the feral smile on his faceplates as he asked, “Oh really? Well, we are always eager to recruit more to our cause. But tell me, Fermium, what is it you can offer the Decepticons? Every member must serve a useful purpose to further our goal after all.”</p>
<p>Fermium shifted from pede to pede nervously, his large, disgustingly blue optics blinking shyly from behind a yellow safety visor, “I, uh, in all truth Lord Megatron, your second in command sort of … demanded my identity and then kidnapped me.”</p>
<p>Megatron’s ‘smile’ took an even more deadly edge, “So, you are <b>not</b> interested in joining the Decepticons? What are you doing in Kaon then?”</p>
<p>Fermium sighed quietly in his vents, a despairing noise, “I apologize for intruding upon your city, sir. You see, a lab I worked at used to be here and I was hoping to see if any of the equipment was salvageable. Seeing as how I can’t exactly get funding for new equipment to finish my project…”</p>
<p>Soundwave pinged Megatron’s com to gain his attention before displaying information on Fermium on his viewscreen/vizor. Megatron’s optics glinted with interest at the data provided, <em>he could be most useful.</em> Turning back to the timid scientist, Megatron willed his smile to become less intimidating and said, “I am surprised Fermium. Your research is most interesting, surely you have at least some funding for it?”</p>
<p>Fermium shook his helm sadly, “None, Lord Megatron. Quite frankly, no one is willing to fund my work. Neutrals have no use for my projects and Autobots … I do not get along with them much.”</p>
<p>Megatron nodded, pretending to be sympathetic, “That is a grievous shame, doctor. Unique research such as yours should be encouraged, not shunned. I can assure you that we Decepticons would have been most interested in the end result.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s helm shot up, his optics glinting hopefully, “Really? I mean, really, Lord Megatron?”</p>
<p>Megatron nodded again and leaned back, settling his servos on the armrests of his throne, “Indeed. In fact, I am interested enough to offer you a proposition.” The look in the small scientist’s optics told him that he had the ignorant researcher hooked on his every word, “Join the Decepticons, we can easily provide you with whatever equipment you need, a lab of your own, even assistants.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s frame was shaking with suppressed excitement, “But … what would you want in return, sir?”</p>
<p>Megatron purred softly, “Merely steady reports on any progress you make … and full use of your research when it is finished.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s faceplates lit with an eager smile, “Of course! I mean, what would the point of my research be if it wasn’t used? If you truly- of course you do, you’re Megatron- I would honored! Thank you, Lord Megatron! Thank you!”</p>
<p><em>And the turbofox falls right into the trap,</em> “Oh no, Doctor. Thank <b>you</b>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire lay on a berth in the medbay and stared blankly at the ceiling, his thoughts muddled and troublesome. When he had woken up in here almost a joor ago, Ratchet had been at his side, a worried expression on his faceplates. The CMO had told him that he’d taken severe damage in the battle while defending Starwish, Red Alert, and the twins, all who were fine according to Ratchet.</p>
<p>Hardwire had patiently accepted Ratchet’s explanation and care and even done his best to answer Ratchet’s strange questions. When the medic had finally left to check on his other patients, Hardwire had taken to staring at the ceiling and brooding. His memories of the battle were strangely incomplete. He felt as if one breem he had been fighting and the next … it was all a haze, like dream he couldn’t quite remember no matter how hard he tried.</p>
<p>Only the emotion associated with whatever had happened came to his mental call and the emotion was certainly not a comforting one. The emotion was rage. Pure, unrestrained rage. The kind of rage he had only experienced once before in his life … an experience he definitely didn’t want to go through again.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s questions didn’t ease his nervousness about his memory gap either. Questions like, ‘what do you remember?’ were expected he supposed, he had taken a nasty blow to the helm after all, but other ones such as, ‘are you feeling any abnormalities in your emotion core?’ were worrying. Why would there be abnormalities in his emotion core? Furthermore, Ratchet had started asking questions about what he could remember before waking up in the abandoned base where Jazz had found him. Hardwire had thought the medic had dropped that topic long ago.</p>
<p>One image floated hazily past his optics as he thought. It was Bulkhead, or at least someone who looked like him, backing up hastily, a sword flashing out dangerously in an extended servo that Hardwire couldn’t help but note looked an awful lot like his own.</p>
<p>The door to his room slid open and heavy footsteps jerked Hardwire out of his thoughts. Bulkhead thumped in, his furtive glances over his shoulder causing Hardwire to assume that Bulkhead hadn’t cleared his visit with the wrench wielding CMO, “Hey Bulk, what’s up?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead immediately looked up, temporarily forgetting his attempted stealth, “Uh, the ceiling I guess. Why?”</p>
<p><em>Oops, my bad.</em> “Sorry, I meant, why are you doing the stealth act? Did Ratchet threaten to scrap you for spare parts or something?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead still seemed confused by his earlier greeting but was obviously content to let it slide, “Eh, let’s go with the ‘or something’. I came to see how you were doing, Roomie. Has Ratchet finishing fixing you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire sat up slowly on his berth, wincing slightly at his sore joints and cables, <em>and here I used to think that robots didn’t get sore,</em> “I’m doing okay, stiff here and there, but alive. As for Ratchet, I don’t know. He was in here earlier, but had to leave to take care of the other patients.” Hardwire paused as his own words sank in, staring at the floor briefly, Hardwire looked back at Bulkhead, “Did we … lose anybody?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead’s optics dimmed slightly as a sign of misery, “On base with us? Three. Though the other bases along the line suffered worse I hear.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt like he was now in some kind of nightmare, swallowing the invisible lump in his throat, he asked, “Who?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead’s expression was miserable, “Bulletpoint, Dark-Trail, and Motioncap.” Hardwire squeezed his optics shut and cursed darkly as the news slammed into him like a knife to the tanks. He didn’t even notice that his curses came out in English. <em>Why? Of all the mechs on base? Why them?</em> Hardwire placed his helm on his left hand and sighed, <em>because they were stupid, glitch headed glory hounds probably.</em></p>
<p>Bulletpoint, Dark-Trail, and Motioncap had all been best friends before the war. Such good friends that they were practically brothers, built at the same time by creators who lived in the same apartment complex and knew each other well. They had been some of the first mechs other than Bulkhead and Ironhide to befriend Hardwire when he had first arrived on base. The three front-liner mechs had been always been reckless, constantly racing through the halls of the base even though the action was strictly forbidden, playing the hardest at Lob, trying to out prank the twins. Everything they did, they did for the thrill of it.</p>
<p><em>Guess the thrill ride is over for them.</em> Bulkhead placed a comforting servo on Hardwire’s shoulder, obviously understanding what was running through his processor, “Don’t blame yourself, Wire, it was those fragging ‘cons fault.”</p>
<p>Hardwire lifted his helm and sighed again, forcing himself to speak Cyber-Standard for Bulkhead’s sake, “I know. It’s just … hard to think that they’re gone.” He looked away, desperately trying to think of something else, anything other than the news of his three friend’s deaths. A question suddenly pricked his mind and he asked quietly, “Bulkhead? Do you know what happened to me during the battle? I … I can’t remember everything.”</p>
<p>The servo on Hardwire’s shoulder stiffened and hastily left its position, “Who me? Not really. Sorry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics narrowed and he looked up at Bulkhead suspiciously. His roommate was terrible at lying to his friends, and was currently giving off several telltale symptoms of lying now, “Don’t lie to me, Bulkhead.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead shook his helm frantically, “I’m not! Not really.” Hardwire continued to skewer his friend with a dark look until Bulkhead cracked, “I don’t know why … but when a whole bunch of us arrived to back up you and the femme squad, you didn’t recognize us. You didn’t even recognize me. You were looking fit to unleash Pit until Optimus told you to stand down. After he started speaking to you, you snapped out of it.”</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked in astonishment, he could hardly believe what Bulkhead was saying. It sounded like a plot twist from a movie, not something that happened in real life. A dim memory flashed before his optics again and Hardwire whispered tensely, “Bulk? Did I … attack you?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead was looking anywhere except Hardwire, obviously trying to decide what to say. Hardwire felt his tanks begin to churn fitfully in worry, “Bulk?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead finally opened his mouth to say something, but whatever Bulkhead was going to say was cut off by Ratchet’s sudden reappearance. Ratchet took one look at Bulkhead and immediately had a wrench held threateningly in his servo, “What are you doing in here? Out! Out! Back to the main area with you!” Bulkhead hastily retreated, a wrench pinging off of the back of his helm as he left.</p>
<p>Ratchet was scowling as he turned to face Hardwire. The irate medic growled dangerously, “What are you doing sitting up?”</p>
<p>Instead of backing down and putting up with Ratchet’s temper like he usually would, Hardwire retorted coldly, “What’s going on with me, Ratchet? Bulkhead told me I was in some kind of … rage when reinforcements arrived in the south wing.” Ratchet actually hesitated. Hardwire felt his engine rev warningly, “Don’t even think about lying to me, Ratchet. I’ve got a half destroyed memory file in my processor that shows me attacking Bulkhead. Why?”</p>
<p>Hardwire honestly expected a sarcastic remark or a gruff refusal to tell him. Instead, Ratchet sighed and rubbed the chevron on his helm as if he had a headache, “I should have expected that big bolt helm would say something about it.” Lowering his servo from his helm, Ratchet said, “You unlocked a battle program during the fight, it shut down your logic core and pain receptors, causing you to become a…”</p>
<p>Ratchet hesitated again, searching for a correct word. Hardwire felt his tanks flip a little more violently and supplied an english one, “<em>Berserker</em>?”</p>
<p>Ratchet frowned, “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted a little bit on the berth, wincing at the pain the motion caused, “A <em>berserker</em>. It’s a word used to describe someone who gets so angry they fail to see any kind of reason anymore. They … become oblivious to injuries and don’t stop until they’ve … killed everyone around them.”</p>
<p>Hardwire inwardly hoped that Ratchet would say that ‘berserker’ wasn’t the word he was looking for. Instead, the medic said softly, “The Cybertronian word for that is Bāsākā and … it is a fairly accurate description of the program. With a few discrepancies.” Hardwire’s helm snapped up, staring at Ratchet in mute horror, <em>I went berserk?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire ignored the throbbing pain that surged up his legs as he stood up, his servos reaching upward to clutch his helm, <em>oh no, please, not again! Not again! It was bad enough that one time…!</em> Ratchet’s servo firmly grabbed his shoulder, “Calm down! You didn’t hurt anyone other that the Decepticons. Just sit down and let me explain things.” Hardwire numbly allowed himself to be pushed back onto the berth.</p>
<p>Ratchet sat down next to him and managed to get his attention again, “The program you unlocked is some kind of protection protocol. The femme squad was there for a good portion of your … episode and you didn’t even touch them. The program registers all femmes and younglings as friendlies, beings you need to protect. It deactivates after a certain amount of time has passed or when Optimus tells you to stand down. Unless you are placed under stress in certain conditions, it remains completely dormant. So there is no need to worry about it activating during everyday life or even in another battle unless certain criteria are fulfilled in the combat scenario.”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared at him intently and managed to choke out a whisper, “So … I’m … not a danger to everyone?”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his head, “You are not a danger. The program is meant to defend, not harm, and it simply failed to register some of the other mechs as allies immediately. I’m working out a subroutine that will help in identifying fellow Autobots as allies should the program come online again. Also, the program recognizes Optimus Prime as a commander and ally, so you are not completely ‘uncontrollable’ when it is active.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted his gaze to stare numbly at the wall, “So … I have to stay near Prime at all times?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s voice, usually so gruff and callous, was surprisingly gentle and soothing as he continued to patiently explain, “You will have to stay within the same relative location, yes. At least until we can confirm that the program recognizes any Autobots as allies, even mechs.”</p>
<p>Hardwire bit his lip briefly, “Can’t you just … remove it? Delete it? Something?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s neck cables creaked slightly as he shook his helm, “No. It is hardwired into the connection between your battle computer and your central cortex. There is no way to safely remove it. We can, however, help it adapt to your situation so that it becomes as much a tool as your battle computer and not a … problem.”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded slowly, understanding Ratchet’s words even as he tried to accept all of the changes life had suddenly thrown his way. Ratchet slowly leaned into his line of sight, his voice quiet and almost cautious as he asked, “Hardwire, do you have any idea where this program comes from? Any memory of someone who could have tampered with your coding? A medic in your neighborhood perhaps? Has this ever happened before?”</p>
<p>Hardwire tried to wrestle his focus away from the grasp of his shock and answer Ratchet, “I … no. No doctors, none of the ones back home could have possibly… and I’ve never done anything like this … except … except that once…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ratchet stiffened at Hardwire’s mumbled words, “Except what once? Hardwire, has this happened to you before?” Hardwire didn’t answer, he was holding his helm in his servos and shaking softly. Ratchet couldn’t blame him, it had to be horrifying learning that you had a program in your processor such as the one in Hardwire’s. Still, Ratchet needed to know about this ‘once’ that Hardwire spoke of. Grabbing the mech’s shoulder and lightly shaking him, Ratchet persisted, “Hardwire, answer me. Have you accessed this program before?”</p>
<p>Hardwire lifted his helm slowly, his optics staring blankly off into the distance, “Once. Maybe. I … I had lost someone very dear to me…” his voice cracked slightly, revealing how much effort it took to force the words out, “When I saw the mechs responsible I went <em>berserk</em>. I don’t remember it much but … I almost killed them. Almost beat them to offlining with my bare servos … I’m told it took five enforcers to drag me back. That was … a very long time ago.”</p>
<p>Ratchet considered this. It was disturbing news to be sure. If this had happened once before, it meant that either the program was much older than he had originally thought, or that Hardwire had had the Syndrome long before his processor had been hacked and someone managed to adapt the Bāsākā code through the program somehow. Neither option was very good.</p>
<p>Gently rubbing his servo against Hardwire’s back, careful to avoid the injured areas, Ratchet asked softly, “Was this … someone a femme?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics squeezed tightly shut and he didn’t seem to be able to verbally answer. He did, however, manage a weak nod. Ratchet turned this new information over in his processor, a new piece of the puzzle falling into place. Both instances that he now knew of in which Hardwire had lost his senses involved the bodily harm of either a femme or a youngling.<em> Is the program older than I originally thought? If so … did the tamperer originally create the program in secret, than recapture Hardwire and fragment it? Or has Hardwire always been a Bāsākā mech and the program a recent add on to ensure his rage was channeled correctly? What purpose does either option serve? Why would someone do this to a mech as young as Hardwire?</em></p>
<p>Ratchet shook those thoughts away for the time being, he had a distressed patient to tend, “You will be fine, Hardwire. We will figure out a solution to this. For now, you just need to rest in here.” Still speaking soothingly, Ratchet unsubspaced a needle and sedative and carefully pricked one of Hardwire’s exposed lines.</p>
<p>The tall green mech grunted at the sensation and turned his helm to gaze sadly at Ratchet. He didn’t say anything as recharge took him almost immediately. But he didn’t have too, his gaze said it all. He was trapped in the despair of someone who was remembering total loss, total spark-break, living it all again because of a recent tragedy. Or in this case, a first taste of battle. Ratchet eased the now recharging mech into a more comfortable position and sighed unhappily, Hardwire obviously had not had an easy life and it was just getting harder. <em>He is not the only one either.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ratchet gently patted the unresponsive mech’s shoulder before quietly leaving him to tend to another matter. <em>Might as well get this over with as swiftly as possible,</em> ::Ratchet to Starwish.:: When there was no response, he frowned and switched to a different frequency, ::Ratchet to Ultra Magnus.:: Again, there was no response.</p>
<p>Feeling mildly worried and absently shooing off First Aid who had come up to ask something, Ratchet switched frequencies again, ::Ratchet to Jazz::</p>
<p>He finally got a response, ::Jazz here, what do yah need Ratch?::</p>
<p>Ratchet bit back an irritable comment about the nickname and got straight to the point, ::I am unable to contact Ultra Magnus or Starwish, have you seen them? I need Starwish to come to the medbay immediately.::</p>
<p>There was a short pause before he heard Jazz’s voice again, ::Yeah, I know where they are. But Ah don’ think you should disturb them just yet, Ratch.::</p>
<p>Ratchet blinked, ::Why? What are they doing?::</p>
<p>Jazz’s voice was fairly unreadable, but Ratchet could detect an undercurrent of emotion in the First Lieutenant’s tone, ::Recharging together in Magnus’s office. Ah went in to deliver a report an found them there.::</p>
<p>Ratchet sputtered out loud, ::<b>Together</b>?::</p>
<p>Jazz laughed, ::Get yah processor out of the med books once in a while Ratch. Star’s curled up in Magnus’s lap like a sparkling and he’s in deep recharge in his office chair. It’s kinda cute really. Here.:: A still image of what Jazz meant was sent directly to Ratchet’s processor.</p>
<p>Ratchet had to admit, the image was spark-warming. Ultra Magnus was propped up in his chair, chin resting on his chest plating, arms wrapped protectively around Starwish. Starwish, for her part, was snuggled up against his chest plating, an audio amplifier pressed firmly against the area over her Guardian’s spark chamber. The rest of her was curled up tightly, knees drawn up almost to the torso, arms crossed over her chest plates and servos curled like a cyber-kitten’s. Both had their optics closed and had obviously been in that position for some time.</p>
<p>Ratchet felt a tired smile tug his lip components, <em>maybe Optimus wasn’t glitched when he chose Magnus as her guardian after all.</em> ::All right, I’ll leave them alone for another joor or so, but then I need her down here for a checkup. No exceptions or excuses.::</p>
<p>Jazz replied cheerfully, ::You got it Ratch, Ah’ll make sure Ultra Magnus gets tha message when it’s time.::</p>
<p>Ratchet cut the channel and looked around, First Aid was still hovering nearby, “Yes, First Aid?”</p>
<p>First Aid shrugged helplessly, “It’s Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, they commed while you were busy. Apparently Zip and Track won’t come out from hiding under the berth for anything. Not food, toys, even candy.” First Aid’s big blue optics looked rueful, “I think Sunstreaker’s about ready to either glitch from worry or start slagging stuff.”</p>
<p>Ratchet rubbed his faceplates with a servo in aggravation, “Of course they wouldn’t come out! They’re younglings who have just been through their first battle! They must be scared close to offlining and- wait.” Something First Aid said clicked into place and he roared, “What are Sunstreaker and Sideswipe doing in the medbay? I didn’t give them permission to visit!”</p>
<p>First Aid shrugged again, “Those two may not bond with others very often, but when they do, you can’t shake them loose for anything. It’s just like when Sideswipe contracted that virus, remember?”</p>
<p>Ratchet growled, he remembered all too well. Sunstreaker had staked out the medbay for the entire duration of the virus quarantine, growling at anyone who came in. Still snarling and muttering, but inwardly pleased that the older twins were finally taking their duty to the younglings seriously, he went to go coax Zipline and Fast Track out from under the medical berth of room A2, glad to have a distraction from the problems of processor tampering and the bots to which it had been done.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. A Promise Within</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a clear, perfect cycle. The sun was shining high above, adding to the clear light of the stars visible through the thin atmosphere, and all around the city glowed with an almost happy light. Not at all in keeping with the somber mood that had been hovering over the gathering for a little over a joor. Jazz stood on Prowl’s left, who stood on the left of Optimus Prime as yet another mech on base filed up and said a few words of farewell to their fallen comrades. <em>Primus how I hate these things.</em></p>
<p>Jazz was infinitely glad that his visor hid his optics from everyone else's view at the moment. It would not due for them to see him glaring. They would mistake it for him glaring at the three departed mechs, Bulletpoint, Dark-Trail, and Motioncap. In reality, he was inwardly cursing the war for taking such promising young mechs, cursing the ‘cons for persisting in the war, and berating himself for not having been there when the attack happened.</p>
<p>He and several of his team had been on patrol when the surprise assault had taken place. They had barely gotten back with their lives, only to find that others were not so lucky. Jazz knew it was foolish to blame himself for their fate, but he couldn’t help it. They had been recent transfers to the Special Operations Department, thus putting them directly under his command. He should have been there to show them how it was done.</p>
<p>Hardwire limped away from the coffins, supported by his roommate Bulkhead the entire way as he finished saying goodbye to some of his best friends. Jazz noted tears gathering in the tall mech’s optics. <em>At least he ain’t afraid to show it,</em> thought Jazz dryly. Idly, he wondered who would be next. It was tradition for all those who closely knew the departed to come forward and say something as a final goodbye while those who hadn’t known the offlined as well would listen and try to understand just how much the world had lost because of their departure.</p>
<p>Jazz felt his frame grow just a little bit stiffer when Starwish slowly separated from the crowd and made her was timidly forward. <em>I thought she didn’t know them that well.</em> From the few surprised murmurs that were quickly hushed in the crowd, Jazz suspected that he wasn’t the only one who thought that. Starwish turned to Optimus, “I … I know I wasn’t exactly best friends with them, sir. But may I … say goodbye? They were good friends to my brother and they were never afraid to include me in their fun and I … I just need to do something.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “Of course, Starwish. Take your time.” Starwish dipped her head gratefully and proceeded the rest of the way to stand before the black metal coffins.</p>
<p>Folding her servos in front of her, a few kliks went by in silence before she finally spoke, “Hey mechs. It’s me, Starwish.” Jazz felt his optics blink once in surprise, she was speaking in a shockingly informal way. Usually the farewells were ancient phrases passed down from generation to generation in honor of others who had come before. She was very bold to speak directly to the frames inside the coffins as if they could still hear her.</p>
<p>She continued to speak softly, “They say I’m supposed to tell you a final farewell. I … wouldn’t know. I’ve never really done this before, honestly. But … I don’t really think that this is the last time I’ll ever see you again. It can’t be.” For a klik, her voice cracked, but then she recovered and continued, “Do you three remember when you snuck into the observatory about four metacycles ago and overheard me <em>humming</em>? Well, you asked then if you could hear the entire song. At the time I said no…”</p>
<p>Straightening, Starwish said, “I’m sorry I said no to you. But you see, I was scared. I’m scared a lot of the time actually. But this cycle … I think it’s only fair that I do as you ask.” Now there were noticeable murmurs coming from the crowd and Jazz could see Ultra Magnus frowning in confusion out of the corner of his optic. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing, what was Starwish doing?</p>
<p>Starwish either didn’t hear the murmurs, or refused to acknowledge them, lifting her helm slightly she continued, “The song I was <em>humming</em> is called May it Be. It … it originally goes with a story about a group of mechs who risked everything dear to them to save everyone else. This group, they proved that they were willing to sacrifice everything to save others, but it seemed like even that was not enough. Right now, I get the feeling that everyone here is feeling the same way. We lose good friends, we lose our families and homes, yet the fighting never seems to stop, the war just goes on like we haven’t made a difference.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt his spark skip a beat, she was good at sensing the mood alright, but where was she going with this? Starwish reached out and touched one of the coffins softly, “But we do make a difference. <b>You</b> made a difference. All three of you. And this … this song is about what kind of difference you made.”</p>
<p>Lowering her servo, Starwish let her arms fall limp at her sides and vented once, twice, thrice. Then her voice rose again, high, clear, and unwavering,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“May it be,</p>
<p>An evening star,</p>
<p>Shines down upon you.</p>
<p>May it be,</p>
<p>When darkness calls,</p>
<p>Your spark will be true.</p>
<p>You walk a lonely road,</p>
<p>Oh how far you are from home.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz felt his spark flutter and tears prick his optics uncontrollably. He had heard many kinds of music in his travels, even a little bit of singing here and there before the war. But never, in all of his life, had he heard anything like this. It was as if Starwish was baring her spark, and the sparks of all here, and releasing it in the form of words. Starwish had her optics firmly closed, helm tilted back to the sky, tears rolling slowly down her faceplates. Yet she never wavered, her vocalizer never cracked, it remained clear as a Praxian Crystal.</p>
<p>As something in the city moved, it cast a beam of white light across her armor, lighting it ever so briefly with a strange, otherworldly silver glow. Jazz remained riveted to the spot, venting softly, listening to the foreign sound of someone raising their voice in musical grief.</p>
<p>It was a short song, far shorter than Jazz would have liked. All too soon, he sensed the already slow tempo further slowing, signaling the approaching end. Starwish’s arms slowly curled upwards to fold her servos over her spark chamber as she repeated the middle, unintelligible chorus. Switching back to Cyber-Standard, her voice rose another octave for the final stanza.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A promise lives within you … now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the last note finally vanished into the atmosphere, she lowered her helm, her voice finally choked from the strain of her emotions, “I’m so sorry … goodbye.” Starwish suddenly whirled and ran away, darting through the crowd of dumbfounded mechs and femmes who made no move to stop her. Jazz barely resisted the urge to run after her and from the soft shifting Ultra Magnus did, he guessed that the Second in Command was fighting the urge as well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish ran as fast as her pedes could carry her, tears blinding her eyes as she sought to leave the pain in her spark behind simply by running. Fleeing back to her quarters, Starwish flung herself onto her berth and proceeded to cry into the only soft item she now owned, her blanket. Curling up tightly, she cuddled a lump of the blanket as if it were a stuffed toy and cried out her pain. Bulletpoint, Dark-Trail, and Motioncap had been good friends to Hardwire and it hurt, knowing they were gone. Knowing that someone she had known had been taken by the war, a war that would no doubt claim many more lives and friends, before it was over.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to sing, let alone sing May it Be, but it had just seemed so … right at the time. This was not the first time the words had held such a depth of meaning for her. When she had first heard the song, it had reminded her of her parents and of her best friend Nadine, who had disappeared a few days before Starwish had first heard the song. But still, to sing it before an entire crowd of beings who hardly knew what the word ‘singing’ even meant was completely out of character and terrifying.</p>
<p>Dimly, she could feel Ultra Magnus sending gentle comfort and reassurance over their bond, trying to comfort his ward and assure her that he would be there soon to try and help her. Starwish pushed back slightly, telling him that she would prefer to be alone for now. Ultra Magnus politely retracted from the bond, giving her the privacy she wished for.</p>
<p><em>I can’t do this. I can’t live in this world. Why am I here? Why? I don’t want to live in a world where everyone I know and love dies! I don’t want to be an Autobot, I don’t want to fight Decepticons, I don’t want to fight anybody. I just want to go home!</em> She dimly heard the door to her quarters swish open and raised her head to glare blearily at the offending item. There was someone standing in the doorway, a looming mech. Her vents hiccuping from so much use, she whined, “G-go a-away!”</p>
<p>The figure in the doorway turned and spoke softly to someone else, “Thank’s Chromia.”</p>
<p>Chromia’s voice drifted softly to her audios, confusing her with how subdued it sounded, “No problem, Hardwire. Hey, if you or your sister need to start hitting something, ‘Hide and I will be in the training rooms.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s silhouette nodded, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Hardwire stepped into Starwish’s quarters and the door slid shut behind him, leaving him alone with the broken-sparked Starwish. Starwish buried her face in the lump of blanket she was cuddling, not bothering to tell Hardwire to leave, she knew he wouldn’t listen.</p>
<p>The creak of metal and the stirring of the blanket alerted Starwish’s mostly muddled senses to the fact that Hardwire was now sitting on her berth. Gentle arms gingerly pulled her head and shoulders onto his lap and Hardwire murmured softly, “It’s okay Star, it’s okay to cry-”</p>
<p>Something snapped inside Starwish and she jerked up, glaring through her tears to yell, “I-I’m n-not S-starwish! Th-that’s not my name!” She could see Hardwire’s optics widen in surprise as she continued to rant through her hiccups, the stress reverting her to English fully, “I’m not a tr-transformer! <b>We</b> aren’t transformers! We aren’t supposed t-to b-be he-re a-and Cybertron shou-shouldn’t even <b>exist</b>! This c-can’t be real, this is a-all some kind o-of stupid n-n-nightmare that I c-can’t wake … wake up from!” Slumping against Hardwire’s frame, she whispered sadly, “I just want t-to go h-home … why are we here? What did we do t-to d-deserve this?”</p>
<p>For a long time there was silence from her big brother, then, his arms wrapped around her comfortingly and he said softly, “Melody… Mel, I need you to listen to me.” The sound of her old name made her sniffle and try to stifle her tears so that she would hear him. Hardwire’s hand absently rubbed her back struts, a motion that always calmed her, as he spoke, “I know it hurts, Mel and I know it’s confusing. I’ve felt like just breaking down and screaming like a lunatic so many times over the past few orns I’ve lost count. Especially after I got the news that… you know. But … I don’t think this is a dream and I don’t think we’re here because of something we did wrong. If anything … it might be because we did something right.”</p>
<p>Starwish hiccuped again and looked at him questioningly, unable to form the words that wanted to come. Hardwire continued on his train of thought, “Think about it, Melody. There is no way we could be thinking up this stuff out of our own heads. And if we came here by chance, then why do we have those programs Ratchet told us about?” Looking down at his sister, Hardwire said, “You saved Red Alert’s life, Melody. Think about it, you saved someone’s life, that isn’t something you do by accident. Not in the way you did it anyway. As for me … how could I have some kind of berserker program that protects women and kids in my head? That sort of thing … it isn’t random. Someone changed us into Cybertronians, put those programs in our heads, and <b>sent</b> us here. I just don’t know why yet. Not for sure.”</p>
<p>Starwish sat up with a gasp at that, her eyes going wide with realization. What Hardwire said … it made sense in a strange way. Looking up at him, she whispered fearfully, “Who would do that to us? To the twins? Why?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his head, “I don’t know. But I think … that maybe we were sent to help. We know what is going to happen in the future to a certain extent, maybe we’re supposed to help change something?”</p>
<p>Starwish leaned against Hardwire again, her tears slowly trickling down her cheeks as she thought about his theory. <em>How could I help anyone? I’m a nobody. We’re all nobodies, so why us? Who or what would have the kind of power to send us here?</em></p>
<p>Both siblings looked up in surprise as the door slid open again. Seeing no one at normal height, they looked down to see Zipline and Fast Track quietly shuffling in. Starwish sniffed through her vents and sat up, barely managing to speak in Cybertronian, “Hey there, you two.”</p>
<p>The twinlings didn’t respond, they just clambered up onto the berth with their plush toys and cuddled into Starwish and Hardwire. Hardwire obligingly hugged them and murmured, “Hey you two. What are you doing here? Is the service already over? Who let you in?”</p>
<p>Fast Track shrugged listlessly, “Sideswipe taught us how to hack door controls from the outside. They’re waiting for us just down the hall.”</p>
<p>Zipline curled up tightly against Starwish’s chest, listening to her spark as he murmured, “It’s over. No one had anything to say after you left Star.”</p>
<p>Ignoring the use of her ‘Cybertronian’ name, Starwish frowned guiltily, she must have really broken protocol with that song if it brought the entire funeral to a halt, “Oh.”</p>
<p>Fast Track whined softly and clutched his Prowl plush, “Star? Wire? I’m … I’m scared.”</p>
<p>Even though Starwish was internally just a terrified as Fast Track sounded, her instincts as an older sister overrode her own fear, causing her to wipe her tears with a hand and then gently kiss the top of Fast Track’s helm, “It’s okay, Track. We’re going to be just fine.”</p>
<p>Fast Track, always the more emotionally effected of the two, looked up at her, tears beginning to fall from his optics, “But what if they attack again? What if … what if?”</p>
<p>Hardwire pulled his family close in a perfect bear hug, effectively squishing Fast Track’s words and fears, “If they do, I’m personally going to kick their butts into next tuesday of 2030. You don’t have to worry your head about that Fast Track, believe me.”</p>
<p>Had Hardwire made that threat about anyone as a human, Fast Track would not have been comforted, amused maybe, but not assured. However, Hardwire’s dramatic increase in size and strength lent a little bit of credence to his threat. Just enough credence to sooth the two younglings in his arms.</p>
<p>Zipline spoke up, “And what do we do? I don’t wanna be helpless…”</p>
<p>Starwish, who had been thinking hard this entire time, said softly, “You two get to grow up big and strong just like Optimus and the others. You two will be an unstoppable team someday, I’m sure of it.”</p>
<p>The twins fell silent after that, slowly dozing off in Hardwire and Starwish’s joint protection while their older siblings continued their previous conversation over a private com channel. Eventually, when Starwish had regained most of her outward composure, Hardwire suddenly asked, ::What do you plan to do from now on, Star? We can’t pretend that we aren’t truly part of this war anymore. Other than the fact that Prowl is almost sure to insist on us getting official professions in the army, we can’t stand by and let them hurt those around us again.::</p>
<p>Starwish sighed and attempted to swallow the nervous lump that rose in her throat, ::I know. But I am definitely <b>not</b> cut out to be on the battlefield. Aside from the sheer panic factor I have, my frame is far too small to be a frontliner like Chromia and my aim with a blaster is still too poor to be a sniper like Moonracer. I doubt I would make a very good scout or saboteur either…::</p>
<p>Hardwire seemed to ponder this for awhile and inwardly Starwish marveled at how composed he could be under emotional pressure. She briefly wondered just how calm he really was when his voice cut off that line of thought, ::You could be a medic.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt her optic ridges shoot up and she looked at him incredulously, ::I beg your pardon?::</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t move for fear of upsetting the twins, but his voice held a shrug in it, ::You have a super advanced medical program anyway, maybe your could help out Ratchet and First Aid in the medbay. You could start out doing small stuff and, you know, see if it clicks.::</p>
<p>Starwish mulled this briefly, but her thoughts were too clouded from grief and fatigue to really plot out the idea, ::I’ll think about it. For now … maybe we should get Zip and Track off to their guardians and you back to the medbay?::</p>
<p>Hardwire grimaced at the thought of the medbay but nodded slightly, ::Right, I’ll make the call.::</p>
<p>It didn’t take long for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to arrive at the door and collect the twinlings. While the two had been showing caring tendencies towards the twinlings lately, ever since the attack they had been positively possessive of their wards.</p>
<p>As Starwish helped Sunstreaker carefully lift Fast Track into his arms, she noted the gentle look that filled the yellow Autobot’s optics and did her best not to stare. The emotion changed his face entirely, the hard lines of bitter glaring fading away when Fast Track sleepily stirred and twisted his helm so that his audial sensor could better pick up the sound of Sunstreaker’s spark.</p>
<p>A peek at Sideswipe revealed he to, for once, was far more absorbed in the green and grey youngling cradled in his arms then flirting with Starwish. As the two carried their charges out the door, Sideswipe suddenly looked back at her and whispered, “Hey … Star?” She nodded cautiously, “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. If you ever … need to be alone, just call and the two of us will run interference for you. Alright?”</p>
<p>Starwish glanced at Sunstreaker in surprise, looking for confirmation on whether or not Sideswipe was making the promise without Sunstreaker’s consent. Sunstreaker’s face was solemn as he nodded and whispered, “Anytime.” Starwish blinked, trying to hold back tears of shock and gratitude as the two brothers slipped away to their own quarters.</p>
<p>Hardwire leaned carefully against the door, his looming presence making her look up at him. Hardwire’s optics were fixed stoically in the direction of the medbay, as if gauging on whether he could walk that far or not. Starwish sniffled and vented a few times to regain control over her tears and asked in Cybertronian, “You need help getting back to the medbay? Are you in pain?”</p>
<p>Hardwire grunted and replied in the same language, “No, I’m just not looking forward to the walk.”</p>
<p>Starwish gently took his servo and attempted to lighten the mood, “Because of the distance or the Medic of Doom waiting for you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire smirked faintly, neither of them were in the mood to laugh at all, but it was the thought that counted, “Ratchet thinks I’m still with Bulkhead. When he finds out I wandered off on my own he’ll probably have my helm as a trophy on his wall.”</p>
<p>Starwish paused, but then smiled a little bit and began leading him slowly back towards the medbay, “How about I distract him for you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire raised an optic ridge and looked down at her, “What bombshell do you intend to drop on our CMO that could distract him from my absence?”</p>
<p>Starwish flipped her head in a way that would have made her hair bounce when she was human, “I intend to tell him that he has a new apprentice medic. Me.”</p>
<p>For the first time in a metacycle, Hardwire laughed. It was a pathetic laugh in and of itself, more like an exaggerated vent of air, but it meant that Starwish had succeeded in briefly shoving the darker topics from their minds with a more amusing one.</p>
<p>As they entered the medbay, surprising Ratchet who was in the middle of threatening Flash Fire with the ceiling, a welder, and rich language, Starwish suddenly got the impression that she was being watched by someone else. Looking hastily over her shoulder, Starwish stared at the empty hallway for a few kliks before hurrying inside with a shake of her helm, <em>It’s just the stress, I’m imagining things now.</em></p>
<p>So if that was true, then why was Starwish sure she heard a low feminine voice murmur, <em>“A promise lives within </em><b><em>you</em></b><em> as well now, youngling. Make the most of it.”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. New Arrivals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz slipped into the medbay as inconspicuously as possible, his optics flicking left and right in search of any wrench wielding medics before padding silently toward the storage room. If the medbay schedule was still the same, and it almost certainly was, then his target would be inside the room used for tool storage, organizing everything inside. Not that he was interested in medical tools, no, he was after something completely different that happened in the room.</p>
<p>Sure enough, when Jazz crept stealthily up to the door and carefully pressed his audio receptor against the wall next to it, he could hear it, the soft notes of a voice raised in melodic patterns and words he could only understand part of. A deep rumble of pleasure rose in his engine and Jazz had to work to keep it silent. Ever since the funeral for Bulletpoint, Dark-Trail, and Motioncap, Jazz had become obsessed with the strange music Starwish made. Namely, singing.</p>
<p>Back before the war, when there had been femme creators still around, it was not completely uncommon to hear them purring their engines and speaking soothing words to match it in an effort to put their sparklings into recharge. That was known as singing on Cybertron. When Starwish had timidly mentioned once that she sang sometimes, Jazz had assumed it was something she picked up from her own creators to put the twinlings Zip and Track into recharge. But what she had done at the funeral … the song she had sung, it was not the singing he knew of.</p>
<p>When she had raised her voice in a melody only she knew, she had put into words all of the things they needed to be reminded of on such a dark cycle. She had reminded them that there was hope even in the loss. It had made his spark vibrate in its chamber in a way he had never experienced before and ever since then he had felt the desire, the <b>need</b>, to hear Starwish’s version of singing again.</p>
<p>He had learned by accident that when Starwish was working and thought herself totally alone, she would sing. So, whenever he had a spare moment off duty, he would creep into the medbay and listen through the wall to hear her sing. He had to work hard to keep from being discovered, Ratchet would most certainly show him no mercy if the CMO thought he was stalking Starwish with ‘mechly’ intent. He would also tell Ultra Magnus and <b>that</b> would certainly not end well at all. However, Ratchet was currently busy tending Red Alert, a project that would certainly take at least a joor because of the security officer’s intense paranoia glitch. Therefor, Jazz could afford to risk listening in longer than usual.</p>
<p>Sitting down carefully with his back against the wall and his audio receptors turned up to their highest sensitivity, he closed his optics and focused on the partially muffled sound. The song was different from the other ones he had heard so far, it was happy and faster in tempo, seeming to bounce lightly across his audios. Judging by the cadence, he had missed the very beginning of it, <em>slag. Oh, well.</em></p>
<p>Settling back, Jazz let the verses wash over him, filling his spark with its melody, his entire frame nearly quivering with pleasure and the urge to dance:</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Time to tumble <em>apples</em> from their <em>branches</em>,</p>
<p>Time to turn the breezes crisp and cold,</p>
<p>A chill enfolds the <em>country</em> side…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kiss of morning mist upon the <em>meadows</em>,</p>
<p>Scent of <em>woodsmoke</em> swirling in the air,</p>
<p>Signals that it’s high time for the harvest,</p>
<p>Every <em>pumpkin</em>, <em>peach</em>, and prickly <em>pear</em>,</p>
<p>With <em>ripened fruit</em> to bear…!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If you believe in who you are,</p>
<p>Who you were always meant to be.</p>
<p>If you open up your spark,</p>
<p>Then you’ll set your spirit free.</p>
<p>In this time of the season</p>
<p>Every <em>leaf</em> on every <em>tree</em>, will start to shine</p>
<p>Come and see,</p>
<p>Take my <em>hand</em>,</p>
<p>Come with me and fly!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish’s voice broke off from the words to sound out what might have been the accompaniment music to the song. What was that sound called again? <em>Humming</em>? Yes, that was it. Jazz’s pede began unconsciously tapping ever so softly with pleasure. The previous songs he had heard had all been slow and melancholy compared to this one. This one made him want to dance and bounce instead of bow his helm in quiet memory like the first song he had ever heard her sing had.</p>
<p>He was so absorbed in listening to the song, even the words he didn’t understand, that he almost failed to notice Ratchet stepping out of Red Alert’s room to get something. However, his sensitive audios couldn’t miss the loud thump, thump, of Ratchet’s pedes as the medic turned to caution Red Alert one last time against trying to move before he came back.</p>
<p>Jazz was on his pedes instantly, processor working frenziedly to find either a good excuse, or a place to hide. Realizing that he wouldn’t have an excuse for being near the storage room that could fool Ratchet and that said medic was also blocking his route out of the medbay, Jazz darted into the one room that could hide him; the storage room outside of which he’d been listening.</p>
<p>As soon as the door slid open and he darted in, Starwish stopped her singing with a surprised squeak and stared at him guiltily. Jazz hastily moved out of the door’s sensor range, hoping that Ratchet hadn’t noticed him go in and inwardly cursing that he had interrupted the music. “Jazz? W-what are you doing in here?” Starwish’s startled voice, while it couldn’t have been too far above her normal volume, sounded like a shout worthy of Omega Supreme because of how far his audio receptors were turned up.</p>
<p>Jazz winced and hurriedly lowered his audio sensitivity while shushing her, “Not so loud, Star. Ah’m in hidin’.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked curiously at him before glancing at the door, “Um … okay,” she whispered softly, “in hiding from what?”</p>
<p>Jazz now found himself trying to find an excuse that would keep Starwish from being suspicious of him, which was, surprisingly harder to do than think up one for Ratchet. Since when had his glossa felt so immovable? Shrugging easily to hide his thought process, he whispered back, “The Hatchet, who else?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s mouth quirked into a quizzical smile, “Then why are you back here? Are you trying to duck your checkup?”</p>
<p>Jazz started to confirm that convenient excuse, but realizing that she might know that he’d already had his checkup, he had to stop the words from coming out. This abrupt reversal in vocal plans led to an embarrassed, “Uh…”</p>
<p>Starwish’s smile grew a little bit and she shook her helm, “The Jazz-mech at a loss for words, Ratchet must be <b>really</b> scary to you when checkup time rolls around.”</p>
<p>Hoping to turn the subject from his presence in the storage room, Jazz asked innocently, “An he ain’t scary ta you?”</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged, “I suppose, but I’m starting to get used to him. He’s more bark than bite, really.” She turned away from Jazz to resume putting tools away. Jazz watched her for a few kliks, highly disappointed when she didn’t resume singing. <em>She never does it in front of others, except that one time.</em></p>
<p>That thought brought up another concern and Jazz sidled up to her and asked quietly, “How yah feeling, Starwish? Doing okay?”</p>
<p>Starwish paused in putting a large frequency scanner on its shelf, her frame stiffening at the question, “All right … I suppose. I … I try not to think about it during work.” Jazz frowned sympathetically from behind his visor. <em>She’s doing fairly well for only three metacycles after the funeral. Guess she must have more experience in this than I thought. Slag.</em></p>
<p>Starwish suddenly turned to face him, “Uh, if you need a checkup … I could do it for you. Ratchet’s been teaching me that sort of thing.”</p>
<p><em>Frag, I thought she forgot about that already.</em> “Na, Ah’m good.”</p>
<p>Starwish narrowed her optics, suddenly suspicious, “Are you saying that because you’ve already had a checkup or because you don’t trust me to do one?”</p>
<p>He hesitated for a klik, on one servo he had the risk of being exposed, on the other, insulting an emotionally strained femme. Neither option was very appealing but tears seemed far worse than embarrassment and possible wrenches, “Actually … Ah was back here ‘cause I wanted ta … hear somethin’…” He admitted slowly.</p>
<p>Starwish stiffened and she looked utterly horrified. Her vocalizer squeaked as she whispered, “Hear … something?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded tentatively, “Well yea’, Ah … was kinda hoping ta hear yah sing again.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s cheeks flushed blue and she backed up until she was pressed against the shelved wall, ducking her helm against her chest plates shyly, “Oh … oh dear.”</p>
<p>Jazz was suddenly struck by the thought of how adorable Starwish looked when she was flustered, her body posture just making him want to gently hug her fears away. He roughly imprisoned that thought and focused on not ruining his only chance to hear singing again, “Don’ be like that, Starwish. Ah love your singing, it’s so different an’ pretty. Ah know ah shouldn’t have been listening in, but Ah just couldn’t help myself. It’s beautiful ta listen ta.”</p>
<p>Starwish was still focusing on the floor as she whispered, “You really think so?”</p>
<p>Jazz cocked his helm to one side and stepped closer to her until their frames were almost touching, using one of his fingers to lift her chin, “Ah know so.” She raised her optics to meet his, their mismatched depths shining with timid hope at his words, her faceplates still dusted with a soft blue shade. Jazz felt his spark skip several beats, the words he’d intended to say suddenly vanishing from his processor in favor of realizing just how <b>beautiful</b> her optics were, how delicately shaped her faceplates were, how perfect she seemed to have become.</p>
<p>Starwish whispered softly, “Jazz?” From behind his visor, Jazz watched her lips move in something akin to fascination. He found himself unconsciously leaning in closer, wanting to observe her face in more detail. Starwish’s optics flickered softly, “Jazz?” she repeated timidly, her voice brushing over Jazz’s audios like she was singing. Jazz hummed absently in acknowledgement, his processor barely registering what he was doing as he leaned one servo on the shelf to keep from over balancing.</p>
<p>The moment of total fascination with the small white femme was shattered without warning when something slammed into the back of his helm with a painful ‘clang’. Jazz felt his vision flicker as he immediately let go of Starwish’s chin and the shelf in favor of clutching his helm with both servos, “Frag!”</p>
<p>He had barely started to turn around to face his attacker when he was met with an angry, ranting, wrench wielding, and generally fragged off Ratchet. Ratchet grabbed him firmly by one helm fin-come-audio amplifier and started painfully dragging him out of the storage room while repeatedly yelling insults and hitting him with a wrench to punctuate them, “Fragging rust-bitten, two-byte processing, dim-sparked, knock-off creation of a retro-rat! What did you think you were <b>doing</b>?”</p>
<p>Jazz squirmed and wiggled, trying to get free from the clutches of ‘The Hatchet’ as he protested between helm smacks, “Ah wasn’t- doing anythin- fraggit Ratch! Stop-ow! Ow! <b>Ow</b>! <b>Hey</b>!”</p>
<p>Ratchet might not have been the strongest mech on base, but when fully enraged he could prove capable of many things that were not expected of him. Physically throwing Jazz out of the medbay by his audio receptor was one of these things and soon Jazz founding himself fleeing for his life from an endless barrage of wrenches, spanners, screwdrivers, and an active buzz-saw while Ratchet chased him down the halls yelling about ‘proper actions around minors’ coupled with several unrepeatable phrases of an insulting nature.</p>
<p>As Jazz desperately transformed and drove away in his alt mode he couldn’t help but wonder something similar to what Ratchet had bellowed earlier. What had he been doing? He’d never experienced anything like that before, even when flirting with other femmes. It was like some other part of him had simply taken over. A siren started up behind him, signaling that Ratchet had also broken base law and was now pursuing him in his alt-mode, still cursing liberally. Jazz careened around corners and between the legs of startled Autobots, headed for the brig and, hopefully, safety behind its bars so he could puzzle out his own actions without fear of imminent disassembly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish blinked as Ratchet came out of nowhere and dragged Jazz off, cursing more liberally than she had ever heard before. Her processor was spinning, <em>what … just happened?</em> Jazz had been talking to her, revealing that he’d eavesdropped on her singing, when he’d suddenly stopped and simply stared at her. It had confused her, especially when saying his name received nothing more then a vague grunt in response. He had leaned in closer and Starwish had begun to feel almost afraid when Ratchet and First Aid had suddenly arrived, the former dragging Jazz off by one audio amplifier and hitting him with wrench the entire way. First Aid was hovering next to her now, asking if she was alright.</p>
<p>Starwish shook herself slightly and said, “I-I’m fine, First Aid. Just … confused. What just happened?”</p>
<p>First Aid gently wrapped one arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the storage room, “I honestly don’t know, Starwish. But it looked a lot like Jazz was-” he suddenly cut himself off, not finishing his previous sentence.</p>
<p>Starwish felt like there was something obvious she was missing, so she verbally prodded, “Jazz was what? What did it look like he was doing?”</p>
<p>First Aid’s optics were looking everywhere but her as they reached the main room of the medbay and she idly perched on a berth. First Aid’s voice was barely above a whisper as he finished, “It looked as if Jazz was trying to take ‘advantage’ of you…”</p>
<p>Starwish was instantly on her pedes again in rage, not for herself, but for Jazz’s smudged honor, “You take that back!” First Aid blinked at her in surprise as Starwish stood to her full, though unimpressive, height and shouted angrily, “Jazz would never do that! He was simply apologizing for-” Now it was Starwish’s turn to stumble over her words, she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about her singing habits.</p>
<p>However, seeing First Aid’s even more alarmed look as he undoubtedly thought of the worst possible endings to her sentence, Starwish steeled her nerve and finished, “I like to sing while I work when I’m alone, it helps me focus. Jazz told me that … that he’s been listening in without my knowledge and apologized. I sort of overreacted because I’m really shy about others hearing me sing and he was telling me that he … that he liked my singing.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s voice had dwindled to a low tone and she crossed her arms defensively over her chest plates, “Then you two burst in and Ratchet dragged Jazz off.”</p>
<p>First Aid’s expression was one of extreme embarrassment, “Oh. <b>Oh</b>…”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her temper rise again, “Yes, ‘oh’. You should feel ashamed of yourself jumping to conclusions like that about a respectable mech! Jazz would never try something like that and you know it!”</p>
<p>There was a sudden, shrill whistle from behind her, making Starwish whirl in surprise. A sizable pack of mechs, most of whom were unfamiliar to her, were standing in the medbay doorway. One mech stood out immediately to her, or rather, ‘hung’ out from his held up position between two other mechs. Blue optics twinkled at her as his lip components lifted into an easy smile, “Easy there, femme, don’t offline the doc-bot before he can fix me.”</p>
<p><em>There is no way…</em> Starwish subtly placed First Aid between herself and the large group of strangers as she stared at the instantly recognizable form of Wheeljack, ace wrecker, swordsmech, good friend of Bulkhead and someone she had never truly expected to run in to on Cybertron. Wheeljack matched her stare boldly and then winked, causing a sarcastic little voice in Starwish’s head to mutter, <em>what am I thinking? Of course there is a way. Just like there’s a way I’m on Cybertron as a femme who is currently being winked at by a character from a TV show. Pit. My life just got even weirder. Pity Bulkhead is on patrol, than I could distract Wheeljack with a reunion.</em></p>
<p>First Aid, becoming all business, scanned Wheeljack and motioned to the mechs supporting him, “Put him onto the berth over there. Are there any other injured? If so, onto the berths in an orderly fashion.” Starwish hung back as First Aid dived fearlessly into the pack of mechs, scanning, asking questions, and generally behaving like a proper, compassionate medic. Cliffjumper helped Wheeljack onto a berth, revealing a sparking and twisted ankle strut.</p>
<p>“Starwish, I need you to help some of these less injured mechs while I tend to him.” First Aid’s voice broke her out of her shocked staring and she squeaked before hurrying to do as he told her. Picking a mech at random, she timidly skirted up to him and scanned him, allowing the information to wash over her processor so that her internal encyclopedia could sort it out and explain it to her.</p>
<p>The mech froze when he saw her approach for a few kliks before smiled brightly at her and chattering, “Hi there! My designation is Bluestreak. What’s yours?”</p>
<p>Starwish carefully unsubspaced a welding tool and several energy clamps which she placed on the nearby tool stand. Selecting one of the clamps, she set to work on sealing the nicked energy lines leaking through the large gash in the newly dubbed Bluestreak’s shoulder armor. Trying to hold back a queasy feeling in her tanks at the sight of spilled energon, she answered Bluestreak’s question, “I’m Starwish. N-nice to meet you, Bluestreak.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak, apparently oblivious to the wound in his shoulder, happily began to chatter away like an earth squirrel, “Nice to meet you! I haven’t met too many femmes before, what with Megatron hunting them down and all, you’re the fifth. Do you know Chromia? Ironhide’s sparkmate? She was the one who taught me to shoot a sniper rifle since Ironhide is more of a cannon type and doesn’t really like to shoot sniper rifles, which is strange because he has several really nice sniper rifles in his collection, not that there’s anything wrong with not shooting sniper rifles, cannons work better in some situations and Ironhide’s frame is too big to be a sniper anyway. Ironhide was the one who gave me my first rifle you know, he also gave one to Moonracer, another femme like you only taller, and we used to have shooting contests all the time down at the range. Well not all the time because we had to do work shifts like everyone else but-”</p>
<p>Starwish inwardly shook her helm at his chatter as she carefully finished soldering shut the damaged fluid lines and moved on to welding the shoulder shut just like Ratchet had taught her not too long ago and her medical encyclopedia advised. <em>How can anyone talk so much? I mean, does he even notice that I’m busy patching his shoulder? Does he realize he could distract me?</em></p>
<p>Cliffjumper called from where he was lounging against the medbay wall, “Ease up Bluestreak, you’re going to talk her audio receptor off.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak quieted as another mech piped up curiously, “Nice assistant, Aid. Where’d you get her?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her faceplates flush blue at the thought of being ‘gotten’. <em>He didn’t mean it that way, he didn’t mean it that way, just ignore him. In fact just ignore the fact that you are surrounded by strange, large mechs who probably haven’t seen a femme in vorns.</em> First Aid was stammering something, which Starwish did her best to ignore as she finished welding Bluestreak’s shoulder and softly puffed on it with her vents to help cool the metal.</p>
<p>Straightening up, she noticed that Bluestreak had gone silent and was staring at her with huge optics. Trying not to be nervous at the intensity in his stare, she said, “Um, your self-repair protocols should take care of the rest…” Bluestreak just nodded slowly, his optics never leaving her face. Fidgeting nervously, she mumbled a goodbye to Bluestreak and scurried to the next mech.</p>
<p>This mech had a collection of deep scratches on his right leg that looked suspiciously like he’d gotten on the wrong end of a lawn mower. Looking around, she noted that most of the injured, although only having minor damage, all looked like they’d gotten into a fight with something sharp or someone carrying something sharp, “What happened to all of you?”</p>
<p>The mech with the scratched leg said cheerfully, “Oh this? This ain’t nothin’ femme, just got into a little ‘discussion’ with a pack of sword-swinging ‘cons who didn’t know to back down. Would’ve kept going to our destination if Wheeljack over there hadn’t blown an ankle strut.” Starwish nodded slowly, finally noting that several of the mechs were wearing blue colored Autobot symbols instead of the normal red ones. The symbols were shaped slightly differently as well. <em>Are they Wreckers? Is that the Wrecker symbol?</em></p>
<p>Turning back to her newest patient, she commed worriedly, ::First Aid? When is Ratchet coming back?::</p>
<p>First Aid gave a sigh over the com, ::As soon as Prowl has finished detaining him for chasing Jazz in vehicle mode all over the base. Are you okay with this? These wounds aren’t too difficult to manage are they? None of these mechs are in any real danger, I can handle them all myself if you want.::</p>
<p>Starwish gathered her resolve and moved to start welding the first gouge, ::No. I can handle this. I have to if I want to be a medic without activating my program.::</p>
<p>The mech she was patching up smiled at her, “Designation’s Pyro, sweetspark.” Starwish nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t verbally answer, she was busy concentrating on her work and thus didn’t note the significance of the term ‘sweetspark’.</p>
<p>First Aid did, however, and said firmly, “Don’t call her that, it is inappropriate.”</p>
<p>Pyro snorted through his vents contemptuously, “Yeah? Who’s gonna make me stop? I can call her any nickname I wan-” there was a loud ‘clang’ and Starwish jumped back with a yelp of surprise as a wrench whipped past her helm to collide with her patient’s.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s voice snarled terrifyingly from his position just entering the medbay, “You will address my medical assistants with the respect they deserve and you will <b>not</b> address a femling by the term of ‘sweetspark’ while in <b>my</b> medbay.” Skewering all of the mechs present with a look that promised pain and suffering if they disagreed, he growled, “Am I clear?”</p>
<p>For a pack of tough, war-hardened mechs, Starwish thought that the chorus of ‘yes sir’s sounded very meek. <em>Maybe Sides wasn’t bluffing when he said that everyone in the army was afraid of ‘The Hatchet’.</em> Ratchet made his way over to her, “I’ll handle this one, you fix that one over there.”</p>
<p>Starwish decided that she wanted to be as far away as possible from anyone with the particular gleam in their optics as Ratchet did. Especially considering that Ratchet was equipped with sharp surgical tools. The look on Pyro’s faceplates indicated that he was having similar thoughts, but his impending escape attempt was thwarted by another firm smack to the helm via Ratchet’s wrench.</p>
<p>Skirting around Ratchet, she hurried over to the mech Ratchet had indicated and looked him over for injuries. The mech was, surprisingly, already fixing himself, barely glancing up at her to introduce himself before resuming patching his arm, “Salutations, my designation is Perceptor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Medical Assistant Starwish. I am, as you can see, perfectly capable of performing the necessary procedure in order to restore the maximum operation of my damaged appendage. I would suggest administering to Blaster over there, instead.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked, mentally sorted through his words to make sure she understood them fully, and then nodded, “Okay… I’ll go do that.” Turning to the next berth over she was greeted by the sight of a large, smiling, red and yellow mech with some sort of square glass windshield on his chest that she couldn’t see through.</p>
<p>The mech winked at her cheerfully as he held out a damaged servo and wrist joint, “Don’t mind him, he always talks like thah. As he already stated, my designation is Blaster, nice ta meet cha.” Starwish made a ‘hmm’ noise of cautious agreement, all the while wondering how so many mechs could suddenly come in with so many minor injuries and why several of them seemed to like winking at her. Although she could guess the reason to the last one.</p>
<p>After offering pain medication which Blaster politely turned down as unnecessary, Starwish pulled out a set of pliers and carefully began removing shrapnel from Blaster’s servo, trying her best not to cause him discomfort through the procedure, “Did the Decepticons put up much of a fight? You don’t seem to be that injured.” She added hastily, “Which is, of course, a good thing! Just…”</p>
<p>Blaster chuckled, “We came across the Wreckers over there before the fight got serious and well … they’re good at giving more damage than they take. Besides, our self repair protocols took care of most of the scratches on the way here-ouch!”</p>
<p>Starwish winced sympathetically, “Sorry. This one is buried fairly deep. How did you get so much shrapnel in your servo anyway?”There was a chiming sound as his chest plates suddenly opened and something shot out, startling Starwish into shouting an English expletive in alarm.</p>
<p>A mech no bigger than Zipline or Fast Track landed on the end of the medical berth and said sarcastically, “Oh, nothing much, he merely tried <b>shoving a grenade</b> down a ‘con’s throat tubing and got his servo stuck when the glitch bit it.”</p>
<p>Blaster looked offended, “Hey! I got my servo free didn’t I? Plus, it worked, that heavy tanker mech was fried.”</p>
<p>The mini-mech snorted at Blaster, “Sure you got it free, after screaming like a femling who just saw a glitch mouse.” Turning to look at her, the little mech smiled and said, “No offense.”</p>
<p>Starwish held a hand over her spark chamber, feeling it throb wildly at the shock of seeing a mech just jump out of another mech, “Um … none taken but, who are you and how did you do that just now?”</p>
<p>Blaster and the smaller mech looked surprised at her question at first, but then Blaster chortled, “Oh, right, you’ve probably never met a mini-cassette before. Not surprising because of their rarity. Mini-cassettes are small Cybertronians who help out a larger mech in certain operations. When not busy doing anythin’, they reside in a Cassette-Hold in their Guardian’s chest plates. Anyway, Med Assistant Starwish, this is Eject, one of my mini-cassettes. Eject, this is Medical Assistant Starwish, say hello.”</p>
<p>Eject plopped his little skid plates firmly in Blaster’s lap and said, “Hi, what was that word you said when I first came out?”</p>
<p>Starwish, painfully aware that she had an audience of strange mechs and, more importantly, a suspicious Ratchet, said, “N-nothing. It’s something I used to hear when the mechs of the neighborhood were surprised. I wouldn’t try repeating it though, it might get you in trouble in some places.”</p>
<p>Eject cocked his helm to one side, interested, “Really? What’s it mean?”</p>
<p>Starwish hastily went back to working on Blaster’s servo and wrist, <em>not going to say it in front of Ratchet.</em> “Nu-uh, not going there.”</p>
<p>Eject’s voice had an amused tinge, “It’s a curse word ain’t it?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her head and jerked a bit of shrapnel out of Blaster’s servo a bit more roughly than necessary. Blaster got the hint even if Eject didn’t, “Ow! Drop the subject, Eject, you’re distracting her from my treatment.”</p>
<p>Eject’s innocent comment of, “But I thought you liked it when femmes were distracted around you, Blaster?” Sent most of the mechs nearby into gales of laughter, Ratchet into a fit of spluttering that might have been laughter, and Starwish into a blushing spell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
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<p>Blaster groaned and slapped his face plating with his undamaged servo, “Eject, no. Just … no. Don’t ever … where did you even hear thah? Nevermind, just don’t say it again.”</p>
<p>Eject huffed through his vents, “Whatever. What’re you doing here, Starwish? I thought Moonracer was the femme medic?”</p>
<p>Blaster resisted the urge to ‘aw’ at how adorably flustered the tiny femling was as she ducked her helm and resumed working on his servo, “Yes, well, I’m only in training. Moonracer is still the official medic of Elita’s squad.”</p>
<p>Blaster smiled, “Looks like you’re doing just fine ta me. How long yah been training?”</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged as she finished patching up his servo and began to scan his wrist joint for defects, “Under Ratchet? A few metacycles. But I had some medical knowledge before that.” Blaster blinked in surprise, she had just barely started and Ratchet was letting her fix other bots? Sure, she was only performing basic first aid, but still.</p>
<p>Blaster commented wonderingly, “Only a few metacycles? You must be a prodigy then.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled shyly as she carefully realigned the wires in Blaster’s wrist, “I wouldn’t say that… Ratchet’s just that good of a teacher is all.” Letting go of his wrist she said, “I think that should do it. Try it now.”</p>
<p>Blaster carefully flexed his wrist, wiggling his fingers experimentally before smirking and declaring, “Good as knew! Nice work!” Starwish looked bashful at his praise, mumbling softly that she had other patients to see to as she stood up. Blaster watched her go more than a little mournfully, it was so rare to see an unmated femme these cycles, let alone be cared for by one.</p>
<p>Sensing his feelings over the departure of the femme, Eject asked innocently over their bond, <em>“Why don’t you just ask her to stay?”</em></p>
<p>Blaster sighed, <em>“It isn’t thah simple, Eject. Especially with the Hatchet nearby.”</em></p>
<p>Eject frowned, <em>“Why not? It isn’t like the femme is his sparkling, you could ask to court her if you wanted.”</em></p>
<p>Blaster shook his helm at Eject’s naivety in the matters of femmes and medics, <em>“Ratchet will treat her as such, even if she isn’t his creation. He called her a femling remember? She hasn’t reached her final frame yet, which makes her still too young to not have a guardian. Since she’s working in the medbay, its a good guess thah either Ratchet is her guardian or someone close to him is. I can’t ask unless I want my helm taken off.”</em></p>
<p>Eject seemed to mull over this for awhile and Blaster sensed his bold mini-cassette consult with the others stored safely inside him for advice. Coming to a decision, Eject jumped off of the berth Blaster was still perched on, to the next one over. Easily repeating this performance and ignoring the disgruntled huffs of the mechs he scrambled over, Eject made his way over to where Starwish was raptly paying attention to Ratchet as he explained some medical fact or other while using an irritated Wrecker as an example.</p>
<p>Blaster frowned, <em>“Eject, what are you doing?”</em></p>
<p>Eject ignored the mental prod and instead tapped Starwish’s arm firmly. Starwish looked down at him and smiled indulgently, “Hello again. Is there something I can do for you?”</p>
<p>Eject nodded and said hopefully, “Yeah. Would you be Blaster’s sparkmate, please? Us mini-cassettes can’t always take care of him all the time and so we’d like you to help. He’s a really nice mech and is very easy to get along with. What’d you say?” There was dead silence in the medbay as Starwish’s cheek plating rapidly flushed with energon and Ratchet just stared at Eject in shock.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of the moments of shock, Blaster leapt to his pedes, snatched up Eject and ran for the door with a startled Eject under one arm. Evacuating the medbay hastily, he yelled at his cassettes over their bond, <em>“Cassettes! Yah can’t just walk up and ask a femme to bond with me!”</em></p>
<p>From inside his hold, Rosanna asked innocently, <em>“Why not? You’re likable, charming, you love music, you’re strong enough to take care of her and she’d have five willing sparkling sitters when the time came.”</em></p>
<p>Blaster, spluttering over what Rosanna had just said, had just made it halfway down the hall when an explosion of curses and laughter signaled Ratchet’s snap from shock to rage and everyone else's amusement at Eject’s statement. Blaster continued running wildly down the hall, consulting the base schematics Prowl had sent him earlier in order to find the brig. Maybe if he got there in time he would be spared ‘wrench-therapy’, <em>“Because Ratchet will think I told you to do it for me! Besides, you don’t just sparkmate with tha first femme you see! There’s protocol! Courting! Getting permission from her Guardian! You don’t just up and ask!</em></p>
<p>It wasn’t until after he had shot into the brig, launched himself into a cell and manually locked the door behind him that he realized he wasn’t the only one there. From the cell across from his, Jazz smiled and waved, “Blaster! Mah main mech! What’s got yah running for your spark this time?”</p>
<p>Blaster huffed a few times before holding up a sheepish looking Eject, “This glitch. He walked up an’ asked Hatchet’s femme assistant to bond with me.”</p>
<p>Jazz raised an optic ridge, “Oh. Yah shouldn’t have done that. He’s a touch overprotective about Starwish.”</p>
<p>Blaster glowered, “You too?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Yep.”</p>
<p>Blaster cocked his helm to one side, “How long ago?”</p>
<p>Jazz stretched lazily on the cell cot, “Almost a half a joor now I think. Figure in anotha three joors it’ll be safe ta leave.”</p>
<p>Blaster sighed and settled down miserably, “He’s <b>that</b> overprotective?”</p>
<p>Jazz twisted slightly so that Blaster could see the singe mark on his shoulder plate, “He came in an thought Ah was trying ta kiss her. Besides, her Guardian is Ultra Magnus and he would probably slap me in tha brig for inappropriate conduct anyway. Might as well serve my time an’ get it over with.”</p>
<p>Blaster’s optics widened, then narrowed irritably as he settled in for a long wait. <em>Great, first cycle on Algol base and I’m gonna have to spend it in the brig for fear of a rampaging medic and the fragging Autobot </em><b><em>Second in Command</em></b><em>.</em> With a sigh, Blaster asked, “Any new music sticks?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s optics lit up, “As a matter o’ fact, Ah got something better. But yah gotta promise not ta tell anybot else about it. Yah and your cassettes, got it?” Blaster nodded his consent to total secrecy, privately wondering what could be so wonderful that Jazz would be so possessive about it. Jazz smiled, “Jus’ listen ta this!”</p>
<p>Jazz’s speakers activated and both Blaster and Eject froze as soft femme vocalizations drifted out mournfully in an alien melody. Blaster shifted as close to the cell bars as he dared, listening to the strange sounds in awe. After nearly a breem, he whispered tentatively, “What is <b>that</b>?”</p>
<p>Jazz smiled strangely, almost like he’d become overcharged just by listening to the strange sounds, “That, mah dear Blaster, is the sound of Starwish singing.”</p>
<p>Blaster sat back, optics wide and unseeing as another recording of the ‘singing’ drifted through the brig.</p>
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<p>From inside his chest compartments, the other mini-cassettes listened in via their bond with Eject. Rosanna purred happily and projected to her brothers, <em>“Mechs? I think we just found the perfect sparkmate for Blaster.”</em></p>
<p>Steeljaw replied smugly, <em>“Definitely.”</em></p>
<p>On the outside, Eject smiled secretively, <em>“Let Operation: Femme Spark begin.”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Contemplations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A curious voice snagged Cliffjumper’s attention from the movie-vid he’d been watching, “Hey, Cliffjumper?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper looked down at the two mechlings in his lap, “Yeah?”</p>
<p>Zipline was still watching the movie as Fast Track asked, “How does someone get a sparkmate?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper felt his gears freeze for a klik, <em>oh slag.</em> “Uh, I think that’s a question for when you two are older, Fast Track. It’s a … boring topic.”</p>
<p>Fast Track seemed to ponder this, then accepted it with a shrug, “Okay.” Cliffjumper felt himself relax slightly. While he loved keeping an optic on the two younglings when he was off duty and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe weren’t, the two had the uncomfortable habit of hearing things they shouldn’t and asking him about it later. At least they didn’t feel the need to ask Prowl those questions, the overly-logical security officer might have actually answered the ‘sparkmate’ question in the most traumatizing and scientific way imaginable.</p>
<p><em>At least they aren’t trying to rig the energon dispenser to explode again. </em>Cliffjumper frowned regretfully at his own thought, <em>I just wish they had a middle setting between ‘mischievous pit-spawns’ and ‘traumatized heralds of Primus’.</em> Ever since the surprise attack on the base, the twinlings had been very subdued and well behaved. Cliffjumper privately wondered if they would ever truly be the same hyper bundles of wires they were before the attack. War had a way of destroying that kind of carefree energy after all.</p>
<p>Glancing down at them, he noted how Fast Track still held his right arm close to his chassis and Zipline sat ramrod straight, and mentally grimaced. Normally the two would have been punished for the prank they pulled on Red Alert that had prevented him from doing his job at a crucial moment, but after Fast Track’s right arm had nearly been shattered and Zipline’s fuel tank had almost collapsed because of Breakdown’s attack, Ratchet had declared them more than punished.</p>
<p>Absently, he started to gently rub the younglings’ back struts with his servos, eliciting muted purrs from the twinlings tiny engines. <em>At least Sunstreaker and Sideswipe take their guardianship seriously now.</em> That seemed to be the only positive thing that had come out of the attack, really. The attack had apparently activated a subtly developing Guardian-Ward bond between the twin sets, causing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had become absolutely possessive of their charges, ensuring all of their needs were fulfilled on time instead of treating them like mini-playmates who had to take care of themselves.</p>
<p>Zipline suddenly looked up at Cliffjumper and asked, “Hey Cliff?” Cliffjumper dipped his head in a silent acknowledgement of his question, “When’s <em>Christmas</em>?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s optic ridges drew together in confusion, “When’s what now?”</p>
<p>Fast Track was now watching the conversation instead of the movie as Zipline struggled to explain the strange word he had just used, “You know. <em>Christmas</em>! When everyone gets presents under a big <em>tree</em> with all kinds of decorations and everyone tells stories and sings <em>Christmas carols</em> and there’s all sorts of <em>turkey</em> and <em>cookies</em> and stuffing and candy to eat?”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded, some rare enthusiasm shining in his optics, “Yeah! Then after all the presents are open we all get to go outside and play in the <em>snow </em>and have <em>snowball </em>fights and make <em>snowmen</em> and run all over <em>Matthew’s snow angels</em> and-!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper gently broke into the babble of words, “Woah there mechlings, slow down! I get that you like this … <em>Chr- Christma-</em>”</p>
<p>Zipline supplied eagerly, “<em>Christmas</em>!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper nodded, “Yeah, that. But you two are speaking so fast I can’t keep up. Now, what <b>is</b> this thing you two are so hyped up about, exactly?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper was used to receiving looks of disbelief, they were mostly bestowed in his direction when he told his, completely true, stories. But the looks the twinlings were now piercing him with could have won a prize for the perfect mix of horror, disbelief, and a little more horror. Fast Track’s mouth was opening and shutting silently, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find any words. Finally, his twin managed to whisper, “You … you don’t know what <em>Christmas</em> is?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of the mechlings’ gazes, “Uh, no?” The looks of disbelief were rapidly replaced with horror and pity as Zipline and Fast Track began immediately trying to enlighten Cliffjumper on the subject, eagerly talking over each other to the point that Cliffjumper’s audios could no longer distinguish words in the rabidly delivered sound. Cliffjumper was trying to figure out how to get himself out of his current predicament when the door to the rec room slid open and Hardwire strode inside.</p>
<p>Instantly, the twins vacated Cliffjumper’s lap in favor of crowding around Hardwire, chattering in their strange family language, no doubt telling Hardwire about whatever atrocity Cliffjumper had unintentionally committed. Hardwire’s optics widened and he glanced at Cliffjumper in questioning surprise, Cliffjumper shrugged helplessly and commed the green mech so as to be heard over the twinlings, ::What did I do?::</p>
<p>Hardwire’s surprise melted into a tired smirk and he directed his focus to the twinlings, speaking soothingly and somehow calming them before answering Cliffjumper’s question, ::It isn’t your fault. They just don’t realize that not everyone knows about our family holiday.:: Hardwire shooed the twins back to the couch and settled down on it next to Cliffjumper. He waited until the twins had scrambled onto his lap before stating out loud, “<em>Christmas</em> is a holiday that our family celebrates at the end of every … vorn I think? We would set up decorations around the housing unit, mainly in the main room, and we’d all buy a few gifts for each other.”</p>
<p>The twins looked about to interrupt, but Hardwire silenced them by popped an energon candy into each of their mouths, “After giving the gifts we’d all go outside and play together. Near the beginning of the lunar cycle we would all go back inside and tell stories or sing songs until these two lug nuts drifted off into recharge.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper cocked his head slight to one side, “Sounds nice but … what’s the point?”</p>
<p>The twins shouted irately from around their mouthfuls of candy, only quieting when Hardwire soothingly patted their helms. His voice was surprisingly serious as he responded, “Family. For us, <em>Christmas</em> is a time of remembering all of our loved ones, both with us and … gone. The good times we had, the blessings we shared. It’s … it’s a time of hope. There’s a long drawn out history behind how it came about but the short version is, <em>Christmas</em> is a time to remember that the hope of family and forgiveness never goes away, even in the darkest times. It’s a time to remember everything we have, everything we’ve lost, and everything we hope to achieve with the help of those we love.”</p>
<p>Zipline, who had swallowed his candy, piped up, “Don’t forget the presents!”</p>
<p>Hardwire chuckled, the serious light in his optics vanishing as he said, “Yes, Zipline, I didn’t forget the presents.” Looking up at a baffled Cliffjumper he said, “We always give presents on <em>Christmas</em>, nothing big or flashy, just something to show others that we care about them.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s optic ridges drew together thoughtfully as he pondered the newfound information. He had never heard of anything like what Hardwire was describing, but somehow … it sounded like a very nice idea. He remembered the twinlings’ question and asked, “When is … <em>Christmas</em>?” Cliffjumper stumbled slightly over the foreign word but adequately managed to pronounce it.</p>
<p>Hardwire frowned and stared unseeingly at the vid screen, “Actually? I’m not sure … With everything that’s happened, I’ve kinda lost track of when it is.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track whined pathetically at Hardwire’s declaration, “But Hardwire!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper jumped in eagerly, an idea forming in his processor, “That doesn’t mean we all can’t celebrate it, right? We just pick a new date for it.”</p>
<p>The whines of despair quickly turned into cheers of glee and pleas for Hardwire to agree to the idea. Hardwire shrugged, “I don’t see why not … what do you have in processor, Cliffjumper?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper smirked, “Tell you later.” ::I’d like to make it a surprise for the twinlings.::</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded, ::Okay.:: Hardwire set about distracting the twins from the previous conversation by asking what was going on in the movie they were watching. The twinlings were all too eager to share their movie and began happily talking about it in great detail with complete sound effects. Cliffjumper watched them out of the corner of his optic, noting how the twins seemed to perk up in the presence of their brother, almost becoming the energetic bundles of mischief that they had been before the attack.</p>
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  <em>Hope they get to stay that way for a little while longer. This war will probably make them grow up too soon.</em>
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<p>Bluestreak stared silently at the weld on his shoulder, thinking intently. He hadn’t known too many femmes in his lifetime, he was too young to really remember the times before the Great War when femmes were far less scarce than they were now. But in all of his memory files, he couldn’t remember meeting a femme who acted quite like Ratchet’s new medical assistant. She hadn’t seemed to mind his prattle much and most of all, she hadn’t treated him like a youngling. She had treated him the same way she had treated the other mechs. Most of the femmes on base that he knew, such as Chromia, still liked to pat him on the helm and tease him about his talking and his age. Starwish hadn’t done anything of the sort.</p>
<p><em>Of course, she might not know that I’m so much younger than Prowl and First Aid and most of the others here. Still, it was … nice to have a femme act like I was a full grown mech for once.</em> A voice broke through his contemplation, “Hey, Blue?”</p>
<p>Bluestreak looked up with a jerk, “Huh?”</p>
<p>Inferno eyed him worriedly, “Are you okay? You’re being very … quiet.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak smiled, “Really? Sorry about that, I was just thinking about something and I didn’t think you would want to hear me think out loud so I did it quietly. Besides, usually bots are telling me to shut up rather than talk, not that I can blame them because I do talk a lot it’s just that I kinda thought you wouldn’t mind it if I was quiet but if you’d rather talk about something we can do that too, I don’t mind. Or I can go back to being quiet again, unless that makes you-”</p>
<p>Inferno raised his hands placatingly, “No, no, silence is fine. I was just worried you’d caught a virus or something and needed to go to the medbay.” He paused, seeming to study Bluestreak for a klik before asking, “What were you thinking about?”</p>
<p>Bluestreak shrugged his doorwings and turned back to the security monitors, “Well … I was thinking about a lot of things really. But I was kinda wondering about Ratchet’s new medical assistant more than anything else.”</p>
<p>Inferno looked mildly surprised, “Oh yeah, I remember her. Her designation is Starwish, right?”</p>
<p>Bluestreak nodded, “Uh-huh. I was thinking about how she acted in the medbay and how she didn’t treat me any differently from the other mechs in the room except for Ratchet and First Aid. But then again, she knows First Aid and Ratchet is her mentor so of course she would act differently around them. It’s just that most of Elita’s femmes still treat me like a youngling but Starwish didn’t. She acted around me like she did the other mechs. Though … I felt kind of sorry for her when we were all getting patched up and checked out because she looked a little bit scared of us. I wonder why she would be scared? Do you think that she’s been attacked by Decepticons? Do you think they … tried to do something to her? Because that would explain why she’s scared of mechs-”</p>
<p>Inferno’s chuckling cut Bluestreak off again. Bluestreak glanced away from the monitors to ask, “What’s so funny?”</p>
<p>Inferno shook his helm as he carefully commanded one of the cameras to shift focus slightly, giving him a better view of the hallway in which it was installed, “If I didn’t know any better Bluestreak, I’d say you had a crush on this femme.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak shook his helm wildly, rocking back in his seat at the insinuation, “Oh no, nothing like that! I was just curious about why she treated me differently than the other femmes on base do, that’s all! I-I don’t feel a spark call for her or anything like that! Not that she isn’t pretty or kind or anything like that, it’s just that I don’t think she’s the one for me!”</p>
<p>Inferno’s chuckle morphed into full laughter, “Ease up there, Bluestreak, before you pop a neck strut! I was just teasing. As for why she treats you differently than the other femmes do, it’s probably because she’s only a few vorns older than Bumblebee. So she sees you as an elder just like almost everyone else on base.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak’s optics widened slightly, “She’s only a few vorns older than Bumblebee?”</p>
<p>Inferno nodded, “That’s what I’ve heard. She’s also the ward of Ultra Magnus, so if you have any plans of courting her, you’d better clear it with him first.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak’s right doorwing flinched at that knowledge, even if he had been interested in courting the shy white femme, the thought of having to tell a mech like Ultra Magnus about it was more than enough to dissuade him. <em>Who would dare try that? Ultra Magnus would probably access their records since sparkling-hood and comb through it to make sure they were worthy! How embarrassing.</em></p>
<p>Since Inferno seemed to be better informed than the other new arrivals to the Algol base, Bluestreak asked, “What else to you know about her?”</p>
<p>Inferno shrugged, “Not much, according to the reports, a patrol found her and her three brothers in an abandoned Decepticon base looking for energon. They were brought here and gladly joined the Autobots. She has one older brother, he’s only a little younger than you, and two younger brothers who are around thirty-two vorns old. Nothing on their past either, it’s like they just appeared out of thin air one cycle.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak frowned thoughtfully as he studied the monitors, his mind racing over the new information eagerly. His processor producing wild theories about why there was nothing on their past before they were found by an Autobot patrol. “I wonder why that is? Do you think their records were destroyed? Maybe they were neutrals from one of the cities Megatron attacked? Or maybe they came from the Outlands? Or maybe they were captured by Shockwave and had their memories wiped? But Ratchet would detect that in a scan wouldn’t he? Or maybe-”</p>
<p>Inferno held up his servos again, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow it down, Bluestreak! Where do you get ideas like that? Cybertron is a huge planet, they probably just don’t have local records. No need to think up conspiracy theories, Red Alert already has that covered. Literally. He’s got an entire file that he made me read on possible theories for where those four come from, but honestly? I don’t think it’s anybot’s business but theirs. As long as they’re loyal to the Autobots, I don’t think we should intrude on their right to privacy.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak nodded enthusiastically, “I know, I know. But I can’t help but wonder, I mean it is really mysterious…”</p>
<p>Inferno shrugged slightly, “Yeah, I guess. But like I said. Their past is their business, if they want to tell us they will and if they don’t, they don’t. Besides, if you’re really that curious, you could always go ask one of them.”</p>
<p>Bluestreak nodded again, “I suppose I could- is that Blaster? Talking to Starwish?”</p>
<p>Inferno leaned closer to the monitor Bluestreak was pointing at, “Looks like it. Wonder what he’s doing talking to her so soon after Ratchet’s blow up?”</p>
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<p>Blaster jogged slightly in order to catch up with the little white femme his irrational cassettes had humiliated the other cycle, “Hey! Wait up!”</p>
<p>Starwish paused in her swift strides down the hall and waited for him to catch up to her before saying timidly, “Oh … um, hello Blaster. Is there something I can do for you?”</p>
<p>Blaster smiled as charmingly at her as he could, “Actually, I was hoping I could do something for you. To apologize for tha stunt Eject pulled. I just want you ta know that I didn’t ask him ta do that. I <b>never</b> would have let him do that if I’d known he was going to try, it was highly inappropriate and rude of him and I was just … hoping ta make it up ta you.”</p>
<p>Starwish seemed to study him for a moment before she resumed walking down the hall, one servo motioning briefly to signal that he could follow her, “It’s okay, really. It was actually kind of … cute once I got over the shock of it. I knew a little femling back home that used to pull stunts like that for her <em>uncle</em>, sorry, her mech creator’s brother. She’d walk up to any pretty femme who gave her a candy and ask them to bond with him.” She laughed, “Now I know how those femmes felt.”</p>
<p>Blaster laughed a little bit with her, glad that she wasn’t angry at him or his mini-cassettes because of the ‘random proposal’ incident. Starwish ducked her helm a little bit and continued, “You don’t have to feel like you need to make it up to me. There was no real harm done.”</p>
<p>Blaster shook his helm, “I still want to. Isn’t there something? Take you to the pub? Help out with something? I’m off duty for the next four joors or so, I can help out with anything you want.” Internally, Blaster suddenly felt nervous when he realized that his questions had ‘spawned’ a collection of large heavy weapons Autobots who were now following a not so discrete distance with warning messages of murder in their optics.</p>
<p>Oblivious to her array of bodyguards, Starwish cocked her helm to one side and studied him again, “Well … if you insist, there might be one thing…”</p>
<p>Blaster grinned and tried to ignore the engine revs his action sparked in the background, “Name it.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked away from him, “Well … I don’t suppose you have any … music sticks I could borrow?”</p>
<p>Blaster’s pede steps, and the revving engines, faltered in surprise, “Well, sure, what kind would you like?”</p>
<p>Starwish was now staring firmly at the floor under her pedes as they rounded a corner, passing several mechs who shot Blaster suspicious looks that he promptly filed away for later analyzation along with the ‘entourage of overprotective mechs appearing out of nowhere’ factoid. When Starwish spoke, her voice was so low that he almost missed it in the general ambience of the base activity, “Kaon Symphonic?”</p>
<p>Blaster’s jaw hung slightly agape and he could feel surprise emanating from his listening-in cassettes, “Kaon Symphonic?” He repeated disbelievingly.</p>
<p>Starwish jerked away at his tone and muttered hastily, “I understand perfectly if you don’t or if you don’t want to let me borrow them. It’s just … Jazz has been letting borrow his music sticks from different genres and they’re all so fascinating. But he doesn’t have any Kaon Symphonic pieces. So I thought…”</p>
<p>The engine revving was increasing slowly in volume at the seeming rejection of Starwish’s request. Blaster hastily reassured her as he searched his subspace for a Kaon Symphonic music stick. He noticed that several more mechs were stopping to glare at him direly before he finally pulled out the music stick and offered it to her, “No, no, it’s fine! You just didn’t strike me as a Symphonic type is all. Here, try this one, it’s a collection of pieces made by a mech named Venre during the third period of the Golden Age.”</p>
<p>Starwish accepted the music stick from him, her optics lighting up with an eager glow he had yet to see from any femme about music, “Really? Thank you! Thank you so much!” She suddenly froze in mid-motion, optics dimming slightly as someone no doubt pinged her internal com. Looking apologetic, she subspaced the music stick and said, “Sorry, but I have to run. Ratchet just called … something about teaching me how to reattach the arm of a ‘pit-spawned engineer from the pit of no processors’?”</p>
<p>Blaster laughed at her confused expression, “He’s probably talking about one of the other new transfers, Que. That mech is always blowing himself up with his experiments. Don’t worry, he figured out how to do it painlessly vorns ago.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked at him in a manner fairly reminiscent of an Alloy-Owl, “Oh. Well then, I suppose I’d better be going.”</p>
<p>Blaster waved goodbye as Starwish jogged off, her tiny pedes beating a rapid staccato rhythm on the floor as she hurried to obey Ratchet’s latest command. The crowd of snarling mechs evaporated and Blaster gave a tiny sigh of relief. <em>I know she’s the youngest femling on base and Ultra Magnus’s ward, but wasn’t that a little bit … overkill?</em></p>
<p>Oblivious to her Guardian’s musings, Rosanna commented from inside his cassette holder, <em>“She moves like a dancer. Even when she runs, she always puts one pede exactly in front of the other like she’s on an invisible line. I’ll bet she’d be great at Symphonic dancing.”</em></p>
<p>Blaster shrugged to himself as he ambled, escort free, for the training rooms, <em>“Maybe. Didn’t expect her to be interested in Kaon Symphonic though, that kind of music seems too … violent and dark for her.”</em></p>
<p>Rewind commented, <em>“Perhaps she merely wishes to sample it. Kaon Symphonic is a very rare musical genre these cycles and unless she lived in Kaon before the war, it is doubtful that she has ever heard it before. Also, Sideswipe is still following us with a murderous look.”</em></p>
<p>Blaster didn’t bother glancing over his shoulder, <em>“I know. Primus, don’t tell me he has his optic on her too.”</em></p>
<p>Steeljaw, the eldest, asked, <em>“So you do intend to court her?”</em></p>
<p>Blaster’s pedes faltered and his engine sputtered in surprise, <em>“What? Pit no! Did you </em><b><em>see</em></b><em> how overprotective the mechs on base are of her just now? I’d like to </em><b><em>not</em></b><em> be reformatted into an energon warmer anytime soon, thank you very much. Besides, I was talking about Jazz.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Jazz?”</em> All of his cassettes chorused curiously.</p>
<p>Blaster rolled his optics, <em>“Yes, Jazz. Or didn’t you notice how he acted in the brig? The mech has his optic on her, probably has for a while now and I am not about to get into a femme winning competition with the head of Special Ops. Sideswipe is in for one pit of a time if he decides to try to court Starwish. Competing against Jazz is competing against the entire Special Ops Division.”</em></p>
<p>His cassettes gave a sheepish sounding ‘oh’ sound over their bond and Blaster smiled lopsidedly to himself as he strode into one of the unoccupied training rooms, locked it to prevent Sideswipe from trying anything, and released his cassettes.</p>
<p>Once they were all out and arrayed in a line in front of him, Blaster said out loud, “Yeah. ‘Oh’. So don’t even think about trying that matchmaking plan you mechs and femme have been making ‘in secret’. I’m already in enough trouble on base because of the proposal incident.”</p>
<p>The mini-cassettes exchanged guilty glances, it was easy for them to forget sometimes just how skilled their holder was a reading them. Blaster nodded, “Uh-huh. I know about your little idea. So you can just forget it now and save yourselves the trouble of getting me thrown in the brig for your half processed schemes later. In the meantime, let’s start working on those new maneuvers. Everyone into position!”</p>
<p>Obediently, his mini-cassettes darted into various positions near his frame, dropping into combat stances as he activated the simulation programs in the specialized training room. Worrying about the new femme on base would have to wait, they had combat practice to run through.</p>
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<p>Jazz leaned forward, examining the map data with keen optics, “Why?”</p>
<p>Prowl, the only other mech currently in the room, tilted one doorwing in a silent query for a more detailed question. Jazz obliged, motioning to the holo-map with a servo, “The Decepticons have pulled back their forces. Why? They just made a big push, it ain't like Megzy ta just up an retreat. Specially not after he goes ta all tha trouble of attacking an entire front of our forces. So why are they doing thah now?”</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwing lifted to its original position, “He is planning something. The wide area of attack indicates that he was testing for a weakness in our line. The probability that this recent ‘retreat’ is because he has found evidence of one and is preparing to focus most of his forces on that location is 95.051%.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, Prowl made sense, as usual. “‘Kay. Next question, where this ‘weak spot’ Megzy has his optic on?”</p>
<p>Prowl shot Jazz a flat look from behind his visor, “That is what we are trying to extrapolate, Jazz. Have your Special Ops mechs retrieved any more data?”</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, “Not much. Whatever it is Megzy is planning, he’s keeping it wrapped up tight. Ah got Mirage on it but at tha rate this is going, Ah might have ta scamper on over ta Kaon myself just ta get a clue.” Both Autobots fell silent and resumed studying the map data, searching for any hint on what might be going through Megatron’s processor.</p>
<p>Jazz pointed to a small outpost in one corner, “There maybe? Thah’s always been a hard outpost ta supply. Megatron may be thinking of trying ta circle around our flank?”</p>
<p>Prowl shook his helm, “Doubtful. The Molten Wasteland ensures the impossibility of moving large numbers of troops across the border. If he was trying for the outpost, it would be far more logical to continue attacking this front while slowly sending more and more troops across the Wasteland in small parties while we were preoccupied.”</p>
<p>Jazz tapped his chin, “Point.” There was another thoughtful pause before Jazz suddenly said, “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.”</p>
<p>Prowl glanced at Jazz inquisitively, prompting the spy to continue, “We’re looking at this map from a logical perspective, looking for where Megzy would have tha least casualty risk. But Megatron’s made it very clear thah he don’t care about tha casualty rates as long as he gets what he wants. So, instead of looking for a weak spot, maybe we should be looking for tha area thah would be worth tha losses in his processor. Tha place with tha most strategic location.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings twitched and Jazz could practically hear his friend’s battle computer whirr to a higher speed as it processed the theory. Jazz waited patiently for Prowl’s processor to finish making, sorting, and prioritizing all of the plans and ideas no doubt spinning around in his helm. Finally, Prowl said, “If that were indeed the case, then the most likely site of his next attack would be here,” Prowl motioned to the map grimly, “against Algol City.”</p>
<p>Jazz hissed softly through his denta, “Right. Cause we’re sitting on a direct route ta Iacon. Thah’s just wonderful. What are tha other possible places?”</p>
<p>Prowl quickly outlined the other possible areas of attack, listing off percentages as he did so. It quickly became clear that if Megatron was indeed going to try and simply take his next target by sheer mech power, the only target truly worth the risk and losses was the very base in which Jazz and Prowl were standing. Jazz huffed and tapped the fingers of his left servo against his right arm, “Well, thah just makes my cycle, Prowler. It really does.”</p>
<p>Prowl ignored the nickname, he was currently all business, “I will finalize the analysis and begin preparations. However, confirmation on Megatron’s intentions would be optimal.”</p>
<p>Jazz smiled lazily and stretched his servos over his helm, flexing his fingers as he said, “Sounds like Ah get ta go out in tha field again for some real work. Yay me. Ah’ll take Buffer an’ hook up with Mirage in Kaon an see what we can find for yah, Prowler.”</p>
<p>Prowl nodded curtly, “How soon will you be leaving?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged, “Soon as we get our stuff together. Yah don’t mind handling tha rest of tha report work do yah?” Prowl shook his helm silently. Jazz kept his smile firmly on his faceplates even as he felt the telltale twitch in his tanks that came from declaring a mission, “Nice.” Dismissing himself with a jaunty two finger salute, Jazz trotted out of Prowl’s office to start getting ready for his mission. <em>Let’s see. Gotta tell Prime and Magnus where we’re going. Prowl will take care of that. He always does. Gonna need my gear, extra rations. Better grab some first aid stuff from the medbay too. Can’t have one of us up and falling apart before Ratchet can whack us on the helms. Speaking of, better call ahead and let him know I’m coming.</em></p>
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<p>Starwish looked up sharply as the medbay doors slid open and blinked in confusion when Jazz bounced in. Ratchet didn’t even glance up from his work, “Focus Starwish. Now, where does this relay go?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook herself internally and turned back to the arm Ratchet was teaching her to reattach, “Um,” her medical database whirred to life helpfully, “Here. Right next to the main pressure regulator.”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded approvingly, “Good. Now, this kind of relay is particularly sturdy thanks to the unique nature of its owner,” at this Ratchet shot a glare at the mech they were working on, “so you can solder it back into place with a regular welder. With normal shoulder relays, however, you would need not only a pain killer but a neuro-solder to make sure you didn’t overheat the part.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, trying to ignore Jazz moving around in the background even though she was intensely curious to know what he was doing in here if he wasn’t injured. Ratchet didn’t seem to mind him though, so she focused on the repair work Ratchet was guiding her through. Glancing up shyly at the mech who’s arm she was fiddling with, she was mildly baffled when she got a cheerful flash from his helm fins and a whisper of, “Doing good!”</p>
<p><em>It’s like he doesn’t even know that this is his arm I’m working on. That or he doesn’t care. </em>Although the thought of someone getting their arm blown off and then reattached was very stressful for her, the mech she was helping Ratchet repair seemed completely at ease with it all. In fact, the mech, Que was his name, seemed perfectly content to act as a practice dummy for her to work on. He had even offered repairing tips until Ratchet had smacked him on the helm with a wrench and told him to be quiet.</p>
<p>Clicking the final part into place and letting Ratchet scan it for any mistakes, she could help but breathe out a sigh of relief when Ratchet closed the arm panel and declared, “There. Good as we can get it until you blow it off again.” Starwish’s sigh of relief changed to a surprised whine in her vocalizer, <em>again? Does this really happen that often?</em></p>
<p>Que, unaware of her shocked thoughts, said cheerfully, “Thanks Ratchet! You too, Starwish! You’ve got good servos for someone as new to this work as you are. Why, you even be related to Ratchet you’re so good!”</p>
<p>This statement was rewarded with a sharp rap on the helm via a wrench in the servo of Ratchet, “Don’t even think about spreading that little idea around, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, get out of here before I come to my senses and remodel you into something explosive proof.” Que just laughed and waved goodbye as he hurried out, helm fins flashing a bright blue in time with the sound of his merriment.</p>
<p>Starwish was about to ask if Que really hurt himself that often when Jazz sauntered out of the storage room, “Yo, Ratch’! Where do yah keep the temp-welds? Ah can’t find them.”</p>
<p>Starwish watched curiously as Ratchet glared balefully at Jazz for a klik before grunting, “Third shelf on the far right. Don’t take all of them.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded and disappeared into the storage room again, <em>now that’s odd,</em> “Ratchet? Why is Jazz taking some of the temp-welds?”</p>
<p>Ratchet finished wiping his servos off on a rag and handed one to Starwish so that she could do the same as he answered, “He’s going on a mission. Standard protocol dictates that every member of the mission party take basic emergency medical equipment with them as a precaution.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s tank flip-flopped slightly, “A mission? Where?”</p>
<p>Ratchet deflected briskly, “Nowhere you need to trouble yourself over. Now, go help First Aid prepare Red Alert’s energon.”</p>
<p>Starwish swallowed slightly as she nodded and trotted across the medbay main room to where First Aid was meticulously mixing Red Alert’s energon with the necessary medications, her thoughts now flittering around like angry butterflies. Being an older sister, she had used the ‘no need to trouble yourself’ ploy far too many times for it to work on her. Jazz was going somewhere dangerous and most likely classified. Somewhere definitely worth worrying over, but somewhere she could do nothing about.</p>
<p>First Aid had already finished mixing Red Alert’s energon by the time she made it across the room, so Starwish took the opportunity to dart off to the storage room into which Jazz had gone. She came in to see Jazz balanced agilely on the edge of the second shelf up on the left side of the aisle, one servo clamped firmly to the fourth shelf up while his other reached across the aisle to grab the temp-welds stacked neatly on the third up right hand shelf.</p>
<p>Starwish froze, not wanting to disrupt his concentration in the maneuver. With a faint grunt, Jazz snatched the necessary items and jumped back down to the floor, performing a small mid-air flip/twist as he did so. Standing up from his crouched landing, Jazz’s visor flashed brightly for a klik in surprise when he spotted her watching from the doorway. His surprise was quickly replaced with an easy smile, “Well, hi there, Starwish. Am Ah in your way?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm and stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to swish shut behind her, “No, I … well it’s just … Ratchet said you were going on a mission.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded and leaned casually on the left shelf, “Yeah, Ah am. Buffer is too.”</p>
<p>Starwish struggled to pick between the words she thought she should say and the words that she wanted to say. The words she wanted to say were impossible and selfish, as well as baffling. But the words her mind said she should say sounded cold and uncaring. Finally, she looked up from the floor and whispered, “You … you will be careful. Won’t you? Both of you?”</p>
<p>Jazz gave a short laugh as he sauntered forward, “Course we will, Star. It’s part o’ the job. We’ll be stealthy as glitch-mice and twice as careful.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked at him, a thousand things suddenly leaping into her processor to say to him, but when she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was, “You called me Star.”</p>
<p>Jazz visibly hesitated, “So Ah did. It’s a good nickname for yah. Is that … okay with yah? For me ta call yah thah?”</p>
<p>Starwish forced a weak smile, “As long as you come back safely … and bring Buffer back too … you can call me that all you want. How about that?”</p>
<p>Jazz smiled and gave a cocky two fingered salute, “It’s a deal. Come back, bring the bar-tender with meh, and Ah get sole rights ta yah nickname.” <em>Well I don’t know about that … oh … why not?</em></p>
<p>Starwish sidestepped so that Jazz could get past her, “S-sure.”</p>
<p>Jazz sauntered for the door, then paused and doubled back a little bit to gently lift her chin with a finger, “Hey. Put a smile on thah faceplate of yours, Star. It fits yah much better than worry.” Starwish blinked at Jazz in confusion before hesitantly smiling for him. Jazz grinned broadly at her, “Thah’s more like it. Now just keep that expression till Ah get back, ‘kay?”</p>
<p>Starwish giggled a little bit at his silly tone and nodded. Jazz dipped his helm to her, grin still in place, and vanished out the door. Leaving Starwish alone with her rapidly thumping spark and whirling thoughts.</p>
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<p>Jazz trotted for the exit to the medbay and tried not to wince when Ratchet’s servo landed firmly on his shoulder, bringing him to a halt. Jazz twisted around to look at him, “Yeah, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared at him unreadably for several kliks, his optics almost seeming to scan him without activated the necessary sensors. Jazz was aware that First Aid was hovering in the doorway leading to the private wing, also staring at him. Jazz pressed his lip components together briefly before saying in a low tone, “Ah’ll be careful, Ratch’.” <em>Especially when it comes to Starwish’s spark.</em> Ratchet seemed to hear his unheard message and nodded curtly, releasing his shoulder abruptly and storming off to do something. Jazz let out a tiny vent of relief and continued on his way.</p>
<p>When he met Buffer at the exit to Algol city a little while later, Buffer was leaning against the wall casually, looking for all the world like he was recharging on his pedes. Jazz knew better, “We’re rolling out, Buff.” Instantly Buffer rolled forward on his pedes, seamlessly transforming into his alt mode. Jazz transformed next to him and with a rev of their engines, they rolled out the gate.</p>
<p>“Get everything you needed in the medbay?” Buffer asked casually.</p>
<p>Jazz hummed absently, his focus on the area all around them, “Yep.” Silence fell on the two hardened spies as they pulled farther and farther away from the safety of home and closer to the lair of their greatest enemy. Kaon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Memories, Lessons, Missions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <em>Snow floated softly to the earth. Each snowflake huddling close to its kin until they formed clusters as large as a man’s thumb before coming to rest among their millions of fellow snowflakes to blanket the frozen ground. The silence of the snow seemed to mute everything. Even the occasional sound of a car driving past the park on its way home seemed distant and faint. Michael tilted his head back and let the cold winter air nip at his cheeks and nose.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The soft crunch of snow being compressed underfoot made him glance over his shoulder. He immediately smiled when he saw who it was and wiggled one hand free of its coat pocket to hold out to the newcomer, “Hey there.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The newcomer smiled back and took his hand, leaning casually against his side as she replied, “Well hey there, stranger. What are you doing out here in the cold all by yourself?”</em>
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<p>
  <em>Michael’s smile grew as he played along, “Just waiting for someone.”</em>
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<p>
  <em>The woman leaning against his side tilted her head up to look at him slyly, “Someone? Is this someone really worth waiting for in the cold without so much as a hot chocolate to help keep the shivers away?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Turning, he gently slid her around to his front and raised his free hand to caress her cheek, “This someone is worth waiting for a thousand years in the cold without so much as a coat if that’s what she asked.”</em>
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<p>
  <em>Nadine’s green eyes twinkled as her cheeks turned red from something other than the chill breeze that played around them, “Really and truly?”</em>
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<p>
  <em>Michael leaned down and gently touched his forehead to hers, “Really and truly.” He waited for three seconds before quipping, “A hot chocolate would be nice though.”</em>
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  <em>Nadine laughed and smacked his shoulder scoldingly, “Don’t ruin the moment you silly!”</em>
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  <em>Michael blinked innocently at her, straightening up to his full height, “Moment? What moment?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nadine narrowed her eyes and firmly grabbed his coat collar, “The moment leading up to this.” Yanking him forward, she kissed him firmly on the lips, chuckling mutedly as she sensed his mental freeze. Pulling away from him, she tossed her head a little bit and commented, “Are you ever going to not freeze when I kiss you?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Michael stammered, trying to think past the euphoria caused by the sudden event of being kissed, “No. Uh, I mean yes. Maybe? I-it’s just-”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nadine shook her head and pressed a finger over his lips, effectively silencing him. Tilting her head to one side so that her black bobbed hair hid part of her face she said, “Take it easy, Sir Stammer-Lot, this isn’t a test.” Turning, she rested her back against his chest, falling silent as she watched the snow fall all around them.</em>
</p>
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  <em>Michael kept obediently silent, not needing words to be content. Not when she was there. Finally, Nadine said, “Have you settled on a theme?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Michael shrugged, “I was thinking … flying? We could avoid pink that way.”</em>
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  <em>Nadine hummed, “I like it. Could I bring my helicopter?”</em>
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  <em>Michael snorted softly, “We are not using your helicopter as a wedding vehicle, Nadine.”</em>
</p>
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  <em>Nadine whined and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, “Aw, but the boys down at the station promised an aerial escort…”</em>
</p>
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  <em>Michael shook his head, “Sorry, but no actual flying.”</em>
</p>
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  <em>Nadine tilted her head back to give him the puppy eyes, “We won’t fly high. You know me. Low, slow…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Michael finished her catch phrase for her dryly, “And flashy. Sorry Nadine. It isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s just that I would rather not give my adoptive parents a heart attack on my wedding day.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nadine wiggled her eyebrows knowingly at him, “So your fear of heights has nothing to do with it?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Michael bit back an embarrassed laugh, “Nope. Nothing at all.”</em>
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<p>Fast Track lightly touched Sunstreaker’s leg to get his attention. Sunstreaker looked down at his charge and Fast Track shook his helm, <em>“Not Hardwire. Let’s go prank someone else.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline was nodding in agreement with his twin as he stared at Hardwire, who was standing at the entrance to one of the hangars, watching the flyers practice aerial maneuvers. Sideswipe frowned, bucket of neon pink paint held loosely in one servo as he protested, <em>“Why not? You were all for it a breem ago!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline ducked his helm slightly and Fast Track shuffled, both reluctant to talk about the reason. Finally, Zipline spoke over their Guardian-Ward bond, <em>“Because he’s thinking about Reel.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe’s frown deepened in confusion, <em>“He’s thinking about what?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track unconsciously huddled closer to a surprised Sunstreaker’s side, <em>“Reel. She was going to be his … his sparkmate. They were going to bond at the start of the next vorn but then…”</em></p>
<p>Zipline’s tiny engine gave a whine, <em>“She went on a Search and Rescue mission like she always did. But that time … she never came back.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both went very still, optics wide with surprise. They glanced at each other and spoke briefly over their twin bond before nodding and rolling silently out of the hangar the way they had come. Sunstreaker spoke to their charges, <em>“Alright. We won’t prank Hardwire today. Who should we prank instead?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe grinned and subspaced the paint, <em>“I know just the mech.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track glanced at each other, they were beginning to associate that tone from their guardian with trouble. It always started out fun, but it usually ended with them all sitting in the ultimate corner, AKA, Prowl’s Brig. Fast Track looked up at Sunstreaker, the more practical of their guardians, “Are you sure you can’t just teach me more about painting instead?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe cut off whatever Sunstreaker was going to say, “But this <b>is</b> painting Tracks! It’s just a … creative interpretation of the word.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker cuffed Sideswipe hard on the helm, eliciting a yelp from the red mech, “Don’t drag my art into this. It’s bad enough that you’re dragging the twinlings and me into your chaos.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe smiled winningly, “Would you rather be bored?”</p>
<p>Zipline tugged on Sideswipe’s servo impatiently, “Come on! Come on! Who are we gonna paint?”</p>
<p>Fast Track glanced uneasily at his twin, <em>“Are you sure about this Zipline? You remember what happened the last time we pulled a prank.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline stilled for a moment as they both remembered the horrible attack on Algol Base. Zipline physically shook himself to banish the memory and smiled at his twin in the same way Sideswipe was smiling at Sunstreaker, <em>“Sure I’m sure!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track exchanged a glance with his favored guardian, Sunstreaker. It was apparent in a single look that they were both thinking the same thing, ‘I’m going to regret this’. Sunstreaker gave a resigned rev of his engine, “Fine. Lead the way.”</p>
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<p>Inferno sat next to Red Alert’s berth, patiently giving highly detailed reports on the base security and goings on so as to receive Red Alert’s input on the events. Normally, Ratchet would have refused to let a patient go anywhere near work while still in the medbay, but because regular reports were the only thing that could keep the hyper-paranoid officer manageable during medical confinement, the CMO made an exception during Inferno’s visits.</p>
<p>Although Red Alert’s life had been saved by a clever surgery that removed the shrapnel from his main energon lines and patched up the leaking fluid conduits, a very large piece of shrapnel had imbedded itself into Red Alert’s back struts, severely damaging the struts to the point where Ratchet found it necessary to replace one of them and prescribe at least an orn of medical rest for the others to be mend properly.</p>
<p>Naturally, Red Alert’s paranoia glitch had started acting up severely during his medical containment, leading to various bots to give him regular reports in order to soothe his glitch somewhat. Once Inferno had arrived on base, he had been unofficially assigned ‘report duty’ for the rest of Red Alert’s medical leave. No one else could calm his glitch attacks apparently and Ratchet was loathe to waste the sedative otherwise necessary.</p>
<p>Red Alert lay on his front, optic ridges furrowed as he listened intently to what Inferno was calmly reading off to him. Abruptly, he said, “I don’t like it. Add additional spark sensors in sector seventeen of the Forgers’ District.” Inferno nodded calmly and made a small note of it on his datapad.</p>
<p>Inferno sighed, “Well, that’s all of the sector reports, Red. Anything else?”</p>
<p>Red Alert nodded immediately, “Yes. Did you read that file I gave you?”</p>
<p>Inferno internally braced himself, “The one of possible origin theories for Starwish and her family unit? Yes, I read it.”</p>
<p>Red Alert narrowed his optics, one servo twitching nervously, “I want you to keep a sharp optic on them, see if you can find any clues to substantiate one of my theories.”</p>
<p>Inferno, aware that he had to be careful what he said on this subject, said, “Are you sure they aren’t trustworthy, Red? Hardwire did protect you long enough for Ratchet to get there and repair you.”</p>
<p>Red Alert glared at Inferno, “He had his family unit to protect! I just happened to be in the same room. Although … Starwish…” Red Alert cut off his own sentence and moved on, “Either way, it isn’t a matter of trust, it is a matter of caution. Any information we can get on where they came from and why they suddenly showed up in that abandoned base, under suspicious circumstances I might add, could save our sparks in the long run. For all we know, Megatron could be hunting for them at this very moment. They could be putting the entire base in danger with their presence!”</p>
<p>Inferno shrugged easily, knowing that Red Alert had a point, even if he had a habit of taking things to the extreme, “No offense, Red, but … don’t you think some of those theories of yours are just a little far fetched?”</p>
<p>Red Alert blinked, his approaching security rant brought up short by the question. Red Alert asked in a baffled tone, “How so?”</p>
<p>Inferno deadpanned a little bit, “Theory thirty-nine?”</p>
<p>Red Alert looked insulted and Inferno suspected that if he hadn’t been firmly restrained to keep from moving his damaged back struts, he would have rolled over and sat up, “What’s wrong with theory thirty-nine?”</p>
<p>Inferno couldn't stop the skepticism from entering his voice, “It’s the one where Starwish and her family unit are actually undercover inter-dimensional enforcers here to track down a dangerous multi-verse destroying criminal.”</p>
<p>Red Alert’s optics flared brightly with indignation and his servo twitched wildly again in its restraint, “They appeared out of nowhere! <b>Nowhere</b>, Inferno! We must cover all of the possibilities considering that fact!”</p>
<p>Inferno sighed quietly and raised a servo placatingly, “Alright, alright, I’ll keep an optic on them. Is there anything else I can do for you Red?”</p>
<p>Red Alert sighed, “Other than convince Ratchet to let me out of this pit-spawned prison? Not much.”</p>
<p>Inferno smiled sympathetically, “Sorry, I’m an Autobot, not a miracle worker. I can ask him for an estimate on when you’ll be able to move around if you like though.”</p>
<p>Red Alert nodded and started to say something when a roar seemed to shake the medbay, “<b>Twins</b>!” Both bots stared at each other with wide optics at the unmistakable sound of a fragged off Hatchet. Standing up, Inferno cautiously padded to the door to peek outside. After a moment, Inferno stepped back, letting the door slide shut. He turned to Red Alert with a puzzled frown and shrugged, “Already left the medbay.”</p>
<p>Red Alert twitched nervously, “Pull up the security feeds. I need to know what’s going on!”</p>
<p>Obediently, Inferno un-subspaced a special datapad that could tap directly into the security monitors after a special password was inputed. After a moment of fiddling with the datapad, Inferno sat down and tilted the datapad at an angle where both he and Red Alert could see its contents clearly. Pulling up camera feeds from the areas near and around the medbay, both froze as they witnessed what was going on.</p>
<p>Silently, because the sound sensors were turned off, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe rolled past the view of camera six at top speed, twinlings clinging firmly to their guardians helms from their position astride the bigger twins shoulders. Following directly behind them, mouth open in a silent roar evidenced by the slight shaking of the camera as he went past, was Ratchet. A <b>neon pink</b> Ratchet.</p>
<p>Inferno blinked and exchanged a horrified glance with Red Alert when, upon closer inspection of the raging medic through cameras eight and nine, it was revealed that not only was Ratchet sloppily coated in blinding neon pink, but that the pink paint had been liberally mixed with both silver and gold shavings that made his wet new paint job glitter ridiculously every time he ran past a light. Both pairs of twins were grinning like maniacs, as if oblivious to the enraged CMO chasing them through the base with a wrench raised threateningly.</p>
<p>It was clear that the only reason Ratchet was not unleashing his Wrench of Doom was because Zipline and Fast Track were acting as unintentional living shields to the helms of their guardians and even an enraged Ratchet would not hurt a youngling.</p>
<p>Red Alert and Inferno exchanged another glance before Inferno opened a com channel to Prowl, ::Uh, Inferno to Prowl?::</p>
<p>Prowl, for a normally emotionless officer, sounded decidedly resigned to his fate, ::I already know. However, I am currently unable to deal with the problem.::</p>
<p>Inferno frowned, ::Why not?::</p>
<p>Prowl sounded, dare Inferno think it, a touch embarrassed as he answered, ::The twins have magnetized me to my office chair. I am sending Ironhide to intervene until I can disable the magnetization. However, I would like you to also rendezvous at the scene in order to…::</p>
<p>Inferno finished his sentence for him, :: In order to make sure that Ironhide actually breaks it up and doesn’t join in?::</p>
<p>::Yes.:: Inferno grinned at the tone in Prowl’s normally stoic voice and sent his acknowledgement of the order as he stood up and hastily bid Red Alert farewell.</p>
<p>As he darted out of the medbay, Inferno called to a blinking First Aid, “Keep Red busy will you? We have a bit of situation.” First Aid nodded silently as Inferno darted out of the medbay and started figuring out the best intercept route for the chase. It was easy to tell which hallways Ratchet had gone down, curious mechs were being extra careful not to step in the small pink puddle trail the irate CMO was unintentionally leaving in his wake as Inferno darted off to the left in hopes of catching the involved parties before things got ‘ugly’.</p>
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<p>Fast Track clung to Sunstreaker’s helm, giggling in a wild mixture of glee and fear as ‘The Hatchet’ chased them up and down the hallways of the base. Sideswipe was laughing crazily both out loud and over their joint Guardian-Ward bond, <em>“Pink paint trick! Hah! Classic!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline whooped loudly, “Sparkles! Sparkles! Run from the Sparkles!”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s laughter bubbled a bit louder out of his throat as his golden guardian swerved easily around a corner, barely slowing down on his wheels as they tried to escape their fate. A mass of thick black armor suddenly appeared in their path of escape and all four pranksters shrieked and leaned backwards, away from the sudden roadblock. Sideswipe flailed his arms like pistons in an effort to stop or alter his course while Sunstreaker spun to the side, dipping into a crouch before jumping high with a mental yell to Fast Track of, <em>“Hang on!”</em>. The fancy move propelled them up over Ironhide as the black mech stumbled and fell under the impact of Sideswipe’s high speed crash. Snatching Zipline from Sideswipe’s shoulders while in mid-air, Sunstreaker performed an artful twist and came to a rolling landing on the other side of the living roadblock.</p>
<p>Fast Track shrieked happily from his, now magnetized, position on Sunstreaker’s shoulders, causing the older mech to wince as Zipline joined in the cheering over the fancy escape. There was another crash behind them that indicated that Ratchet had stumbled on the thrashing mass of arms, legs and cannons, and was now indefinitely delayed in his plans to scrap Sunstreaker’s paint job.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track fell silent, helms cocked to one side each as they listened to the echoing sounds of chaos behind them. Fast Track asked contemplatively, “Hey Sunstreaker? What does ‘fraggit pit-spawned slagger’ mean?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker snorted, “That’s what Sides is at the moment. But do me a favor and don’t ever repeat those words in front of anyone. Okay?”</p>
<p>The twinlings chorused a vague agreement, more occupied with watching the hallways and surprised mechs fly by than with strange words and their meanings. Their exhilarating ride was brought to an abrupt halt when Sunstreaker slid to a stop, dropping into a crouch that tilted his body between Zipline and the new opposition to their mad dash down the halls. Fast Track blinked at the smirking mech, a frown slowly sliding over his faceplates as he realized with a surge of displeasure that this newcomer was planning to put Sunstreaker in the brig again.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s voice was a low growl that mixed menacingly with his revving engine as he straightened up out of his instinctive crouch, “Inferno.”</p>
<p>The mech, Inferno Fast Track presumed his name was, smiled in an almost apologetic manner, “You know the rules, Sunstreaker. You pull a prank, you get thrown in the boring, dirty, and un-artistic brig for a few joors.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker huffed as he carefully pulled Fast Track from his helm and settled the red youngling in his arms along with Zipline, “I’ll do brig time later. Maybe. These two need looking after first and I don’t trust any of you new-comers to keep a proper optic on them.”</p>
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<p>Inferno blinked, stunned by the declaration and the fact that Sunstreaker was holding the two younglings in a purely possessive and protective manner. <em>Who took Sunstreaker and left a growling femme Cyber-bear in his place?</em> Inferno shook himself out of his surprise and fixed a stern look on his faceplates, “I have my orders Sunstreaker, you’re going to the brig.”</p>
<p>The small green youngling, Zipline if Inferno remembered correctly from the report, booed from his position in Sunstreaker’s arms, “Don’t wanna go to the brig! Don’t wanna!”</p>
<p>The little red mechling who had been perched on Sunstreaker’s shoulders a few kliks ago joined in the booing. Sunstreaker’s optics darkened slightly and Inferno was suddenly afraid for the two mechlings. He had read the report that Prime had assigned Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as official guardians of two young mechlings, but Inferno hadn’t realized that the mechlings were that small or immature. He shuddered to think how Sunstreaker might react to the sudden shouting and wiggling of his two passengers and discretely prepared to snatch the younglings to safety.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s keen optics seemed to pick up on his sublet shift in weight and, much to Inferno’s shock, the yellow mech actually snarled at him, “Touch them and I’ll rip your tanks out of your frame.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track’s booing suddenly cut off and was replaced by very smug grins. Inferno realized with a jolt that the two younglings felt safe with the volatile yellow mech, enjoyed his company even. Apparently, they had also picked up on Sunstreaker’s more unsavory tendencies toward violence because Zipline’s smile had a tiny yet predatory edge to it.</p>
<p>The stand off was interrupted by the blessed arrival of Prowl and Optimus Prime. Prowl somehow managed to scowl at Sunstreaker without actually moving his faceplates into the expression while Prime looked … vaguely relieved? Inferno wasn’t sure what to make of that. Still, he obediently stepped to the side to let Optimus through as the leader of all the Autobots stepped forward and rumbled sternly, “Sunstreaker.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker stiffened, his voice curt and clipped as the younglings in his arms went very still, smiles gone, “Prime.”</p>
<p>Optimus folded his servos behind his back and said, “As I am sure you are aware, your brother has already been taken into custody by Ironhide.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker gave a burst of static through his vocalizer to show his disdain, “If you mean, knocked glit -tery when he crashed into Ironhide’s oversized frame, yes, I was aware of that.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, tactfully ignoring the near curse, “Therefore, as the oldest of the currently awake culprits, I am offering you a choice of punishments.”</p>
<p>::Oh, this should be <b>good</b>.:: Inferno glanced over his shoulder to see who spoke. The speaker was Cliffjumper, who was leaning against the wall watching with amused optics.</p>
<p>Inferno glanced around at the growing crowd of mechs and femmes, noting that all of the ones who had been on Algol base for more than an orn had huge grins on their faceplates. He wanted to ask what was so ‘good’ about the situation, but didn’t get the chance to before Optimus Prime spoke again, “You have two choices. One, you, your sibling, and your charges may spend the required period of time in the brig.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s optics were narrowed, “What’s option two?”</p>
<p>Prime’s battle mask was up, so Inferno couldn’t tell for sure, but the twinkle in his leader’s optics hinted that the tall mech was smiling behind the mask, “Two, you, Sideswipe, and your charges wash all of the paint used in your prank off of the floor of the medbay, the halls, … and off of Ratchet’s frame. All to Ratchet’s specifications of course.”</p>
<p>There was a long, heavy silence. Both of the younglings appeared to be frozen, staring at the Prime in horror, though whether it was over the choice of the Brig or the possibility of being under Ratchet’s command for several joors, Inferno couldn’t tell. Sunstreaker was glaring at Prime darkly, his expression a heavy scowl as he wrestled with his choices.</p>
<p>Over the intercom, a few mechs began making bets on which one Sunstreaker would choose, most betting on the first option as it had the least risk of scuffing the yellow mech’s finish. Inferno watched Sunstreaker intently, wondering why Prime would even bother giving Sunstreaker a choice. It was a given that the mech would choose the Ratchet-less option. Cliffjumper, apparently, thought differently, ::It’ll be number two.:: Sunstreaker shot his audience a dark look that indicated he heard them and would get back at them later.</p>
<p>Finally, Sunstreaker sighed, his shoulders slumping as he set the twinlings on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest plates, “Option two.” A ripple of shock went through the mechs, Inferno included. Cliffjumper just smirked and nodded to himself before sauntering off with the intercom of, ::You mechs all owe me credits.::</p>
<p>Optimus nodded in acknowledgement of Sunstreaker’s choice and said simply, “Ratchet will show you where to start. I believe you know where the cleaning equipment is located?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker nodded curtly, his jaw gears audibly whining as he half crouched and shooed the younglings back down the hall to carry out their chosen punishment. Zipline and Fast Track looked over their shoulders, blinking at Optimus in confusion before blinking at their guardian. Zipline asked innocently, “So … we aren’t being sent to our corner?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker shook his helm, “No. We’re going to go clean up the mess Sideswipe made.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track frowned, their unenthusiastic ‘oh’ clearly heard even as they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.</p>
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<p>Optimus Prime glanced discretely down at Prowl as his Third in Command commed over a private channel, ::Thank you for your assistance, sir.::</p>
<p>Optimus smiled from behind his mask, ::It was not a problem, Prowl. However, I am curious. Why did you request that I offer Sunstreaker a choice in his punishment?::</p>
<p>Prowl followed him as Optimus strode through the halls, a single glance from the leader of all Autobots sending the onlooking mechs back to their duties. Prowl confided coolly, ::It was a … test of sorts, sir. I wished to see just how much Sunstreaker’s guardian protocols have taken control.::</p>
<p>Optimus tilted an optic ridge ever so slightly, ::What was the nature of your test?::</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings twitched upward fractionally before resuming a neutral position, ::Both options can be considered punishment. However, each one would negatively effect one of the involved parties to differing degrees. Option one would have been more bearable for Sunstreaker, as he would not have to sully himself with cleaning or the helm-ache of dealing with Ratchet.::</p>
<p>Prowl’s test was becoming clearer for Optimus, ::But the confinement would have negatively effected the younglings who have not yet spent all of their energy. They would have been trapped in an environment where they could not exercise or entertain themselves.::</p>
<p>Prowl nodded, ::Option two, while far more unpleasant for Sunstreaker, offers the opportunity for the younglings to continue exercising while completing a useful task, thus stimulating their growth as well as their maturity matrixes.::</p>
<p>Optimus found himself nodding in agreement as the full nature of the test unfolded itself in his processor, ::Sunstreaker chose the second option. He chose the wellbeing of his wards over his own personal comfort level. Most promising.::</p>
<p>Prowl’s left doorwing dipped in a silent agreement, ::I believe your plan behind assigning Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as the younglings’ guardians has been successful, Prime.::</p>
<p>Sideswipe darted past, nearly crashing into Prowl as he rolled down the hall, wailing and holding his helm as Ratchet attempted to apprehend him for his cleaning detail. Prowl artfully sidestepped both mechs and waited until Ironhide had caught up and grabbed Sideswipe by the collar strut and dragged the wailing prankster off before adding wearily, ::Marginally.::</p>
<p>Optimus chuckled softly, ::I will leave you to your duties, Prowl, as I have another task to complete this joor.:: Prowl clicked his heel struts together and raised his doorwings into a sharp ‘V’ shape in a traditional salute before striding off down a different hallway.</p>
<p>Now alone, Optimus quietly sent a locational ping to Hardwire’s com, politely asking where the mech was. After a moment, Hardwire pinged back, signaling that he was in Hangar Delta-5 and willing to have the Prime’s company. Optimus set off to the hangar area, his processor combing over how he would approach the tall green mech with his proposition.</p>
<p>Hardwire would have every right to refuse, Optimus would be sure to make that clear. Even if Ratchet was sure that the slave coding lodged in Hardwire’s processor was not active unless the mech fell into a protective rage, Optimus did not want to take any chances. No, he would make it very clear that he was looking for volunteers only before laying down his request. That way, if Hardwire agreed to come, it would assuredly be of his own free will.</p>
<p>With that plan firmly in his processor, Optimus stepped into Hangar Delta-5 and looked around. Hardwire was standing at the very edge of the tall platform, helm tilted upward to watch the flyers practice their maneuvers. Optimus approached sedately, making sure that Hardwire could hear him coming. Hardwire tilted his helm to one side so he could see Optimus as the latter came to a stop by Hardwire’s side. Hardwire inclined his helm and shifted into a military ‘at-ease’ position, “Sir.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded to Hardwire, “Hardwire.” Internally, Optimus was glad that his battle mask was up, it helped to hide the nervousness that shivered through his cables. Hardwire resumed watching the flyers practice their maneuvers, giving a soft cajole of ‘pull up’ when he saw one of the flyers dip a little bit too low during a mock strafing run. The flyer recovered and resumed his practice as Hardwire gave a tiny vent of relief. Optimus asked softly, “You are experienced with flight maneuvers?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, “Not personally. I … had a … a friend who was aerial support for the local search and rescue. I used to go to the practice grounds and watch her fly.”</p>
<p>Optimus noticed the stutter and how softly Hardwire spoke and decided to tactfully turn the conversation away from an obviously touchy subject, “I see. How are you feeling this cycle, Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot Optimus a look that could only be called suspicious as he answered, “Fine I suppose. Ratchet has officially declared me ‘fit for duty’. Not that I have any duties to perform as yet.” He paused, then blurted, “What is this about, Prime sir?”</p>
<p>Optimus mentally noted the use of his title and ‘sir’ with amusement but then shoved it aside as he answered, “I am looking for volunteers for a mission I will be leading in five joors. I was wondering if perhaps you would agree to come along.”</p>
<p>Hardwire spun away from the view of the flyers to stare at Optimus in shock, “Y-you? What? Me?”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded and gently brushed Hardwire’s right shoulder plate with a servo, “This is strictly a request. You have every right to refuse it and there will be no repercussions if you do. Since Ratchet has deemed you fit for duty, I thought you might consent to come along.”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared at the floor for several kliks, his spark rate was elevated and his frame was shaking slightly. Optimus waited patiently, watching as Hardwire stilled and looked back up at him, “What … what kind of mission? Sir?”</p>
<p>Optimus outlined it briefly and concisely, “Autobot Special Operations stationed behind enemy lines have reported that the Decepticons have captured several of the members of Elita-1’s Femme Contingent. They are to be transported to Kaon for execution three cycles from now. The agent who uncovered the information also managed to uncover the route the captives would be taking to arrive at Kaon. Elita-1 will be leading her squad on a rescue mission and I will be accompanying her with several other Autobots.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics flickered briefly before the mech slumped, “You want me to come along to test my Guardian program?”</p>
<p><em>Does he really believe that I would condone live experiments such as that? Perhaps the impression is a side effect of his processor tampering. </em>Optimus set about banishing the notion from Hardwire’s processor immediately, “No. You are an Autobot, not a test subject. This is strictly a volunteer mission. With the Decepticons having halted most of their activities, most of the Autobot forces will be staying on base, fortifying our defenses. You do not have to come unless you wish to. However, Ironhide suggested your participation as backup because of your heavy weaponry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked confused, “He isn’t coming?”</p>
<p>Optimus explained, “He is coming. However, he believed that you would be a valuable member of the team to have along as a backup heavy weapons specialist.” Ironhide’s exact words had been, ‘bring the kid along so he can help me smelt those fraggers' afts with that slagging big cannon of his’, but Optimus decided that it would be best not to quote his friend and bodyguard exactly.</p>
<p>Hardwire made soft ‘oh’ noise. His red optics dimmed slightly as his processor devoted its major functions to figuring out whether or not he wanted to volunteer for the mission. The green mech shifted his weight nervously, one servo clenching and unclenching. Optimus watched the internal struggle between fear and another emotion Optimus could not quite identify and quietly reminded, “There will be no repercussions should you decide to stay on base and aid in the defenses instead, Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s right servo clenched as he suddenly looked up at the flyers doing intricate mock mid-air battles, his optics brightening with resolve. He murmured something reverently in his strange family language before turning back to Optimus, “I’m in. What do I need to do?”</p>
<p>Optimus studied Hardwire intently for several kliks, trying to reassure himself that the young rookie mech before him was choosing of his own free will and not the slave coding imbedded in his processor. The Matrix of Leadership whispered softly to him, saying that Hardwire was making the choice out of his own free will, the slave code was not in effect.</p>
<p>Optimus dipped his helm in thanks to both Hardwire’s choice and the Matrix’s insight, “Report to Ironhide, he will orientate you on mission procedure.”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded curtly and saluted before striding off to find Ironhide. Optimus lingered in the hangar, watching the flyers and pondering his newest recruit. <em>There is something about him. Something that drives him. A drive that is different from what drives some of the other Autobots here. I wonder what it is?</em></p>
<p>He stared at the flyers, Hardwire’s earlier statement silently looping in his processor, <em>“I … had a … a friend who was aerial support for the local search and rescue.”</em> A few of the flyers came in for landing, starting with surprise and then saluting crisply when they spotted their Prime watching them.</p>
<p>Optimus nodded to them calmly, still mentally turning over the puzzle that was Hardwire as he finally turned away and strode out of the hangar. The words of his mentor, Alpha Trion, came back to him, <em>“We all have something to teach others through our actions, Orion Pax. Loyalty, compassion, honesty, cruelty. What we see in others changes our perception of the world and influences our actions, whether those we see realize it or not. So instead of asking me why anyone would listen to you, Orion Pax, you should be asking yourself, ‘what do I wish others to learn through my life?’. Because believe you me, it is not the words like what those high-sparked council members spew that will draw attention. It is the simple actions, the selfless kindness given without protest or request of a reward, that make your point. Far more than words ever could.”</em></p>
<p>Optimus bowed his helm, thinking on his mentor’s words spoken so long ago. Certainty settled in him, <em>that is why he agreed to come. It was because of something he learned through the actions of a friend. </em>Shaking his helm to free it of his contemplation, Optimus commed Elita-1, ::The mech roster is complete, Elita. Rendezvous with your femmes in the briefing room in ten breems.::</p>
<p>Elita sent him a gentle wave of thanks over their spark bond as she answered, ::Understood, Optimus. We will be there.::</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. The Cyber-Lion's Den</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Decepticons rushed to and fro, optics lowered submissively whenever they passed a superior officer even as their sensors continually scanned for threats even in the heart of their own territory. Despite their vigilance, none of the mechs noticed the figures watching them discretely from various shadows, gathering information to send to the most notorious enemy of every mech in Kaon. Optimus Prime.</p>
<p>Jazz leaned against the building wall, frame relaxed and utterly still in the safety of a shadowy nook as his keen optics watched the Decepticon traffic, registering the unit ID of every mech that tramped past his hiding place. <em>Forty units so far. Ol’ Megzy must be planning something big to pull this many mechs off of the battlefield.</em> Waiting until there was a small increase in traffic to mask his sudden appearance, Jazz slipped out of the shadows and joined the throng, his matte black frame and red visor making him completely unnoticeable in the crowd.</p>
<p>A lean Decepticon mech with dark red optics and long claws on his servos briefly brushed Jazz’s shoulder plate as he shoved his way through the crowd, ::Information sent. Project underway.:: The mech disappeared into the crowd, never having so much as twitched when he sent the short data pulse through their rubbing armor plating. Jazz internally smiled, <em>Good old Buffer. Subtle as a shadow in the lunar-cycle and twice as dangerous.</em></p>
<p>The first time Jazz had heard about Firestar’s femme squad being captured had been purely accidental, he had been sneaking through the corridors looking for an unmonitored computer console when two drunken mechs had sauntered past, arguing over who was going to get the first crack at ‘that fragging shadow bike femme’ when she finally arrived.</p>
<p>Curious and alarmed at the implications, Jazz had hunted down more information on the subject, learning that Firestar and several other femmes had been captured outside of a Decepticon outpost and were being transported to Kaon for execution.</p>
<p>He had hacked the codes guarding the information of the route the prisoners would be taking to Kaon and had discretely transmitted all of the viable data he could find on the subject to Buffer, who had passed in on discretely to Optimus Prime. <em>Now I can get back to the main mission. Finding out what Megatron is planning to do with all of these mechs.</em></p>
<p>As he turned off down an abandoned looking hallway, Jazz heard a shout from behind, “Hey! You!” Jazz kept his helm down, <em>don’t be calling me, don’t be calling me, don’t be calling-</em> The voice came closer and more demanding, “You! Minicon!” <em>Scrap.</em> Jazz stopped and looked over his shoulder, silently pointing at his chest plates in a question.</p>
<p>The burly Decepticon scowled at him, “Yeah, you! Come with me!” <em>This is either really good, or really bad.</em> One glance at the side of the burly Decepticon’s helm revealed the tell-tale officer’s marking. Jazz had no choice but to follow this mech unless he wanted to keep his cover. With a curt nod, Jazz silently followed the officer down a different hallway, smirking a little bit with relief when an invisible servo brushed his fingers, ::I’ve got it covered.:: <em>Mirage, nice. Hope he’s been practicing his covert hacking skills. Now if I can just stay alive while playing Decepticon flunky.</em></p>
<p>Keeping his voice gruff and reluctant like a rough and tumble Decepticon, “Where are we goin’?”</p>
<p>The officer leading him snarled at his question, “You’ll see when we get there, minicon.” <em>Oh come on! I’m not </em><b><em>that</em></b><em> short!</em> Jazz held his silence, not wanting to overly provoke the Decepticon in front of him and ruin the chance of gaining important inside information. That and, if this turned out to be dangerous, having an angered ‘superior’ officer who could order him shot was not a good idea.</p>
<p>Jazz was led to a heavily guarded section of Darkmount, Megatron’s personal fortress. From there he was directed to a thick, reinforced door and ordered to go inside and ‘help in anyway Fermium sees fit’. <em>Who’s Fermium?</em> His sensors set to the highest setting they could go without drawing attention to himself, Jazz padded inside the door, noting with trepidation that the officer did not follow him.</p>
<p>The moment he was inside, Jazz began scanning the area from behind the safety of his visor and realized with alarm that he was in a lab of some kind. His thoughts were interrupted by a shockingly chipper voice calling, “Ah! You there!” Jazz turned and stared at the figure sitting amid a collection of tipped over equipment, one leg jutting straight out of the pile with an odd amount of rigidity. The blindingly orange and yellow mech waved at him cheerfully with a servo, “You must be my new assistant! I hope you actually know some science, unlike the last one, never mind! We’ll get to that later. For now, would you mind fetching that oilcan over there?”</p>
<p>Jazz looked from the mech to the indicated shelf where an oilcan innocently sat before obediently trotting over and grabbing it. Approaching the mech warily, Decepticons where never this cheerful without an ulterior motive, Jazz carefully kept his accent at bay as he asked, “I’ve got it, now what?”</p>
<p>The mech motioned to his rigid leg, “Oil the joints of this leg. I got the fragging thing stuck in that position again.” <em>Okay… this is … weird.</em> Jazz raised an optic ridge as he crouched down and oiled the main leg joints, noting with surprise that the joints appeared to be completely dried of all lubricants, making it too stiff to move.</p>
<p>Jazz finishing oiling the joints and stepped back, allowing the mech to flex his, still squeaky, leg and dig himself out of the mass of junk piled on him, “What happened?”</p>
<p>The mech, Fermium, Jazz presumed, brushed himself off and started rummaging through the equipment he had been pinned under, “Oh, I mis-calibrated one of the rotary fans in my device, causing it to overpower and accidentally get my leg. Need to adjust that, can’t have the joints drying out completely again, wouldn’t do at all…”</p>
<p>Jazz watched silently as Fermium gave a triumphant cry and pulled a long tube-like object with a small nozzle attached to it out of the pile. Quickly checking it over for damage, he handed it to Jazz with the warning of, “Hold this, don’t touch the fifth switch or the red button.” Jazz did as he was told, internally scanning the device and trying to figure out what it was and what it was supposed to do.</p>
<p>Finally giving up on deciphering it by himself, he saved its schematics to his hard-drive and asked bluntly, “So … what exactly am I holding?”</p>
<p>Fermium looked up from where he was pulling a large mechanical part free of a half rusted wrench, “Hmm? Didn’t they tell you? Oh well, I don’t mind explaining. That, my dear mech, is a De-Polymer Hydro-Carbonator prototype 5.0. It’s a marvelous device, it will make maintenance of large armies or buildings like this one much easier once I get it to work correctly.”</p>
<p>Jazz internally shuddered as Fermium casually yanked the rusty wrench free and tossed it idly over his shoulder, nearly hitting Jazz with its infected end. Fermium happily continued talking to Jazz, “I know what your next question is going to be. You’re going to ask me ‘what is it supposed to do’? Right? Well, once I’ve finished fine-tuning it, it will be able to remove oils and polymer residue off of a metal surface such as a mech’s frame, on a varying scale.”</p>
<p>Fishing another part free, Fermium bounced over to his work table and beckoned Jazz to bring the hose he was holding as he continued prattling happily, “For instance, when a mech needs a frame repaint, the first thing a painter does is dry the frame of access oils, making it easier to either touch up the existing paint job, or remove the paint entirely and start fresh. In an industrial setting, certain machinery needs to be regularly coated with antirust polymer to help prevent the workspace from becoming unsanitary. However, oils and the old chipped polymer can prevent the new polymer from settling properly.”</p>
<p>With a small flourish, Fermium took the hose and started working on it with various tools, “This device, once I’ve finished it, will be able to completely removed both oils and polymers from the target, leaving it free to be properly resealed or repainted at a much faster rate than the traditional ways. Making maintenance of self, others, or a base much faster and more efficient. Three settings for whatever situation it is needed, one polymer-removal only, one lubricant-removal only, the last complete removal of both, as well as a dial that can tune the strength of the remover to a certain specification, either stronger or weaker.”</p>
<p>Jazz had a sudden sinking feeling in his tanks, the device the bumbling, mildly unhygienic, scientist was working on sounded all well and good but something told Jazz that Megatron didn’t have this mech around for the device’s original purpose. Keeping his alarm out of his voice, Jazz asked, “So what’s wrong with the prototype?”</p>
<p>Fermium made a low noise in his engine of concentration before straightening up and darting for a toolbox, “The problem is that the settings are too unpredictable and extreme. On one end, it sprays such a tight concise line that is can miss the intended surface entirely and get inside the gears instead, a very bad thing as you can imagine. But adjust it too far to the other end and you have a wide powerful beam that could probably dry out the joints of, oh, twenty mechs or so. As well as corrode the sealants of their internal bearings. Very painful to have those things replaced, believe me, I would know.”</p>
<p>Sometimes Jazz wished he wasn’t so fragging good at guessing things correctly, <em>A device like that could paralyze Autobots before they ever got to their positions and the cost and time it would take to replace the internal bearings of twenty mechs and up? Megatron would be able to wipe Autobots out like cyber-ducks in scrap yard! I gotta keep this thing out of Megatron’s servos somehow. But how?</em></p>
<p>Fermium unintentionally interrupted Jazz’s thoughts, “Fetch me a .06 size console cable … Oh, I’ve been so rude! What is your designation?”</p>
<p>Jazz reluctantly grabbed the required computer cable and handed it to Fermium, “Call me Meister.”</p>
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<p>The transport bounced over yet another pothole in the road and Firestar winced a little bit as her helm smacked into the side of the transport. A small hiss of pain told her that she wasn’t the only femme in the back of the repurposed mining truck to hit the wall. Firestar cracked an optic open and whispered softly, “You okay?”</p>
<p>Greenlight gave a tiny smile, “Nothing permanent.” Firestar glanced silently at the other femmes, receiving a nod of agreement from all but one. The smallest of their group, the one femme who wasn’t under Firestar’s command, continued to simply stare at the roof of the transport, optics hard and distant.</p>
<p>Firestar was tempted to speak to the femme, get a reaction out of her, make sure she wasn’t going to offline from the beating the Decepticons had given her when she’d first been dragged into the camp. However, Firestar knew that talking too much would attract the attention of the their guards, and that was something to be avoided at all costs if they were to have any chance of escaping. So, she kept silent, settling for a worried glance in the femme’s direction and the knowledge that Lightbright would tell her if the femme was about to offline.</p>
<p>A sudden shudder ran through the transport that didn’t feel like an ever more familiar pothole. Firestar tensed when she heard a loud explosion through the walls of the transport. The two Decepticon guards sitting nearest them exchanged nervous glances. The small femme finally reacted to her surroundings as another explosion sounded outside and their transport slid to an abrupt stop. Blue optics with a hint of pink flickered calculatingly over to the guards, the pale gleam in them hinting that her battle computer was online and running scenario plans. The optics resumed staring at the ceiling, but the femme’s legs tensed ever so slightly, she was ready to pounce.</p>
<p>Firestar followed the femme’s example, pretending to remain subdued even as she covertly prepared to escape. Sounds of yelling and screaming where quickly growing louder and more evident over the sound of blaster fire. A broadband com signal sounded, Firestar’s close proximity to a vehicon allowing her to listen in on the transmission. ::All units, we are under attack! I repeat! We are under attack! Optimus Prime is here! Execute the prisoners! Do not let the Autobots rescue-agh!::</p>
<p>Firestar didn’t wait for the Decepticons to fully process their new orders, she lunged for the Decepticon nearest to her with the yell of, “Get them, femmes!” Reaching over the helm of her target, she jerked her stasis cuffed servos underneath his helm, cutting off the flow of energon to his processor and using his frame as a shield to protect herself from the wild blaster fire of the other guards as they were attacked in a similar manner by the other femmes.</p>
<p>One of the errant blaster bolts slammed into Firestar’s stasis cuffs, shattering it in a spectacular explosion of shrapnel. Freed from her cuffs, Firestar pulled her energon blades out of subspace and lunged for the vehicon preparing to shoot the small femme while the latter was busy freeing the others from their stasis cuffs. Her right blade, a specially designed rescue tool made for cutting through the collapsed support beams of buildings, sliced easily through the Decepticon’s back armor and through the mech’s spark, sending him offline instantly.</p>
<p>Pulling her blade free, Firestar cut the others out of their stasis cuffs, rattling off orders the entire time, “Lightbright, Flashpoint, you two help our friend here to get to cover. Greenlight, cover them. Lickety-Split, get me a report on what’s going on, ASAP. Vibes, Lancer, you’re with me.” There were curt confirmations of her orders as the femmes set about their new tasks. With a few swift slashes of her blades, Firestar cut open their transport, hastily stepping to one side to let Lickety-Split roll out onto the field with a whoop.</p>
<p>Firestar shouted a warning to the rookie Autobot, “Don’t do anything stupid! Recon only!” Unfortunately, Lickety-Split was already out of audio range because of the roiling blaster fire puncturing the atmosphere. Firestar led the way out of the transport, energon blades prepped and internally cursing the fact that their comlinks had been disabled accept for their Burst Frequency, which required physical contact. <em>She had better not get herself killed.</em></p>
<p>Firestar called over her shoulder as they dived for cover behind the transport that had been their moving prison moments before, “Stay close everyone! Watch your flanks and don’t do anything reckless! We need to get out, not get offlined!”</p>
<p>Flashpoint, a neutral medic who had only recently joined the Femme Contingent, called worriedly from where she was patching the energon lines of the small, nameless femme, “We need to get to a medbay! This one lost a lot of energon and I don’t have any med-grade to pump back in her!”</p>
<p>Vibes pointed suddenly, “Look! Up on the rise! It’s Elita-1!” Firestar’s helm snapped around in the direction indicated and felt a wave of relief flow through her when she saw Elita-1 and Chromia cutting their way through the fray toward them. <em>Oh, thank the AllSpark.</em></p>
<p>A squeal of tires signaled Lickety-Split’s return, the femling was venting hard and her optics were wide. Firestar switched out one of her blades for an Energon Battle Pistol and fired at a Decepticon that was coming too close, “Report!”</p>
<p>Lickety-Split shrugged as she spun a little bit on her wheels, trying to look at everything at once, “Well, this is a rescue attempt! But there are a <b>lot</b> more Decepticons here than there were when we left! I even spotted seekers!” As if to prove her point, a seeker screamed overhead, only for a huge plasma round to puncture its left wing and send it spiraling to an explosive doom on the ground.</p>
<p>Firestar hissed softly, <em>scrap! This is an ambush for Elita and we’re the bait!</em> Glancing at the femmes under her command, she barked, “Flashpoint, Lightbright, get that femme out of here. Lickety-Split will go with you. Lancer, Greenlight, Vibes, you’re with me, we’re going to even the odds a little.”</p>
<p>Vibes grinned, her visor flashing as she pulled two sonic resonators from her subspace, “Read yah loud and clear Commanda’. Let’s kick some tail-pipe!” Firestar received quick nods from the other femmes, and, waiting for a moment to scan the battlefield, Firestar motioned for them to start moving.</p>
<p>With a yell, Firestar dived into the fray, energon sword flashing dangerously, removing any Decepticon body parts that were unfortunate enough to get too close to her as her blaster pounded out covering fire for her femmes. Vibes’ resonators, turned up to maximum, thundered out almost visible rings of destructive sound, sending any Decepticon flying a good distance back and scrambling their processors from the sheer compressed volume that slammed into their helms, wreaking havoc on their sensors.</p>
<p>Greenlight’s whips cracked the air, providing close combat support to Lancer and her customized, long-reaching Energon Naginata. The hidden blaster on the un-bladed end of the staff spitting out low-powered electro-magnetic shocks to stun the enemy into lowering their guard so her blade could part their helms from their frames.</p>
<p>Firestar’s frame surged with the wild excitement that only came from the battlefield as she rolled aside to avoid a seeker strafing run, “Look out!” The other femmes dodged to either side, barely avoiding being hit by the rapid fire plasma. The seeker pulled up and looped around for another run, laughing manically the entire way as two more fell into formation with it, intent on disposing of the four escaping femmes. Firestar crouched, yelling to be heard over the battle, “Get ready!”</p>
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<p>A lot of words could have been used to describe how Hardwire felt; terrified, exhilarated, high-strung, about to drop dead from the sheer amount of raw panicked energy running through him as he plunged and ducked through his first real battle. However, if one was to sum up his current emotional state with one word, that word would be <b>alive</b>. His vents puffed shallow and fast as he bent to one side, barely dodging the punch aimed at his abdominal plating. His blaster came up, firing point blank at his opponent and offlining him almost instantly.</p>
<p>When the fight had started, he had charged down the hill next to Ironhide, but once the Decepticon reinforcements had arrived from out of nowhere, Hardwire had gotten separated from the large veteran Autobot in the ensuing skirmish. Bright red motion caught his optics and his helm whipped around instinctively. <em>Who is that?</em> It was a femme he had never seen before, her bright red paint job standing out in the mostly purple and silver battlefield contestants. <em>Femmes! The ones we’re supposed to rescue!</em> The thoughts had barely started crossing his processor before he was running toward them, his strongest instinct screaming to find some friendly faces and get the pit out of there.</p>
<p>A seeker screamed overhead and Hardwire was forced to watch as it strafed the femmes, barely missing them. He pushed his legs to go faster, sidestepping a servo to servo battle between a Decepticon and an Autobot he couldn’t remember the name of at the moment. The Seeker was coming around again in a smooth arc, two more of his fellows joining in, Hardwire shouted over an open Autobot channel, ::The femmes! The seekers are strafing the femmes!::</p>
<p>Immediately, inquiring pings from other Autobots flooded him, demanding to know what he was saying and if he was injured. Ironhide’s voice bellowed in his audio over the com, ::Speak Cyber-Standard mechling! You aren’t making any sense!:: <em>Great, No one can understand me! Just what this mission needed!</em> Since it was obvious that no backup would be coming for the moment, Hardwire fell back on the training Ironhide had been drilling into his processor without mercy ever since he’d first showed a talent with heavy weaponry. Dropping on all fours to brace himself, Hardwire unsubspaced his cannon and fired at the central seeker.</p>
<p>The sound of the artillery piece cracked over the battlefield, drowning out the smaller weaponry and successfully gaining the attention of almost everyone present, both friend and foe. The round his cannon fired, designed to be able to take down armored troop transports, ripped easily through the plating of the unprepared seeker, obliterating him and sending large pieces of shrapnel spinning toward the other two seekers.</p>
<p>The remaining two seekers pulled up and to the sides sharply, hastily initiating evasive maneuvers as Hardwire snapped off two more wild shots in their direction. Subspacing his cannon, Hardwire scrambled to his pedes again and hurried toward the femmes, ducking as much blaster fire as he could and trying not to wince whenever a round bounced off of his thick armor. The femmes whirled on him, weapons primed. Hardwire skidded to a stop, raising an arm to protect his face instinctively as he shouted futilely, “Don’t shoot! Friendly! Autobot!”</p>
<p>The red femme held up a servo to the others, her optics having spotted the red Autobot symbol emblazoned on his right shoulder plate, “Hold it, femmes!” Hardwire lowered his arm from his face and flinched at a nearby explosion, <em>is all combat like this? My brain feels like it’s going to explode from all of this … stuff going on!</em> He followed the femmes behind some cover, optics dimly noticing the damage they had sustained.</p>
<p>The smallest of the four femmes, a pale green one with big aqua optics, had dents all over, a few on her faceplates, but most of them were located on or near her stomach plating. Something began stirring in Hardwire’s processor, <em>punches. The Decepticons must have been beating them once they were prisoners.</em> The revelation caused Hardwire’s engine to growl darkly and his already aching processor to start throbbing, <em>frag! I do </em><b><em>not</em></b><em> want to pull a ‘Hulk-Out’ on my first mission! I don’t want to pull a Hulk-Out on any mission!</em></p>
<p>Hardwire looked around wildly, trying to find something to distract him from whatever it was that was causing his berserker program to rear its proverbial head. The red femme touched his arm plating, “Hey! You! We need to get to Prime!” Hardwire shot her glance, a small voice in his helm immediately pointing out the femme’s injuries and causing him to rev his engine aggressively again. Misjudging the sound, the femme jerked back, optics narrowing angrily.</p>
<p>Hardwire averted his optics, taking a wild shot at a passing vehicon as he shouted back, “Sorry, not growling at you!” <em>Still talking English. Perfect.</em></p>
<p>Another red femme with a blue visor snapped, “Something glitched with your vocalizer, mech?” Hardwire took the excuse, absently nodding as he looked around for a more battle hardened friendly face in the flurry of combat raging around their temporary safe haven, <em>no prisoner warrants this much security! This was an ambush from the start! Just peachy. Need to find someone who can actually communicate with these femmes before something happens and I glitch-</em> An open com crackled fuzzily in his audio, the feminine voice on the other side distorted and frantic ::Can anyone-? -Have us surrounded! Flash- down! Need - ASAP! Coordin- 00:52:25N of the fall- transport! Repeat-agh!::</p>
<p>Hardwire and all four of the femmes were instantly turning to look in the direction of the coordinates, Hardwire using his HUD geographic reader to actually know what the numbers spouted in the com signal even meant. At least seven seekers were flying a tight circle in the air as even more ground bound Decepticons crowded around something. <em>More femmes…</em> A familiar blue frame with an orange faceplate reared up in the crowd, one servo holding up something small and wiggling while the other servo turned into a hammer and pulled back to strike.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics automatically zoomed in so as to identify what Breakdown was holding. His HUD registered it and his processor ache exploded, his logic center whining almost audibly as coding and words surged over his vision at a staggering rate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Target registered: Subject, femme.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Status: Endangered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Objective: Defend at all costs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Guardian Mode: Activating … activated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Frag! </em>::Ratchet! I’m losing it!:: Those were the only coherent words he could manage as he felt his control over his own body slip away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Syncing with battle computer … sync complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Deactivating pain receptors … deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Minimizing Logic Center activity … minimized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Commencing level one Guardian Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world turned red as human blood, the color blocking out everything except for a narrow white circle of clarity focusing solely on the mech who was raising his hammer high to offline a femme. One of <b>Hardwire’s</b> femmes. His frame shook as he roared and flung himself forward, transforming into his swifter alt mode. Barreling toward the pack of murderous vermin, Hardwire was filled with only one intent, one thought, one urge. Kill. Them. All.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Knight in Spilled Energon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arcee kicked out wildly, trying to land a hit on one of the three identical Decepticons holding her up painfully by her servos. Dimly, through the ringing in her damaged audios, she could hear frantic shouting from the other femmes as they were surrounded and jeered at as they tried to fight back and escape. Arcee bared her denta at the ‘con holding her, her vocalizer giving a thick burst of static as she tried to insult her tormenter. If she was going to go down, fraggit if she wasn’t going to go down fighting and hissing the entire way. To do any less would be an insult to her name, her faction, and her fallen partner Tailgate.</p>
<p>The three, constantly moving, Decepticon triplets raised identical hammers and Arcee stopped kicking long enough to realize that her optics were damaged and feeding her multiple images of the same mech. The mech and his two ‘mirages’ said something that Arcee couldn’t make out and didn’t care to hear. She tried to kick again, but her low energon levels added to her already damaged legs and prevented her from doing more than wiggle feebly.</p>
<p>Internally, Arcee cursed the war, herself, the Decepticons, and the general fate of the universe as she was forced to watch in slow motion as the hammer started to swing toward her chest plates. She knew that in her already weakened state, the blunt, heavy weapon would be able to smash through her remaining chest armor and crush her spark within its own chamber. <em>Guess I’ll finally get to see you again, Tailgate.</em></p>
<p>A new noise gradually built up and pierced the wall of static surrounding her audios as … something large and green careened through the living wall of Decepticons, sending them flying and somehow reverting the world to realtime. The Decepticon holding her paused in mid swing and yelled something, dropping her roughly onto the ground as he jumped away from the … whatever it was that was tearing savagely into the unsuspecting ‘Cons.</p>
<p>Arcee felt more than heard her own cry of pain as she hit the ground, her optics briefly filming over with static at the impact before clearing up enough for Arcee to see some of what was occurring around her. For once, she wished they hadn’t. The thing that had interrupted her demise was mech-shaped, but it didn’t act like a mech. It acted like the monsters from the youngling stories her Opi had told her as a sparkling. Tearing into the Decepticons with a brutal ferocity that Arcee found terrifying even in her stunned state.</p>
<p>The immobile blue and silver femme watched with a detached sort of horrified fascination as the red-opticed monster grabbed a vehicon, tore it in half like it was a piece of frayed wiring, and used the two halves as projectiles, spinning in place to build momentum before launching to two offline halves at an approaching pair of seekers.</p>
<p>Through it all, the monster never stopped roaring. The noise just kept rolling from its vocalizer and engine, dimly reminding Arcee of the time the energon spring outside of her home town had mysteriously overflowed and flooded the town. The noise had never stopped, it had just kept coming, heralding the destruction of anything in its path as it had flooded the streets, overloading any mech or femme unfortunate enough to be caught in the surge.<em> Guess I’m not going to see you again after all Tailgate, </em>she mused dimly, <em>because that thing </em><b><em>can’t</em></b><em> be from the Well. Huh, wonder what I did to deserve a personal herald to the Pit.</em></p>
<p>Her energon levels finally hit their minimum and Arcee felt her optics close against her will as her systems powered down. <em>Maybe I’ll still see you from a distance … on my way to the other side…</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Knockout felt his tanks churn as he hastily backed away from the scene of sheer savagery. <em>I’m all for a little disassembly now and then but that … I thought Breakdown was lying when he said he ran into a Bāsākā mech!</em> Knockout glanced at his partner in crime for confirmation, “Is that…?”</p>
<p>Breakdown continued to back up, hammer raised in a defensive position, “Yep.”</p>
<p>Knockout swallowed hard, “Oh my.” The two of them watched for a moment as the wild mech yanked an Energon Conduit Sword out of the seeker he had thrown it at, the destructive energy of the sword ensuring the seeker was already offline before it had even hit the ground. Turning, the mech caught sight of them and Knockout flinched at the sheer murderous intent shining in the mech’s optics.</p>
<p>Breakdown flinched as well, “Drive?”</p>
<p>The mech lunged in their direction with a bellow. Knockout backflipped, transforming in mid-air as he screamed shrilly, “<b>Drive</b>!” Performing a tight one-eighty, Knockout poured on every ounce of speed he could gather, Breakdown close to his bumper as both of them sought to escape the reach of the feral mech who had just successfully torn through roughly three squads of Decepticons like they were melted energon.</p>
<p>As they both careened away, they passed several Autobots finally arriving on the scene. For once, Knockout could not have been happier to catch a glimpse of the infamous Autobot Ironhide headed in the direction from which they had just come. <em>A mech as tough as that one is rumored to be should be able to buy us enough time to get away. Maybe.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire growled dangerously as three mechs approached. Flexing the servo holding his sword, he slid into a ready pose as the trio of newcomers came to a stop and transformed. A large black mech took an extra step forward, the huge cannons on his arms whirring softly as he said, “Hardwire? Mechling? Do you recognize me?”</p>
<p>Hardwire tensed and snarled, warning the mech to stay back but not attacking. Some tiny impulse in the back of his processor was whispering that this mech was different from the ones he had just offlined and not to be attacked without due provocation. From behind him a femme shouted, “What are you doing? Blast that thing!” Hardwire glanced over his shoulder, taking in the shaking brown femme’s condition with a glance before resuming his vigil of the battlefield and the trio of mechs not too far off.</p>
<p>The black mech called, “Don’t move, femme! He’s programmed to hurt mechs, not you! As long as we keep our distance, everything will be fine. I hope.” The last part was a low mutter accompanied by a spin from the high powered weapons on his arms. Hardwire gave a dim growl, there was something familiar about this mech, but he couldn’t figure out what. The red cloud hovering in front of his optics was making it hard to identify anything beyond mech, femme, or surroundings.</p>
<p>The sounds of engines to his left made Hardwire look and he blinked in surprise at the sight of more femmes coming. The femmes hastily transformed and darted to their fellows, chattering and comforting their injured companions. A tall pink and white femme stared at Hardwire, “Hardwire? Are you alright?”</p>
<p>A mech from the cautious group shouted, “Watch it, Elita, that mech’s a Bāsākā! He’ll tear you apart!” Hardwire bristled at the shout and revved his engine warningly, he wanted very badly to simply tear them all apart and a perceived threat, verbal or otherwise, to one of the femmes under his care would <b>not</b> be tolerated again.</p>
<p>The black one, an alpha Hardwire finally surmised, glared at the outspoken mech and barked gruffly, “Keep your vocalizer muted, mech, on subjects you don’t know a fragging thing about! He won’t hurt them, he’s their guardian!”</p>
<p>From behind him, Hardwire heard another femme ask incredulously, “Guardian? Have you seen what he did to these ‘Cons? He’s a slagging meltdown! How can … can that <b>thing</b> be a guardian?” As more talking ensued, Hardwire began looking back and forth from group to group, trying to figure out what was going on. Why were the femmes conversing with the mechs? Those mechs probably wanted to kill them! Why would they talk to them? Why weren’t the mechs trying to take the femmes? None of it made any sense!</p>
<p>With a low whine, Hardwire rubbed his helm with one servo, trying to ease the ache building up inside it as he tried to unravel the puzzle but only managed to think himself in circles. His puzzle solving attempt was interrupted when another mech drove up. Hardwire snapped into an alert stance, watching as he stopped a suitable distance away and transformed.</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted, put on edge as two impulses battled inside him. The red cloud hovering around his optics thickened as a part of him screamed to attack and offline the threats to his femme charges. A smaller, quieter part of him struggled against the impulse to kill and keep killing until there was nothing left. Although not as obvious as the urge to destroy the threats, it was just strong enough to keep Hardwire rooted in place as long as the gathered mechs maintained their distance.</p>
<p>Glaring at the newcomer, he bared his denta and rumbled warningly, servo flexing on the hilt of his sword as he dared the stranger to come closer and meet his justified end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ratchet kept his distance, internally grateful that most of the fighting had stopped except on a far corner of the surprisingly large and intense battlefield. Any noise or show of violence would surely drive Hardwire back over the edge and cause him to try to kill any mech in range.</p>
<p>Glancing down at the scattered frames and pieces limbs littering the area, Ratchet suppressed a shiver. He had heard of how destructive Bāsākā mechs could be and had thought he had witnessed the aftermath of a Bāsākā rage after the assault on Algol Base. Apparently however, the destruction Hardwire had caused in his first ‘episode’ was nothing compared to what he could do with the proper provocation and space with which to work.</p>
<p>Elita-1 opened a com channel with him, ::Ratchet, one of these femmes is critically injured and Moonracer is still finishing up her task of providing cover fire. Firestar’s emergency medic is knocked out and none of us knows how to properly bring her back online. We need you over here.::</p>
<p>Ratchet didn’t take his optics off of Hardwire as he replied, ::What would you have me do? If I come too close, he’s going to kill every mech present. The coding I tried to install into his program clearly hasn’t integrated properly and unless you happen to have a spare Matrix of Leadership with you, there’s no way to get him to stand down until Optimus arrives.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 shifted her gaze from the downed femme, to Hardwire, to Ratchet, then back again, a light slowly dawning in her optics, ::I may know another way to get Hardwire to let you treat her. Follow my lead and try to look as meek as possible.::</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced nervously at Elita-1. As much as he trusted the femme for her quick thinking and wisdom under pressure, theories and maybes were not something anyone wanted to hear when faced with a mech who would tear them apart even if it meant ripping off his own arm and using it as a bludgeon to do so. Hunching his shoulders and lowering his optics to try to look meek, Ratchet commed frantically, ::All do respect, Elita-1 but what <b>kind</b> of ‘other way’?::</p>
<p>Elita-1 reached down and picked up the injured femme carefully. Straightening up, she began slowly walking toward Hardwire, ::Hardwire’s program was created with the intent of keeping femmes and younglings safe from harm, correct? To make sure that we do not offline. I am trusting on that part of his program to let you through.::</p>
<p>Ironhide chipped in to the conversation, ::You’d better be right about that, Elita. Or a lot of scrap is going to hit the fan blades, really hard, really fast.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 didn’t respond, her entire focus was on Hardwire, “Hardwire.” The mech swiveled his helm to look at her, optics settling almost immediately on the injured femme in her arms, “Hardwire,” Elita repeated slowly, “This femme needs a medic. Do you understand? She is going to offline if she does not see a medic very soon.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s gaze flickered from the femme to Elita-1 before he nodded sharply, a low whine emitting from his engine. Elita took a slow step toward Ratchet, then another. Hardwire stiffened and reached out his left arm to block her way. Elita kept her voice low but urgent, “Hardwire, she <b>needs</b> a medic right now or she is going to offline.” With a tilt of her helm, Elita-1 indicated Ratchet, “He is a medic, Hardwire. He can help her.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm firmly, taking just a moment to growl lowly in Ratchet’s direction before returning his attention to nudging Elita-1 gently away from Ratchet. Elita-1 resisted his nudges, “Hardwire. Ratchet will not harm either of us. He is a medic, he wishes to save her life, not take it. Please, Hardwire, you must trust me on this matter. You must trust Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced at Ratchet again, optics visibly flickering in confusion. <em>He’d better not crash while still running on that program. Who knows what damage it might do to his processor.</em> Trying to look submissive, Ratchet ducked his helm and averted his optics, only watching the scene before him out of his peripheral vision. Elita vented deeply for a moment before quietly offering the damaged femme to Hardwire, “Here, you may hold her while Ratchet works. That way you can stop him if he attempts to do any harm to her. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>Ratchet felt all of his systems still as Hardwire subspaced his Energon Conduit Sword, took the femme, and stared from Ratchet to the femme and back again repeatedly. It was obvious that the mech was struggling to think past his instinctive battle rage and decide what to do. <em>Please let this work, please let this work, please let this work.</em> Hardwire took one cautious step toward Ratchet, then another, then another. He continued his cautious approach, Elita following silently by his side, until he was standing directly in front of Ratchet.</p>
<p>Ratchet raised his optics slowly, briefly locking gazes with Hardwire as he murmured, “I have no intention of harming her. I’m going to weld her energon lines shut so that she will not lose anymore fuel. Do you understand?” His response was a suspicious blink. Taking that as permission to continue, Ratchet pulled a welder from subspace and began working on the small two-wheeler femme in Hardwire’s arms as quickly as he dared.</p>
<p>Several tense breems passed, during which every one of assembled mechs and femmes watched the proceedings with stilled systems. Hardwire watched every move Ratchet made, armor bristling aggressively and one lip curled in a silent half snarl.</p>
<p>As abruptly as his rage had started, Hardwire relaxed, a low purr rumbling through his engine that startled Ratchet into looking up at him. Hardwire blinked at him once or twice, the snarl gone and his optics devoid of any malice or rage. <em>Did he snap out of it?</em> “Hardwire?” Hardwire didn’t respond, he simply set the femme down on the ground with infinite gentleness, and, with a warning growl at the other dumbfounded mechs, began walking away.</p>
<p><em>By the AllSpark … he trusts me with this femme?</em> Ratchet watched in frozen fascination as Hardwire briskly walked into the group of decidedly wary and panicky femmes, picked up the unconscious frame of one of Firestar’s femmes, and carried it swiftly over to Ratchet. Setting the femme down next to Ratchet’s current patient but leaving enough room for Ratchet to work on either one, Hardwire straightened up and moved back to the other femmes.</p>
<p>Ironhide’s awed voice came over the com as all of the present mechs watched Hardwire <b>herd</b> the femmes toward Ratchet with commanding clicks like one would a pack of sheepicons, ::What. The. Frag?::</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm in bewilderment as he resumed repairing the two-wheeler, ::Don’t look at me for an explanation. There are no medical documents that cover this. Slag, there are no documents that cover anything like this. Period. I’m just thankful he’s decided not to take my helm off.::</p>
<p>Chromia glowered at Hardwire as he nudged her firmly in Ratchet’s direction, “Hey! If you’re going to let us stand near a mech, I’m going to stand next to my sparkmate, thank you very much.” Before anyone could stop her, Chromia separated from the group and marched up to Ironhide. Hardwire’s engine roared angrily as he followed her, obviously intending to keep her away from the other mechs.</p>
<p>Trailbreaker and Hound both backed up hastily, not wanting to be at all close when the volatile mech let loose. Ironhide went stiff, cannons whirring defensively, but refused to retreat as Chromia sprinted over to him and grabbed his arm. Hardwire came to an abrupt halt, a burst of static coming from his vocalizer as he stared with wide optics at Chromia leaning overtly against Ironhide’s side.</p>
<p>Chromia patted Ironhide firmly, “Get it, Mechling? Sparkmate. This mech is my Sparkmate. So no tearing him to shreds.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire stared silently at the sight of the femme fearlessly leaning against the big black mech. At her words, a little bit of the red haze cleared. Scanning the two, Hardwire cocked his helm to one side as words danced across the only clear spot in his vision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Scan complete: Identity confirmed. Status, sparkmate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Analysis of mech complete: Designation, Ironhide. Function, Defender.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Registering as ally … registered. Subject is no longer a threat. Subject added to ally roster along with Healer Ratchet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire relaxed and tilted his helm in acknowledgement of his new ally. Content to leave the femme in the care of her sparkmate, Hardwire turned back toward the rest of his charges. As he did, his engine revved in exasperation when he spotted that another one of the femmes was inching away from the safety of the group. Marching back to the main group, he picked the surprised femme up and firmly placed her on the ground next to the other femmes who needed medical care.</p>
<p>The orange colored femme eyed him balefully, “Great, now I’m covered in spilled ‘con fluids. My hero.”</p>
<p>Hardwire clicked several times in his vocalizer, pointing firmly from her to the ground to indicate that he wanted the femmes to Stay. There. Seeing the defiant gaze, Hardwire’s gaze flicked up to Ironhide for backup in enforcing his order. He pointed from the staring mech, to the femmes, to the ground, and firmly stomped his pede.</p>
<p>Ironhide gazed at him with wide, non-comprehending optics and Hardwire growled to himself. He repeated the servo motions with a little more force. The healer, Ratchet, looked up and said, “I think he wants you to make sure the femmes stay here, Ironhide.”</p>
<p>Ironhide made a noise in his vocalizer before nodding curtly to Hardwire, “I’ll keep them safe.” Hardwire rumbled, a little bit uneasy about leaving so many femmes under the care of just a healer and a defender when there were foreign mechs around. But, Ironhide looked like he could handle any minor threats that came by with the cannons strapped to his arms. Besides, his sensors were picking up another femme signal nearby that needed to be found and protected.</p>
<p>With a final warning look at the two mechs standing nervously off to the side, Hardwire transformed and headed for the last femme signal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Moonracer sighted carefully through her scope, settling her crosshairs over the exposed back of the large Decepticon Brute currently charging Optimus Prime, energon mace held high to strike as his shield effectively deflected the blaster fire with which the other Autobots were trying to distract him.</p>
<p><em>Weak spot is in the power pack on a Brute’s back. The weak spot of that weak spot is the main conduit line in the exact center of the pack. Only a small part of the conduit is exposed, but one well placed shot…</em> Her finger squeezed the firing stud of the old fashioned, non-integrated sniper rifle, her lips curving into a tiny smirk as the concentrated blast from her trusted weapon seared the air and punctured the exposed conduit line, causing the power pack to immediately overheat and explode, taking its owner with it to oblivion.</p>
<p>Optimus looked in the general direction of her hidden position in the ruins of a high building, ::Well done, Moonracer. That was a fine shot.::</p>
<p>Moonracer commed back shyly, ::No problem, Prime. How are the others doing? Did they find the Firestar and the others?::</p>
<p>As if in response to her question, Elita-1’s voice came over the comlink to all of the Autobots in Optimus Prime’s rescue team that weren’t at the femme’s location, ::This is team two. We have recovered the prisoners and Ratchet is tending to them now.:: Over a private com channel, Elita-1 added, ::Moonracer, report to my location, immediately.:: Something about the way Elita-1 said the last sentence made Moonracer tense.</p>
<p>Moonracer instinctively swept her optics over the now uncontested battlefield, wondering what was making Elita-1 call her down from her perch. From a distance, she could see Ironhide and a sizable party of femmes as well as Ironhide’s two backup mechs, Trailbreaker and Hound. Hardwire’s alt mode crested a rise, steadily plowing toward Prime and the rest of the rescue party. <em>No more Decepticons that I can see, so what’s wrong?</em></p>
<p>Moonracer replied to the com worriedly, ::Understood, Elita. What’s the situation?::</p>
<p>Elita-1’s voice replied over the private com channel, ::Hardwire’s Bāsākā Syndrome activated during the battle. He is en route to your location to protect you and I do not want him to attack any of the mechs in our rescue party.::</p>
<p>Moonracer’s processor immediately pulled up the memory file of Hardwire’s previous ‘rage’ and she shuddered, ::Understood, I’ll be there as soon as I can.:: <em>First the rescue is an ambush, now Hardwire has gone meltdown. This cycle just keeps getting better. What’s going to happen next? Megatron drops from the sky and offers to take us out for flavored energon?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Back at Base</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The special, newly installed, monitor in Starwish’s internal HUD pinged demandingly, offering a location of one of the mechs on base who was now in need of medical assistance. Looking worriedly at the ID displayed over the locational ping, Starwish set Red Alert’s energon down with a sigh. <em>Again? That’s the fifth time in three cycles!</em> First Aid appeared in the doorway, a tolerant expression of sympathy on his faceplates. He had gotten the same ping and looked more resigned to it than surprised, “Do you want to take this one or shall I?”</p>
<p>Starwish slumped her shoulder struts, “I’ll take it. You took the last one after all. I’ll be right back, Red Alert.” Red Alert muttered something from his position on the berth that sounded suspiciously like a rant against the recent ‘safety hazard’ that had arrived on base. First Aid stood to one side, allowing Starwish to trot out of Red Alert’s private room and scamper into the hallway. Some of the mechs in the hall, spotting Starwish jogging busily in the direction of the isolated building the ping was coming from, grinned sympathetically at her or called encouragements.</p>
<p>Exiting the main base, Starwish jogged out into the mid-cycle sunlight and transformed. Driving out carefully onto the road, Starwish turned left and accelerated toward the spare storage shed which had been converted into what the mechs jokingly called ‘Boom Central’. Above, on the main roads suspended over the smaller city buildings, mechs drove busily back and forth, carrying out their assigned duties to shore up the defenses of Algol City. A few aerials flew overhead, their engines giving off faint roars as they circled diligently on an airborne patrol of the city, looking for weak spots or enemies that might have slipped past their grounded companions.</p>
<p>Aiding the light of the sun, several stars shone through the thin atmosphere of Cybertron, providing a beautiful foreign ambience that on any other joor, Starwish would have loved to pause and marvel upon. However, she had a job to do at the moment and did not have time to wonder over the vast differences the world of Cybertron had compared to Earth.</p>
<p>Arriving at the shed, Starwish reverted to her bipedal mode and stared morosely at the suspiciously mech-shaped bubble into which the center of the west wall had been mysteriously bent. Going cautiously up to the door, Starwish triggered the controls to open it and coughed as smoke immediately billowed out and clogged her vent intakes.</p>
<p>Waving a servo to keep the smoke away from her vents, Starwish squinted into the still hazy lab, “Que?”</p>
<p>A voice called cheerfully from inside the lab, “I’m okay, I’m okay! The explosion was minor!” <em>Minor? What does he consider-? You know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.</em></p>
<p>Reluctant to enter the building, Starwish called, “Can you walk?”</p>
<p>There were sounds of scuffling and clattering of metal items that Starwish sincerely hoped were not Que’s blown off limbs before Que called back sheepishly, “Uh … I appear to be, well, stuck. Mind lending a servo?”</p>
<p>Moving gingerly, Starwish entered the now relatively smokeless lab and looked around. “Over here,” Que’s voice drew her attention away from the soot-covered chaos that vaguely resembled a shelf full of tools and to the sight of a certain quirky inventor stuck spread eagle on his back to the west wall, the metal of the wall having folded every so slightly around him like the plastic mold around a new toy to pin him in place.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics widened and she hissed, “What did you do?”</p>
<p>Que tried to shrug but only managed to wiggle a little bit in his perfectly shaped restraints, “My prototype malfunctioned.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked around the cluttered lab as she carefully picked her way through the scattered debris and miscellaneous parts to work on freeing Que, “Dare I ask, what prototype?”</p>
<p>Que sighed, his helm fins flashing a light shade of pink as he answered, “The one that I was working on before it exploded. I was trying to build a device that would be able to target an object and cause a stable, temporary, state of molecular reduction of said object when fired.”</p>
<p>Starwish scanned Que and the wall that was holding him hostage. <em>My buzz-saw isn’t going to be able to cut through that anytime soon. Maybe I should use that tool Ratchet gave me for pulling out dents? Or maybe a welder? Soften the metal? No, then Que would just be sealed to wall rather than folded up in it.</em> “So … what do all of those words mean in Cyber-Standard?”</p>
<p>Que paused, watching Starwish as she experimentally pulled on his left servo to see just how much leeway the inventor had in his metal mold, before answering, “Like I said, it would cause molecular reduction. Thus decreasing the general mass of the object so as to fit on a smaller surface area and-”</p>
<p>Starwish ceased tugging Que’s servo, there was no way simply pulling would get the mech out with her small strength, and chastised absently, “Small words, Que. Use small words. I’m a medical assistant, not a rocket scientist.”</p>
<p>There was another long pause during which Starwish contemplated on who she should call for backup in the matter of soot covered, thoroughly stuck, inventors. <em>Where are giant sticks of butter when you need them? Or margarine, that might work.</em></p>
<p>Que spoke up again, “It would … shrink things.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at him incredulously, “It would … what?”</p>
<p>Que blinked once,“Shrink things. It would shrink things. Any ideas on how to get me out?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm, “I’m not even going to ask why you’re trying to make a shrink ray. As for getting you out…” ::Starwish to any available Autobot. Que is stuck in the wall of his lab and I’m not strong enough to pull him out. Any ideas?::</p>
<p>There was a pause that was most likely filled with knowing laughter as the other Autobots of Algol base considered the still image Starwish posted over the broadband com signal of Que blinking sheepishly from his position in the wall. Finally a response came, ::This is Blaster. I’m in the area and I think I can help. I’ll be right there.::</p>
<p>Starwish smiled a little bit in relief, ::Thank you, Blaster. Que is really stuck.::</p>
<p>When Blaster arrived a breem or two later, the red mech briefly stepped into the lab to get a good look at Que’s predicament before shaking his helm and stepping back outside, “Might want to follow me, it will be safer outside.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned anxiously as she followed, “What are you going to do?”</p>
<p>Blaster pressed a button on his left shoulder as he answered, “Nothing too damaging. The metal Que is stuck in isn’t reinforced, so Ramhorn should be able to work his talents on it without much trouble.” Before Starwish had a chance to ask who Ramhorn was, the ‘windshield’ on his chest folded outward, allowing several things to shoot out of it, transform in midair, and land the ground with shouts of glee.</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t help but gape at the collection of small bots now arrayed around Blaster’s pedes, chief among them was a bright yellow lion with an intricate wire mane and a bright red Cybertronian rhinoceros now stamping the ground impatiently in front of her. The other three looked like ordinary Autobots except for their size and Starwish saw that Eject was one of them.</p>
<p>Blaster turned to Starwish, “Starwish, these are my mini-cassettes. This is our tracker Steeljaw,” the yellow lion dipped his helm politely, “Our heavy hitter Ramhorn,” the rhino stabbed the air with his horn several times at the sound of his name, “our scout Eject, who you’ve already met, and the spies of our little group, Rewind and Rosanna.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked as the mini-cassette mob, minus Ramhorn and Steeljaw, magically congregated around her pedes, “Um … hi?”</p>
<p>Rosanna, a chipper looking femme with pastel pink paint and white highlights jumped up and down on her pedes enthusiastically, “Hello! You’re much prettier than Eject made you out to be!”</p>
<p>Before Starwish could figure out how to reply to that statement, Rewind, a black and yellow mech identical in frame to Eject, rattled off eagerly, “Visual transference over a cassette bond can cause distorted imaging. Especially if there are excited or noticeable emotions coming over the bond as well. I must agree with Rosanna though, you are a very pretty femme.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt like something in her helm was threatening to short, the interaction was just so … unexpected, “Uh…”</p>
<p>Blaster intervened, “Hey, hey, enough of that. We need to get Que out of the wall, remember?”</p>
<p>A unanimous groan rose from the three mini-cassettes, “Again?”</p>
<p>Blaster frowned down at them, “Yes, again. Let’s hurry up and finish the job so that we can all get back to our primary functions. You know the drill, now move it!” The three mini-cassettes shuffled into the lab and Starwish watched timidly from the doorway as they attached a cable to each of his four limbs with practiced ease.</p>
<p>“Excuse me, but I need to be in there for this procedure to work.” The velvet, baritone voice from behind her caused her to jump and whirl with a squeak. Steeljaw cocked his helm to one side, his deep gold optics taking in her reaction as he offered an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that, I thought you heard me coming.”</p>
<p>“N-no problem,” Starwish stammered as she stepped aside so that Steeljaw could trot into the lab where Que was now arguing with Rewind over the placement of one of the cables. <em>Talking robot lions, mini-Autobots who pop out of other Autobots … well, the last one I saw happen with Frenzy in the movie but still…</em></p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm at the argument which was rapidly degrading into a friendly sounding insult-throwing match and turned her attention away from that to the last mini-cassette, Ramhorn. Occasionally shaking his helm, causing the light to glint off of his molten yellow horn, the rhino was facing Blaster with what could only be classified as a bored expression. The rhino, who’s back almost came up to her upper thigh, growled out in a shockingly bass voice for something so relatively small, “Do you still want the wall standing?”</p>
<p>Blaster nodded, “Yes. As much of the wall as possible and as much of the inventor stuck in the wall as possible as well. So no stabbing Ramhorn. Blunt force only.”</p>
<p>The red and yellow rhino gave a gruff noise that might have been a chortle of amusement or a suppressed snarl of disdain, “Nothing fun then. Got it.”</p>
<p>Glancing at Starwish briefly, Ramhorn stomped one of his back pedes, causing the device mounted on his back hip, which looked suspiciously like a heavy duty rocket launcher, to shift and rattle before he trotted around the building to face the wall that currently imprisoned Que. Blaster called into the lab, “Alright! Everyone get ready for my signal!”</p>
<p>Dawning comprehension flashed through Starwish as she saw Steeljaw, Rewind, Eject, and Rosanna each grab a cable and slide into a ready position. Hurrying over to Blaster she hissed, “You aren’t!”</p>
<p>Blaster made a placating gesture, “Don’t worry, we’ve done this before and it always- Ramhorn! Reformat your horns! We want to free Que, not skewer his aft!” His sudden shift in focus was startling and not at all comforting. Ramhorn growled, his horns folding back against his fore-helm so that it formed an extra layer to his helm armor before lowering his helm and charging at the dented wall. Starwish sucked in a vent of air and held it, instinctively clasping her servos together as Ramhorn slammed into the wall with a loud clang at the same moment that the other four mini-cassettes heaved on the cables tied to Que’s limbs.</p>
<p>There were sounds of metal scraping against metal and yells of protest from inside the lab as Ramhorn forcibly reversed the direction of the dent in the wall, effectively popping Que out of his self-made trap like a character from a cartoon. Starwish darted into the lab in concern at all the shouting and crashing sounds, medical program beginning to whirr in preparation.</p>
<p>She slid to a stop just clear of the mass of waving limbs and cursing vocalizers that was Que and the four mini-cassettes. She sighed and placed her servos on her hips as she watched Steeljaw hiss and wiggle in an attempt to get out from under the bigger Autobot. Finally shoving Que off of him and his fellow mini-cassettes, Steeljaw shook himself vigorously, causing his intricate wire mane to rattle loudly. Straightening up, Steeljaw glowered at Que and rumbled, “Do try not to repeat this incident again in the near future, Que. It is becoming most tiresome to extract you from various surfaces.”</p>
<p>Que’s helm fins flashed a deeper pink as he said, “I’ll try.”</p>
<p>Steeljaw huffed and looked up at Starwish, “I believe we are fine, madam. But Que now has a very large dent in his aft as well as several scuffs and minor damages from the explosion that led to this … encounter. I believe the dent in his actuator is currently the most uncomfortable and ‘serious’ of his current injuries as I smell no leaked energon.”</p>
<p>Starwish didn’t bother asking how Steeljaw knew about Que’s damages, she just nodded and let the smaller Autobots shuffle out of the lab with much grumbling and comments about the inhabitant of ‘Boom Central’. Rosanna suddenly turned to Starwish, “Once you have finished enacting repairs upon Que, would you like to join us for some energon? Blaster is the <b>best</b> at flavoring energon, why his Lovers’ Brew-”</p>
<p>Blaster smacked a button on his shoulder and shouted, “That’s enough Rosanna, everyone in!” Protests were shouted as the mini-cassettes appeared to be magnetically pulled into Blaster’s chest against their will.</p>
<p>Eject barely managed the shout of, “But we were just trying to help!” before he disappeared. Blaster rubbed the back of his helm as he hastily bid Starwish goodbye and hurried away, muttering darkly in a manner that suggested he was scolding his cassettes for some reason.</p>
<p>Murmuring a goodbye to the retreating Blaster and his currently encased brood, Starwish turned to Que and set about scanning him. His injuries were just as Steeljaw had predicted and Starwish tried her best not to blush as Que shuffled to the lab table, brushed debris off of it and leaned on it in a manner that suggested he was completely accustomed to having dents pounded out of that particular area of his body.</p>
<p>Que, looking over his shoulder, blinked at her innocently, helm fins flashing as he called, “Is something wrong? Do you want to deal with the frontal dents first?”</p>
<p>Starwish sighed and reluctantly pulled out a magnetic dent removing device, “I … I suppose that I should deal with the … biggest dent first.” <em>Someone save me. I’m going to die of embarrassment!</em></p>
<p>Although she couldn’t tell for sure because of Que’s face mask, she almost thought he smiled at her sympathetically as he said, “I could go to the medbay and have First Aid deal with it if you like?”</p>
<p>Starwish seriously considered his offer but then reluctantly shook her helm, “No. I promised First Aid I’d handle the repairs this time.” <em>That and something tells me that if I’m going to be a medic I need to get over any ‘feminine phobias’ I have about working on glitchy mechs.</em> “Will you need anesthetic?”</p>
<p>Que answered a negative, “Oh no, I’m not in any pain at all. I calibrated my pain receptors to a very low setting long ago, I can’t feel a thing unless it’s very serious!” <em>So that’s what Blaster meant by learning to blow up painlessly.</em></p>
<p>Starwish approached Que with instinctive caution, “Okay then. Hold still…”</p>
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<p>Sideswipe mimicked Starwish’s vocalization of <em>humming</em> as he wheeled back and forth in the little, mostly forgotten, courtyard just outside of the main base. Giving the small table he had salvaged and repaired from a long deserted diner one last polish, he stepped back to admire his work. <em>Perfect.</em> It was clean, private yet close enough to the base that he would be able to get Starwish to safety should anything disastrous happen, with a gorgeous view that was perfect for a romantic, secret first date.</p>
<p><em>Now to bring the femme of my spark here and get started.</em> Rubbing his servos in glee, he rolled away from the clearing to go find Starwish and invite her to take an energon break with him. His emotions drifted over his twin-bond, interrupting Sunstreaker’s concentration from the drawing lesson he was giving to Fast Track. Sunstreaker called to him irritably, <em>“Whatever it is you are doing, Sides. Stop it right now.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe grinned at thin air as he headed for the main base, <em>“I’m not doing anything bad, Sunny! Honest!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker remained unmoved, <em>“Whenever you start sending me emotions like a cyber-cat that just found a cornered petro-mouse, I get thrown in the brig a short time later. Usually after Hatchet or Ironhide ruins my finish.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe swerved around several busily working mechs, waving to them cheerfully as he argued silently with his brother, <em>“Hatchet and Ironhide are off base right now, remember? You’re completely safe. Besides, this isn’t going to get us thrown in the brig!” </em>Sideswipe added privately to himself,<em> it’s going to get us a sparkmate!</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s tense ‘oh scrap’ emotions through their bond indicated that he had accidentally overheard Sideswipe’s last thought. Sunstreaker’s mental tone became deadly, <em>“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”</em></p>
<p> Sideswipe couldn’t stop the puzzled frown that slid over his faceplates, <em>“Wouldn’t dare what? Don’t you want a sparkmate?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s explosive, <em>“</em><b><em>No</em></b><em>!”</em> was loud enough in Sideswipe’s mind to send him reeling slightly. Sunstreaker continued to mentally rant at his baffled sibling, <em>“Primus, Sideswipe! I have enough trouble dealing with you and the twinlings! I don’t need to add femme drama to the mix! Haven’t you gotten us in enough trouble recently? I still can’t stand to look at the color pink and its been what, three cycles since that prank? Whoever it is you are planning to woo, forget it before you make a fool of yourself.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe corrected his course, heading for the area of Starwish’s locational ping as he sent the equivalent to wiggled optic ridges over their bond, <em>“But the femme I have in processor is really, really nice and easygoing…”</em></p>
<p>There was a long silence over their bond before a flat, <em>“…You’re going after Starwish, aren’t you?” </em>drifted to him from Sunstreaker’s end.</p>
<p>Sideswipe grinned as he arrived at the road and transformed, taking off with an enthusiastic roar of his engine, <em>“Yep! Think about it Sunny! She’s sweet, artistic, fun-loving, gentle, the twinlings already know her,-”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker interrupted, <em>“She’s also still in her second frame and the ward of Ultra. Magnus. Give it up now before you get us thrown in the brig for eternity and Don’t. Call. Me. Sunny!”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sniggered, <em>“Oh, ye of little faith. Don’t you know that I’m the best femme wooer on this entire base if not all of Cybertron? I’ll have her swept off of her pedes so completely that even Ultra Magnus will have to yes to our pairing, just you wait and see.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker abruptly shut his end of their bond and Sideswipe slowed in his quest to find Starwish when the bond remained blocked for more than four breems, <em>“Sunny? Sunshine? Goldie? Sunstreaker? …. Brother mine?”</em></p>
<p>Pedes tromped onto the road, forcing Sideswipe to skid to a stop and transform with a yelp of surprise. Looking around, Sideswipe realized that he had been spontaneously surrounded by mechs of varying sizes yet considerable strength and he twitched nervously. Brawn smirked and flexed his knuckle joints, causing them to pop loudly, “Heya, Sideswipe, Prowl wants the Aerial Evasive Prediction programing of the south sector defense cannons checked for glitches.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe glanced at the loose yet intimidating circle of mechs, “Uh, yeah, I’m off-duty right now so you should really talk to someone else about that. Que or Whitestrike are just as good with programming as I-”</p>
<p>A heavy weapons mech hefted the large metal support beam perched on his shoulder a little bit, “Change in schedule, Sideswipe, you’re on duty now and have been assigned to checking the cannons’ codes for glitches. So get to your duties.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe whirled to face the mech who had spoken, “What? You can’t do that! I’m off-duty! The only mech with authorization to rearrange the schedule without notice is Prime!”</p>
<p>Prowl’s cold voice cut through the air like a energon knife, “Paragraph 72, section 5, subsection 8 of the Autobot military code states that changes can be made to schedule and procedure in the Prime’s absence by one of his command staff. You are currently on duty as ordered by Ultra Magnus, Second in Command of all Autobot forces. Are your current orders understood?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe glared past the circle of grinning mechs at Prowl who happened to be striding by at the moment of the conflict, “You … you …”</p>
<p>Prowl’s pale blue optics met his without flinching, daring Sideswipe to say something that would get him punished for insubordination. Sideswipe ground his denta together as he saluted Prowl, “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>Prowl nodded curtly and resumed his trek to the road, where he promptly transformed and took off, leaving Sideswipe to fume as he was escorted by Brawn toward the south sector of Algol City. <em>Stupid, arrogant, scheming fraggers! Their just trying to keep me away from Starwish! But how did they know I was-</em> Everything clicked into place and Sideswipe nearly howled his rage out loud as he flung himself mentally against the barrier Sunstreaker had thrown up, <em>“Fragger! Scrap-helm! How could you tell them? Traitor! Why?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker bore the insults and hurt feelings with an infuriating amount of brotherly tolerance, <em>“To keep you out of trouble.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe keened, <em>“I’m not a sparkling, Sunny…”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s reply was infused with a rebuke that was so gentle it would have made any outside mech glitch from shock, <em>“Then stop acting like one, Sides. We have too many responsibilities right now to deal with courtship. Responsibilities to the Autobots. To ourselves … to our twinlings. For now, our focus should be on that. Not on romance. Not with Starwish.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe grumbled in his vocalizer as he approached the first ion cannon emplacement and synched with the automatic targeting computer to check on its coding, <em>“…Fine. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”</em></p>
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<p>Sideswipe continued to grumble as he worked, completely oblivious to the femme watching him from the shadows. Blue optics flashed mischievously as the femme smiled, <em>The old schedule trick. Who would have thought you’d be using it to protect a femme of your affections once again? Of course, when a femling as sweet natured as Starwish is your adopted creation, I can’t see why not.</em></p>
<p>The femme’s internal comlink beeped, causing her wings to twitch slightly, ::Here. What is it?::</p>
<p>::This is Agent 77095. I’m reporting to relieve you of monitor duty. But first … I think you need to see this.:: Coordinates were transmitted with the message and with a frown, the femme turned and hurried away from Algol Base. Dark tendrils of energy whispered softly against her armor as she took a shortcut to the location of the coordinates. Her spark nearly stalled when she saw where she was and what was going on.</p>
<p>Huge, silver and dreadfully deadly, Megatron leaned forward on his throne, scrutinizing the data displayed on the visor of his most trusted servant, “So … Breakdown’s initial report has been confirmed?”</p>
<p>The slender, seemingly faceless Decepticon Megatron was addressing nodded soundlessly. The femme felt her servos clench instinctively at the menacing purr that rumbled from Megatron’s engine as he sat back, “Fascinating. We will have to ensure that this mech’s unique … <b>gift</b> is put to proper use. What of the femme and younglings that were seen at the Prime’s base? Any word of their relation to this mech?”</p>
<p><em>No…</em> She barely acknowledged the gentle servo that grasped her shoulder plate as Megatron continued to speak to Soundwave, completely oblivious to his audience. Agent 77095 tightened his hold on her shoulder as a snarl ripped explosively from her vocalizer, “Don’t,” he murmured warningly, “It isn’t our place to interfere. We must let what will happen, happen. It is not your place to act.”</p>
<p>She whirled on the small black and gold mech, “Not my place? What would you know of it? Bad enough that I am being reassigned, but reassigned when that … that <b>monster</b> threatens more lives? Lives that do not deserve to be caught up in his mad schemes? Lives that matter to my <b>mate</b>? How can you stand there and tell me that ‘it’s not my place’? Have you any idea of what that mech is capable of?”</p>
<p>A glowing blue vizor met her gaze steadily, “I do. Intimately.”</p>
<p>The gentle words brought her up short and she heaved a sight through her vents, “Of course … I’m sorry. I didn’t- It’s just … this doesn’t get any easier does it?”</p>
<p>The mech smiled sympathetically at her as he followed her in leaving the scene of Megatron and Soundwave, gently steering her away from where the invisible Autobot spy Mirage listened in on the meeting with growing horror, completely unaware of the two beings ghosting past his corner, “Not really. You just have to remember why you’re doing it.”</p>
<p>Her spark was stabbed with an all too familiar pain as they passed through the thick veil of time and space, “Remind me.”</p>
<p>His smooth tenor voice did not quaver as Agent 77095 answered, “To protect them all.” There was a long pause, during which the femme stared longingly into the distance before the mech steered the conversation back to business, “There’s been a breach in the wall. Here are the coordinates.”</p>
<p>Checking the coordinates she had just downloaded from the mech, she groaned lightly, “There again? What is it with those idiots?”</p>
<p>He shrugged in response, “It’s an Overload area, the wall is easy to break down there. Especially when you consider just who lives there.”</p>
<p>Shaking her helm she turned to the shorter Cybertronian, “Watch carefully … won’t you?”</p>
<p>77095 nodded seriously, “You have my word.”</p>
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<p>Disappearing back to dimension he had been assigned to watch, the black and golden mech made his way to a crater pitted stretch of Cybertron, picking his way through the rubble even though he could have just as easily phased through the obstructions. It didn’t pay to become lazy. Coming to a stop a safe distance from the party of Autobots driving hurriedly across the landscape, he froze when one of the Autobots suddenly transformed and stared hard in his direction.</p>
<p>Freezing, the mech waited until the harsh red optics had finally turned away and their owner resumed his journey before venting a tiny sigh of relief, <em>close one. Is he supposed to be able to sense us at Level One? Probably not. I’ll have to keep an optic on that.</em></p>
<p>He settled for following the procession at a safe distance, dutifully keeping vigil on one of the beings for which their Matron had made such a huge exception.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. A Voice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had stopped for the fourth time that cycle. Optimus watched with worried optics as Ratchet worked feverishly to stabilize the wounded two-wheeler femme once again. Her name was Arcee according to the records, a Scout-Class who had been serving as a spotter for the sniper Tailgate until recently. After the death of Tailgate, Arcee had gone rogue, disappearing for orns at a time before reporting her sabotage activities to the nearest trusted Autobot officer and disappearing again.</p>
<p>The injuries inflicted by the Decepticons upon her capture were severe enough, but they were only critically spark-threatening because of the poorly repaired wounds she’d already sustained and the energon deprivation she’d been suffering at the time of her capture. Now, normally worrying injuries that should have already been stabilized enough for her direct transport back to the Algol Medbay had to be constantly monitored and re-stabilized by Ratchet as the medic fought to keep her spark from slipping away into the Well.</p>
<p>A low rumble drew Optimus’s attention to the mech next to him. Hardwire stared at the femme, his expression worried as he alternated between staring at the femme and watching their surroundings keenly. Optimus felt his spark quail guiltily at allowing Hardwire to remain in his Guardian mode. It had not been his first choice to do so, but Ironhide and Elita-1 had both put up convincing arguments that for now it might be safer for Hardwire to remain in his Bāsākā state.</p>
<p>They had no way of knowing if the strain of being in his adapted Bāsākā state would knock him offline once the program turned off and if he did, they had no way to transport a mech of his size short of calling in an emergency aerial evac and thus alerting every Decepticon within a thousand kilometers to their presence. Also, Hardwire had proved to be a devastatingly effective protector of the femmes while in his specialized mode. So, Optimus had reluctantly allowed Hardwire to remain in his Bāsākā, only ordering Hardwire to log all Autobots, mech or femme, as friendlies unless otherwise specified.</p>
<p>Hardwire spotted Vibes moving away from the group and immediately left Optimus’s side to sternly herd her back, much to the femme’s irritation, “Ah was jus’ stretchin’ my leg struts! Honestly! Prahm! Call ‘im off will yah? Please suh?”</p>
<p>Ironhide growled from his crouched position watching the edges of their impromptu camp in a bombed out warehouse, “He’s doing his job, femme. Stop complaining and behave.” Vibes huffed and sat down next to the other femmes who were not currently on watch duty, placing herself protectively between Hardwire and the two femlings Lickety-Split and Lightbright.</p>
<p>Firestar and her femmes were decidedly wary and frightened of Hardwire and Optimus had to admit that they had a reason to be fearful, his wild battle rage must have been a terrifying thing to see judging by the carnage that had been on the scene when Optimus arrived. Point in fact, all of the Autobots were nervous except for the ones who knew the full extent of Hardwire’s ‘problem’. The others had only been told that Hardwire was a Bāsākā mech with a rudimentary control program installed in his processor by Ratchet so that he wouldn’t kill his fellow Autobots while in a rage and would feel strongly inclined to protect femmes with his ire.</p>
<p>Confidence in Ratchet’s programming skills aside, it was not very comforting to have the primitive minded mech prowling their midst, glowering darkly at Hound, Trailbreaker, Cliffjumper, and the other Autobot mechs who didn’t happen to be Ironhide, Ratchet, or Optimus Prime.</p>
<p>Hardwire stiffened and glared into the distance, his optics focusing briefly on some point outside of their camp, a low growl rumbling from him balefully. Flareup scowled as she glanced down at him from her perch on a slanted support beam, “What is he glaring at? He’s been doing that off and on for ten breems now. Always that same fragging spot.”</p>
<p>Optimus turned and zoomed in his optics to focus on the spot that seemed to agitate Hardwire so much. Running a quick scan over it, Optimus felt a frown flit over his faceplates, “I … am not sure…”</p>
<p>Ironhide rumbled uncomfortably, “There’s nothing there, so why’s he staring?”</p>
<p>Lancer hissed from her huddled spot on a piece of rubble, “Maybe he’s, I don’t know, glitched? He’s a Bāsākā mech, it wouldn’t be too much of a jump.”</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced up from his care of Arcee to snap, “Or maybe he senses something that we cannot. With all of the modifications to his frame done prior to his joining the Autobots, I would not be surprised if an experimental combat sensor grid was one of them.”</p>
<p>They all fell silent at that, the implications that there was something out there watching them that only the un-communicative Hardwire could sense was alarming. Ironhide shifted subtly, his cannons whirring softly in preparation for an ambush, “We can’t stay here much longer,” he muttered, “something’s bound to happen if we don’t get moving soon.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 swept her optics carefully over the southern landscape as she murmured back, “We do not have a choice, Ironhide. Arcee cannot be treated on the move. Not with her injuries. We must wait, watch, and hope that Ratchet and Flashpoint stabilize her soon.”</p>
<p>Flashpoint hissed suddenly from her position across from Ratchet, “No!” Hastily unsubspacing something, her work on the femme picked up urgent speed, “Come on, femme! Function! Scrap, that crack in her spark chamber is acting up again! We’re losing her!”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s fingers were a blur of expert motion as he opened the femme’s chest plates and began attempting to reseal her spark chamber, “Stimulate her spark in ten kliks. Setting nine.”</p>
<p>Flashpoint glared briefly at Ratchet, as if disagreeing with his instructions, but obediently gave Ratchet ten kliks to apply a new coat of emergency sealant to the crack in her spark chamber before pressing a medical tool firmly against Arcee’s midsection. The femme’s frame jolted, back struts bending under influence of the spasmodic pulse that was supposed to coax her spark into beating again.</p>
<p>She slumped to the ground again, unmoving. Ratchet cursed and began barking out orders to Flashpoint as they worked frenziedly to keep the spark in their servos on their side of the Well. Optimus felt the Matrix of Leadership whisper sadly to his spark and he mentally keened in anguish at the insight it brought, <em>she no longer wishes to live. Can Ratchet save a spark that will no longer fight to survive? Should he impose that upon her?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire was fidgeting and staring at the medical operation with a helpless expression that mirrored Optimus’s own feelings. Hardwire inched toward the prone femme, servo outstretched to touch her helm silently as if in a plea. Elita-1 sent a shaky wave of support to Optimus, aware of his internal grief and helplessness. Optimus automatically sent a similar wave back to her, femmes were so few now, it would be a hard blow if they lost the dark blue two-wheeler lying in their midst.</p>
<p>Moonracer’s voice cut over the Autobot com, ::We’ve got incoming! I’m counting fifty coming in low and fast. The ‘Cons must have gotten a fix on our position!::</p>
<p>Optimus turned away from the medical battle to face the incoming Decepticons, <em>stay strong femme Arcee. </em>::Autobots, we must hold this location until Ratchet and Flashpoint can stabilize and evacuate Arcee.::</p>
<p>Ironhide’s cannons whirred to life, glowing with destructive plasma as he whooped, ::Let’s kick their tailpipes!::</p>
<p>Hardwire was shaking as he stood next to the femmes, his armor flared aggressively, optics glinting with the lust for spilled energon. Optimus switched to verbally barking orders so that Hardwire would hear them as well, his commands flowing in perfect tandem with his mate, “Hound, divert their attention to our right flank, make them believe that there are more of us than anticipated.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 spoke smoothly, “Moonracer, find a position to take out any seekers that arrive.”</p>
<p>Optimus whirled on Trailbreaker, “Trailbreaker, provide Moonracer with covering fire and protect her with your force fields.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 was unsubspacing her heavy blaster as she rapped out, “Flareup, Vibes, Chromia, we will be on the left flank. Keep them away from that old drainage tunnel that runs under this building.”</p>
<p>Optimus pulled out his twin blasters, “Ironhide, Hardhead, Cliffjumper, you will help me in securing the right flank.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 motioned to Firestar, “Firestar, Greenlight, Lancer, you’re on backup duty, cover the rear of the building and support when and where needed. Lickety-Split, Lightbright, guard our medics and Arcee.”</p>
<p>Lickety-Split shifted nervously as she pulled out twin neutron pistols, “What about … <b>him</b>?”</p>
<p>Optimus turned to Hardwire, who was steadily inching toward the doorway, growling darkly and fingering his Conduit Sword as he did so. Wishing fervently to be forgiven for taking advantage of Hardwire’s program, Optimus pushed all doubt out of his voice as he called, “Hardwire,” Hardwire’s helm snapped around to look at him instantly, “no Decepticon makes it into this building alive.”</p>
<p>Optimus’s energon chilled slightly in its conduits as Hardwire smiled savagely at the statement, his red optics flashing brighter as he turned to face the door with a low rumbling noise that could have been a chuckle. Lickety-Split shot Optimus a ‘don’t leave us alone with him!’ look which Optimus was forced to ignore in leu of Moonracer’s shout, “Here they come!”</p>
<p>Optimus rushed out with his chosen mechs to the right flank, opening fire on the rabidly approaching Decepticons that were aiming to come into the building through the windows. His Path Blasters punctured armor with a shot each, ending three Decepticons before they even had a chance to transform. Two more swerved away from the large craters created by Ironhide’s immense cannons, the Neutron Assault Rifles mounted on the tops of their vehicular modes spitting out rapid fire destruction as they tried to dodge and destroy at the same time.</p>
<p>Hardhead snarled as he fired off a calculated round that took out the tire of a third Decepticon, forcing him to transform and expose his helm to the firefight, “Fraggin’ ‘Cons!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper darted forward with a whoop, leaping into the air to land on a Decepticon just as he drove past. Firing his rifle directly into the hood, Cliffjumper leaped off of the careening, now offline, frame, sending it crashing into another Decepticon before he dodge. As the two frames exploded spectacularly, giving Cliffjumper the distraction he needed to sprint back to the safety of his comrades’ sides, Ironhide commed, ::Show-Off!::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper grinned as he opened fire on the regrouping Decepticons, ::No way, Ironhide! I’m just being my awesome self! Not my fault you’re too slow!::</p>
<p>Ironhide’s retort was to take out a heavy weapon’s Decepticon who had opened fire on them with a single massive blast, ::Watch and learn, Rookie!::</p>
<p>Optimus stood his ground in the center of the line, seamlessly exchanging his blasters for a large Energon axe in time to swat back a snarling Decepticon, ::Focus, mechs! The Decepticons must not enter or destroy the building!::</p>
<p>Hardhead dived behind the smoldering wreckage that was the result of Cliffjumper’s acrobatic display from earlier, snapping off a wild shot at the growing crowd of enemies, ::Easier said than done, Prime!::</p>
<p>Optimus weaved on his pedes with a grace belying his size, dodging the larger blasts as he shoved another Decepticon back, ignoring the smaller shots peppering his thick armor uselessly, ::Nether-the-less, hold your ground, Autobots! Buy Ratchet and Flashpoint more time!::</p>
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<p>Inside the crumbling building, as the valiant party of Autobots fought off the oncoming wave of Decepticons in a stubborn defense of their medics and the small patient, a different battle was waged between two Autobots and the seemingly most undeniable force of the universe. Death. Ratchet and Flashpoint worked frenziedly, again and again using their war-honed skills to draw the femme’s spark back from the brink of the AllSpark, only for it to start to fade again as they moved to work on other repairs. <em>Fraggit! Fight femme! Fight! Don’t give up now!</em></p>
<p>A rumble shook the building, sending finely ground metal fragments sifting down from cracks in the ceiling. Ratchet idly shifted his shoulder to shield the area of Arcee’s frame he was laboring over from the metal debris as he continued to stimulate her spark with an Electro-Charger. <em>Come on! Come on!</em> The spark beneath his fingers flared briefly with a vibrant light unique solely to her before sputtering weakly.</p>
<p>Ratchet snarled under his cooling fans, tuning out the sounds of metal rending and screams as Hardwire enthusiastically followed through on the Prime’s orders to let no Decepticon in alive, <em>I am not losing another patient to fragging grief! Fight femme, fight! Is this how your love would want you to go out? By giving up?</em> “Again!”</p>
<p>Flashpoint scowled, “If we do it again we might overload-”</p>
<p>Ratchet roared at her over the sound of the firefight on all sides, “If we don’t it won’t matter! She’s going to offline otherwise! <b>Again</b>!” Flashpoint jerked back as his bellow, her optics widening before she submissively dipped her helm back to her task, obediently stimulated Arcee’s spark again with the Electro-Charger. Even as Ratchet kept wrestling with the monstrosity called Death, he knew in his own spark that he was fighting a hopeless battle, there was simply no way to save a spark that had lost the will to live. There was no way to stop the inevitable disappearance of a life that no longer wished to exist.</p>
<p>Raising a silent prayer, Ratchet internally begged, <em>Not again. Not this time, please. Let her fight, let her live. I don’t want to lose another one … let someone … anyone … give her the will to live again. Somehow. Just don’t let her join the Well yet.</em></p>
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<p>Arcee was hovering, floating in some kind of grey void that seemed to be both an endless expanse and infinitesimally tiny at the same time. She was aware … yet not. Dimly, she knew that she was somebody and that someone was fighting to drag her out of the void she was drifting ever further into, yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. She knew that she needed to do something yet couldn’t summon the willpower to break away from the ever deepening apathy that was encompassing her.</p>
<p>A sharp snap of lightning regularly caught her, dragging her to the edge of the void, just within reach of invisible ledge that she could grab and drag herself to safety should she so choose. However, Arcee made no move to grab the lifeline she could sense being extended to her, she just didn’t have the energy to do so. A lone thought drifted idly through her processor, <em>Tailgate…</em></p>
<p>A tiny bit of wanting stirred in her, she wanted to see him again. As she drifted away from the lifeline again, she suddenly wondered if Tailgate was out in the void somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept drifting, she would be able to find him again. <em>Tailgate…?</em></p>
<p>A presence hovered into her perception, watching her calmly, not interfering with her slow descent into the grey, yet not indifferent to her plight. The presence seemed to speak, snatches of a soft cultured tenor echoed vaguely in her audios, “-Come with me? -Live?”</p>
<p>Arcee was dragged back toward the precipice of the void once again and again she let herself drift away, <em>Live? For what? Tailgate is gone … the war … the war will never end… I just want to rest … rest with Tailgate…</em></p>
<p>The presence seemed sympathetic, “-More to live for than - can learn to love - just come with me- help keep them safe-” Arcee felt the presence come closer and begin gently pulling her out of reach of the persistent lightning bolts that constantly snagged at her, guiding her through the void toward where the presence patiently waited. It coaxed her closer, promising not death, but a different life, a life where she could make a difference. Arcee couldn’t bring herself to care about making a difference or having a new life, but the vague hope that Tailgate might be where the presence was taking her caused her to be complacent under the presence’s touch.</p>
<p>The lightning couldn’t reach her anymore, she was almost there, almost there. Just as something began to envelop her with gentle caresses and guide her to the other side of the void, something else surged forward. It surged forward, hammering against the boundaries of the void, knocking the presence away with its power. It screamed across her senses, an echoing cry that seemed to shake the void itself until the grey mists shattered and left no shield between Arcee and the sheer imploring power of the cry.</p>
<p>It was her name, not as she was used to hearing it, three sharp Cyber-Standard clicks and a melodic whistle, but an alien pronunciation. It rolled around her, sharp vowels and consonants, the tongue of an alien language she had never heard before. But there was more to the cry than just her name pronounced in a strange tongue, with it came a flash of emotions, images, strength. For a split klik, the shattered remnants of the void reformed into a foreign landscape. A deep blue sky arched over-helm like a thick dome, keeping the blinding light of the sun at bay as it hid the stars. The ground shone a vibrant green and seemed to bend and mold under her pedes, giving way to her like Cybertron’s surface never had.</p>
<p>Someone stood in front of her, arms held straight by his sides, servos clenched, the deep brown centers of his optics blazing at her stubbornly, demanding a response as the cry, <b>his</b> cry, echoed all around them like a howling storm, “<b>Arcee</b>!”</p>
<p>Something in Arcee snapped awake, tearing away the hopeless complacency that had fallen over her and forcing the reality of her situation to crash in on her. What was she doing, giving up like this? She didn’t want to offline this way. She’d never be able to look Tailgate in the optics again, never be able to look any of the warriors who had preceded her into the Well in the optics if she simply gave up. She wanted, needed, to live.</p>
<p>The lightning that had been dragging her back toward life was too far away to reach her by itself now, but she wasn’t going to give up. That cry, wherever it had come from, had woken her up, woken her fighting spirit once more. She was not going to offline this cycle, she was going to fight. She was going to live. She lunged forward, plowing toward her one chance at survival with all of her might. The lightning lanced forward one last time and this time Arcee hung on with all of her might, dragging herself away from the precipice of death and rocketing into the real world with startling speed.</p>
<p>Arcee screamed shrilly as her optics snapped open, flooding her processor with fuzzy images of two medics lurching back in shock. Beyond them, a huge mech arched his back, his servos clawing his back in an attempt to catch the red opticed Decepticon stabbing him from behind.</p>
<p>The medics leaned over her, working on her frantically and inadvertently blocking her view of the mech and his battle. Arcee struggled, trying to coerce her frame into moving, she needed to see what was happening, she needed to help! Mustering all of her strength, she weakly raised her helm, twisting it slightly to see past the femme medic’s fuzzy shoulder plate to see what happened.</p>
<p>The mech was still standing, his servos covered in energon as he tossed aside the offline frame of the Decepticon who had ambushed him. Turning to her, the monstrous mech briefly locked optics with her and Arcee felt knowledge seer through her spark. She knew him, he had been there in the void … he had …</p>
<p>Before her conscious thought could finish registering, one of the medics pressed something into her lines and the blackness of stasis lock overcame her, obliterating the short term memory file of the moment, shattering the memory of the void, the vision, and the mech. As stasis lock closed around her unstoppably, Arcee’s processor managed to file one thing of the entire experience in her hard drive. A word, shouted from an alien vocalizer, filled with a plea that could not be conveyed with normal speech or even a thousand poems. A plea conveyed in her name. <em>“</em><b><em>Arcee</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
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<p>Agent 77095 jerked back, venting hard in shock as the battle raged on around him, oblivious to his existence. At least, mostly oblivious. As Hardwire flung the broken frame of yet another Decepticon to one side, he stopped just long enough to glare directly into the Agent’s optics before whirling to open fire on another intruder. <em>He saw me … but that’s impossible! No one can see into the Shadowzone! Sensing is one thing but … no one can see past the barrier! Can they?</em></p>
<p>The small femme known as Lickety-Split rushed through him, her optics wide as she opened fire on the indistinct shape of a Decepticon cloaker who was trying to sneak up on Hardwire. Standing up from where he had fallen over in surprise at Hardwire’s … intervention, he watched the other participants of the battle closely. <em>They can’t see me and Hardwire has never shown any signs of sensing the others who have watched him up until now. Is it a side effect of his Guardian Mode? </em>A Decepticon’s torso phased through his helm and he raised an optic ridge dryly, <em>I am sensing a touch of hostility toward me…</em></p>
<p>Looking down at Arcee, he watched the medics finally make some progress in stabilizing her, <em>she’s fighting again. She’s regained the will to remain here. </em>His optics flickered back to Hardwire as the green mech whirled and spun, taking down Decepticons with such frightening skill and ferocity that the other enemies were beginning to retreat in fear, <em>and he was the one who gave it to her. How?</em> There was no way the comatose Arcee could have heard his bellow as she was on the cusp of leaving that dimension forever, none but sparkmates could call another back when they were so close to the Well.</p>
<p>Hardwire had never come in contact with the femme Arcee before today, so it was impossible for his spark to have contacted hers, to have imparted the will to live again. There was simply no way unless … Agent 77095 stiffened, optics going wide behind his visor as a thought struck him. <em>Unless … but the chances of that are less that 0.001 in a million! A billion even! But if it is </em><b><em>that</em></b><em> …</em> Backing away from the scene of the battle, Agent 77095 sent a frantic message to the Matron. She needed to know about that possibility immediately. <em>This could change everything. Though whether for better or worse … I don’t know.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Findings and Warnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz resisted the urge to fidget as he stood next to Fermium, watching the naive scientist happily work away on his device. A device that could wreak havoc on the Autobots if the finished project ended up in Megatron’s servos. Jazz knew he had to keep that from happening. He had to not only destroy the prototype, he had to make sure that Fermium wouldn’t simply build another to give to Megatron. Of course, how to prevent the mech from simply rebuilding the device was a problem with very limited solutions.</p>
<p>He could try to coax Fermium to the Autobot side, but that would mean blowing his cover and risking Fermium sounding the alarm. Also, Fermium seemed so oblivious to the true nature of the Decepticons that the mech probably wouldn’t even consider betraying his ‘sponsors’ and would more likely call down all of Kaon on him. Jazz could try kidnap Fermium and delete the information from the scientist’s helm, but not only was that cruel and dangerous, it was far from foolproof. Fermium might just reinvent the idea and since Shockwave was no doubt recording any and all data Fermium entered into the lab computers, Shockwave might simply take over the project without the bumbling neutral.</p>
<p>On the flip side, Shockwave probably wouldn’t take up the project on his own unless Megatron commanded it, there were simply too many more logical options for mass destruction to waste his time on memorizing Fermium’s ‘cleaning device’. But the risk of Megatron doing that was far too high. That left the painfully efficient route.</p>
<p>Jazz fingered one of the many slender energon knives he had hidden in his subspace. His absolute last option would be to delete all of the data stored in Kaon’s databanks, lure Fermium into a camera blindspot, offline him, and purge Fermium’s memory core. <em>Frag, I don’t want to do that. It wouldn’t be right. He ain’t doing this out of malice. He just wants to help bots. What else can I do? I either put my original mission and my bots at risk, or I harm an innocent.</em></p>
<p>He dipped his helm slightly, internally raging at the war. There were times he hated being Special Ops. None of the regular Autobots ever realized just how dirty Jazz and his mechs had to get their servos in order to preserve the Autobot cause. Out of all the Autobots, the Spec Ops had the longest list of war-time sins and as head of the Spec Ops, Jazz had a longer list over his helm than any of his subordinates.</p>
<p>A prim accent broke through his thoughts, “Meister?”</p>
<p>Jazz looked up, “Yeah, Fermium?”</p>
<p>Fermium was staring at him in open concern, “Are you alright? You seem distant.”</p>
<p><em>Scrap.</em> Jazz forced an easy smile on his faceplates, “I’m fine. I just can’t really concentrate on this science … stuff for very long. Long equations weren’t exactly my function before the war.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s look of concern melted into one of rueful understanding, “Ah. I understand. It doesn’t seem that there are very many mechs who can concentrate on long formulas lately. To busy shooting at Autobots or visa versa, I suppose. Oh well, how about we take a break? We could get some energon together.”</p>
<p>Jazz heard the undertone of hopeful pleading in the scientist’s vocalizer and felt another stab of guilt for what he might be forced to do. Shoving the feeling away with a frightening amount of practice-born skill, he nodded, “Sure. Lead the way.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s optics lit up from behind the orange tinted visor, showing just how happy he was that ‘Meister’ was alright with spending off duty time with him, “Wonderful! Just let me shut down the computers and we will be off!”</p>
<p>Jazz waved his exclamation off casually, “You put your gear away, I’ll shut off the computers. That’s what an assistant is for after all.”</p>
<p>Fermium smiled at him and hurried to put his experiment away while Jazz subtly attached dormant virus disks to the base of the computers as he shut them off. Whatever he decided to do with Fermium, he would have to destroy any and all data he had given to the Decepticons. The virus disks would remain completely dormant, blending in perfectly to the base of the computer console, until he so chose. Then, when he wanted them to, they would release powerful viruses into the Decepticon data-net that would specifically seek and destroy Fermium’s work no matter what console it was on. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it would help a lot.</p>
<p>Jazz followed Fermium out of the lab, noting how the scientist diligently locked it before leading the way toward wherever the Decepticons kept their energon. As they walked, Fermium chatted about this and that, acting as if he was anywhere but the home of the greatest tyrant to ever set pede on Cybertron. Suddenly changing the subject, he asked, “What was your function before the war, Meister?”</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t let the question startle him, he’d been expecting it actually, “I was part of the news-caste. Never got screen time, I was one of the mechs who set up the backgrounds and made sure the equipment worked before it got sent into the field, that kind of thing.”</p>
<p>Fermium’s optics sparkled, “Really? That must have been a fun function! I’ve always been in the research caste. Never got a chance to make a designation for myself, I was an assistant for the most part. Such a boring job, watching all of the busy body ‘genius’ mechs bumbling around in their formulas like new-sparked petro-puppies when I’d already thought up the answer.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s optics flicked back and forth under his visor, alarm starting to build in the back of his processor, something about the way Fermium rambled was … wrong. It was like he was trying to act as conspicuous as possible for some reason. Jazz’s processor kicked into battle speeds when he realized that his completely un-Decepticon behavior was actually causing mechs to <b>ignore</b> him. They would glance at the short, happy little mech, with his neon orange and yellow colors and blue optics, sneer unsympathetically at Jazz, then completely ignore his presence.</p>
<p><em>They don’t think he could possibly be a threat, and with his bright paint job they don’t think he can hide anywhere. So they ignore him because he isn’t their assignment and inadvertently give him the best hiding place in the world … right in the middle of the crowd.</em> Jazz’s optics subtly studied Fermium with new interest, <em>question is, is Fermium doing it on purpose? Or is he just making himself practically invisible by accident?</em></p>
<p>They turned another corner, shoving and jostling their way through the unfriendly crowd, when suddenly Fermium opened a hallway door and shoved Jazz inside. Jazz whirled just in time to see Fermium stumble inside after him and ‘accidentally’ break the door panel that would let them out of the small storage closet. Alarms were going off in Jazz’s processor as he hissed, “Hey! What are you-”</p>
<p>Fermium’s optics were wide and panicky, “I-I’m sorry! I tripped! I-I-!” He looked around, hunching his shoulder struts in seeming terror before huddling against Jazz’s stiff frame, “So small-! I-I can’t stand small spaces!”</p>
<p>Jazz curled his lip plating fiercely, “Than you shouldn’t have-!”</p>
<p>Fermium twisted around to claw frantically at Jazz’s frontal armor, the contact tingled and over the sound of his wails of claustrophobic terror, Fermium’s voice pinged through his processor, ::You have to help me get out of Kaon!::</p>
<p>Jazz’s thoughts raced as he raised his servos to clamp them firmly on Fermium’s wrist joints, initiating a wrestling match of sorts, “If you’d stop struggling and let me see the access panel-!” ::What makes you think I’ll help you get out? I’m a Decepticon!::</p>
<p>Fermium wailed pitifully as he continued to block ‘Meister’s’ attempts to reach the door in his ‘blind panic’, ::You’re no more a Decepticon than I’m a femme! You have to help me get out of here before I have to stop stalling and actually complete my device!::</p>
<p><em>How does he know? Is he bluffing? </em>“Get out of the way, glitch!” ::What makes you think that? If I choose to report you to Soundwave, you’ll be offline before I can receive an extra ration of High-Grade!::</p>
<p>Fermium’s flailing took on a hint of actual fear as they continued to act out the parts of a panicking scientist and his irritated bodyguard, “The walls! They’re closing in!” ::My olfactory sensor is highly tuned toward chemical compositions. Decepticons use southern hemispheric Taz-Oils as their lubricants, you’re using northern produced Synth-Oil and the average Decepticon soldier uses paint with 0.5 lead content while you’re using paint with 0.3 content. Now, I really do not want to turn my precious work over to a mad-mech like Megatron and that one-opticed monster Shockwave but my unfriendly intentions are very close to being discovered! <b>Help</b>!::</p>
<p>Jazz nearly froze in shock as he rolled the information over in his mind hastily, scanning it for possible lies even as he internally counted how much longer their ‘struggle’ could last without drawing suspicion from the ever vigilant Soundwave. He knew from his own research that those of the science caste often took unorthodox modifications according to their function. A highly advanced olfactory sensor was perfectly plausible and if Fermium really was trying to defect to the Autobots it would solve a lot of his problems.</p>
<p>Of course, Fermium could be lying in order to draw Jazz out to be captured. <em>This would be an awfully complicated ruse just to draw me out thought … far too complicated for Megatron’s style. If he thought I was in Kaon, he’d order a complete lockdown, not send a scientist after me.</em></p>
<p>Deciding to trust his instincts and risk it, Jazz finally shoved Fermium to one side, using one servo to pin him in place while the other worked on opening the door, ::You’d better be telling the truth, mech. Or you’re offline where you stand. As for escaping … I might be able to get you out of the city. Maybe. If you don’t pull anymore stunts like this! Just follow my lead from now on.::</p>
<p>The door slid open obligingly, allowing Jazz to roughly shove Fermium out of the storage closet and into the crowd of startled and irked Decepticons. Fermium continued to play the roll of a shaking claustrophobic mech, whimpering occasionally as he staggered along next to Jazz, who took one look at the gathered crowd and snarled, “What? You all want to deal with this glitchy fragger? Afraid of slagging small places indeed. Annoying little…”</p>
<p>Hearing Jazz’s dark mutterings and the threat of being assigned the ‘weakling’, the Decepticons scattered, leaving the two to walk unmolested down the hall to the rec room. Fermium briefly brushed servos with Jazz as they sat down in the chaotic and unhygienic Decepticon rec room with their respective energon cubes, ::Thank you.::</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t answer the com, Fermium could thank him later when he somehow pulled off an escape from Megatron’s personal fortress with a mech that was literally a walking chemical hazard sign. <em>All in a cycle’s work, right?</em></p>
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<p>Soundwave stood silently off to the side of Megatron’s throne, dutifully recording everything that was being said in the room as Megatron made his plans to take Algol Base and capture the Bāsākā mech that had appeared under Optimus Prime’s service as well as the mech’s family unit. Starscream simpered before Megatron, earning the internal disgust of no doubt every other commander in the room, including the dual field commanders of the upcoming operation, Dreadwing and Skyquake.</p>
<p>Soundwave could have cared less, her job was simply to record this briefing for the Decepticon records and provide information when requested. However, even though a part of her processor continued to maintain awareness of what was happening inside the throne room, the majority of her focus was far away. Deep in the city of Algol to be exact.</p>
<p><em>“Ravage, maintain your position. There is a sentry approaching on your left.”</em> Obediently, Ravage froze on the shadowed ledge of a high building, optics swiveling silently to watch the unsuspecting guard pass by, only pausing to call a hello to Ravage’s target.</p>
<p>The slender white femme returned the greeting before resuming her conversation with a yellow and black youngling designated Bumblebee. Ravage’s audio amplifiers flicked forward, focusing on the sound of the two bots’ conversation as he soundlessly followed them. The white femme, designated Starwish, smiled at Bumblebee, “I’m not sure I could ever willingly go out to the front lines, Bee. I’m … not much for bravery.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee shook his helm, his doorwings flicking slightly as he spoke, “Don’t underestimate yourself, Ironhide told me all about how you nearly took Jazz’s servo off when you thought the twinlings were in danger.” <em>Twinlings. Split spark younglings. Hers? She’s far too young to have sparked them through energy share, perhaps she has taken Guardianship over them?</em></p>
<p>Starwish ducked her helm a little bit, hunching her shoulders with seeming embarrassment, “That … that was different. I don’t really know what came over me, honestly, I just … couldn’t stop until I knew the twinlings were safe and Jazz got in the way. I feel really bad about that incident.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee lightly jostled her shoulder plate with his, “Don’t be, Chromia says that any femme worth her energon would have done the same thing. Besides, you don’t have to be brave for yourself to go out there, you go out there because you’re being brave for others. Ironhide goes out there to protect me and Chromia and everyone else,” the yellow youngling looked up at the sky longingly, “I want to do the same thing. I want to become an official scout and always be able to make sure which way is safest for Ironhide and Optimus and all of the other Autobots.”</p>
<p>Looking over at his conversation companion, Bumblebee flared his doorwings proudly, “Besides, I’ve already proven myself in combat! I helped Cliffjumper on an important rescue mission a few vorns ago!”</p>
<p>Ravage mentally snorted as he crawled into an air duct in order to follow the two invisibly, <em>“Sure he did. That kitten has no clue of what it takes to be a scout.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave let the phantom sensations of cold metal brushing against Ravage’s tactile sensors wash over her as she chided, <em>“Focus, Ravage. Record as much as you can, Operation: Dominance will begin soon. You must perform other duties in order for the upcoming operation to be a success.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage’s reply sounded mildly sullen as he slipped out of the air duct again and hid behind a pile of building material, <em>“Yes, Soundwave.”</em></p>
<p>The black cyber-cat returned to monitoring the conversation, hunching down as another Autobot passed by his hiding place obliviously. Starwish and Bumblebee had stopped on the sidewalk, their conversation taking the majority of their focus and causing them to stop, “Wow. That sound’s intense. Did you get in a lot of trouble with Ironhide?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee nodded, “You bet. Even Optimus lectured me over that. But in the end, he said that he was proud of my skill in helping a fellow Autobot and that I would make a good scout when the time came. It was really scary though. I … I hadn’t seen a mech frame that badly torn up since … since Praxus. Whoever tortured them was a real meltdown.”</p>
<p>Starwish reached out and touched Bumblebee’s arm gently, her dual colored optics shining with compassion, “I’m sorry Bee.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee shrugged with one doorwing, “It was a long time ago, and I barely remember it. But still…” the little mechling’s large blue optics widened sadly and Soundwave had to push away an instinctive urge to comfort the mechling. She wasn’t actually there and if she was, the two young bots would never accept her sympathy. She was an enemy to them.</p>
<p>Pulling away briefly from the sensor-link she had with Ravage, Soundwave glanced at Megatron. The large silver mech was currently exerting his dominance over Starscream, making the cowardly seeker cringe with the power of his threatening presence alone. She considered her leader. He had changed so much…</p>
<p>Shaking herself mentally, Soundwave returned to her duties with the single minded determination that allowed her to survive the increasing pressure the war caused her spark, <em>“Ravage, ten breems have passed. Begin preparations for Operation: Dominance before the next aerial security sweep starts over your sector.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage hissed softly, the noise barely escaping his vents as he flicked his tail and retreated into a tight makeshift tunnel made out of abandoned alley junk,<em> “I’m not new to this kind of thing you know. I have a chronometer and I’m aware of protocol. You don’t need to constantly monitor me over a sensor-link.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave’s face twitched into a frown from behind her faceplate visor, <em>“You’re programming strongly orientates you toward hunting, I am making sure that you stay on task and do not attempt to capture the femme before it is time.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage activated his temporary stealth field, using the two breems of total invisibility to slink past an alertly glaring Autobot patrol on his way toward the outskirts of Algol City, <em>“I could’ve taken her, you know. She was alone for almost a joor while she did that … dancing stuff.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave sent a stern pulse over their bond, her tone falling back to the stiff rundown of facts that she had been known for in the arenas, <em>“Knocked her out: assuredly. Without alerting nearby Autobots: perhaps. Get target out of city: Impossible. To many guards. Target’s paint: too bright for optimal conclusion of suggested mission.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage began gingerly slithering down a garbage chute that would take him to the main crusher/incinerator of the city, <em>“My apologies, Soundwave. I trust your judgement. I just wish that you would trust mine a little more.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave sent a gentle wave of affection in reply before turning her attention to Megatron. Rapidly accessing her recordings, she played back his commands within the space of a few nano-kliks and obediently pulled up the map of Algol city that Ravage had just finished transmitting to her onto the main holoprojector that stood in the center of the room. Megatron flashed her a brief smile that was masked by his words as he continued to make sure each commander knew their part in his plan.</p>
<p>Soundwave spark instinctively reached out to the impregnable wall that blocked her strongest bond, but stopped and retreated before she could make contact with it, there was no point in asking for something that could not be given at that point in time. Ravage suddenly hissed over their bond and Soundwave returned to the sensor-link in alarm, <em>“Ravage?”</em></p>
<p>Ravage shook himself, his plating rattling faintly as a vague ache settled in Soundwave’s right side, <em>“It is nothing. A molten bubble popped and sent droplets everywhere. One or two hit my armor.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave hummed faintly over her bond to Ravage, <em>“Be more careful next time.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage crouched, cables tensing and building pressure against his joints before launching himself across the chasm that was the Algol City crusher. Landing safely on the other side with a muted thump, he flicked his tail contemptuously at the crossed obstacle and resumed his journey. His route was simple enough in theory. No one ever patrolled the waste ducts and chutes for fear of being caught in the regularly scheduled crushing and then melting down of unsalvageable junk that accumulated in the city. The chutes led to every part of the city, including the the base of the wall Ravage needed to get to and around in order to prepare for Operation: Dominance.</p>
<p>Ravage had entered many a city, base, or otherwise forbidden location using this method, but as yet neither Autobots or Decepticons had figured out how Ravage got into such heavily guarded areas unseen and thus, the dangerous method continued to be worth the risk. That didn’t stop Soundwave from worrying though. Her worry seeped over her other bonds to her recharging cassettes, Laserbeak, Rumble and Frenzy.</p>
<p>Laserbeak chirped mentally before resuming his recharge, he trusted his elder sibling to make it home in one piece. Rumble simply muttered a complaint about being disturbed before somehow getting into a muffled argument with Frenzy over which one of them could do Ravage’s job better. Soundwave silenced them with a commanding pulse, they were distracting her from her tasks. An apologetic silence fell, during which Soundwave was once again forced to focus on her own surroundings as the meeting was dismissed and Megatron turned toward her.</p>
<p>Soundwave tilted her helm in Megatron’s direction, indicating that she was listening. Megatron folded his servos behind his back, “What is the status of Ravage?”</p>
<p>Soundwave pulled up a map on her HUD, showing Ravage’s location as the stealthy minicon finally completed his tasks and moved on to the rendezvous point. Megatron nodded in satisfaction, “Very good. Keep up the excellent work, Soundwave. Dismissed” For the briefest nano-klik, Soundwave felt a brush of hot, dark fire over her spark, a flare filled with scarred passion and well hidden affection. The fire acted as a anesthetic, the relief she so desperately needed from the pain of isolation. Soundwave clung to the feeling tenaciously, filing the feeling away in her memory files even as the fire was once again enclosed behind a wall of impregnable alloy.</p>
<p>Soundwave left the throne room, stalking down the halls toward her next destination, her spark clinging to feeling of her cassettes and that fleeting moment when she had once again come into contact with her precious other half. <em>Oh, how I hate this war,</em> she mused bitterly, <em>how I wish it could be over soon.</em></p>
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<p>Mirage slipped back into the shadows, watching as Buffer drove away to find a safe place to transmit the data Mirage had just uncovered. Internally, Mirage felt his tanks twinge with disgust at the entire state of the war. Targeting femmes, younglings, mechs who had incurable conditions that could be exploited for dark gains. It was all so … barbaric. Horrifying. Once again, Mirage inwardly wished that the war was over and he was safe back home, never to worry about sabotage or the snuffing of sparks ever again.</p>
<p>Stowing his feelings away, Mirage slipped back into fortress-city of Kaon to find Jazz and alert their commander that they had retrieved the necessary information and could return to base. Megatron was planning to attack Algol, Mirage had heard that for himself. The tyrannical leader of the Decepticons also planned on capturing Hardwire and his family unit and turning Hardwire’s rage against the Autobots.</p>
<p>Walking invisibly past Decepticons with the skill of someone who had seen far more missions of this nature than he would have liked, Mirage started to search for his commander so that they could escape and carry a more detailed warning to Optimus Prime and his command. After all, Prowl would need a little more than ‘Algol is target, Star family unit is priority’ to go on if he was to organize a proper defense against Megatron’s forces. <em>I just hope we can keep Megatron away from them. Those younglings have faced enough trauma for the vorn. Or their lives. But I suppose the latter is too much to ask for in this Primus forsaken war.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Sparks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prehnite looked up calmly as Lance approached, the mech’s scarred faceplates frowning in concern. Turning back to her task, she asked, “You read the report?”</p>
<p>Lance growled darkly, “I read it and it’s utterly impossible! There is no way!”</p>
<p>Prehnite’s lips twitched faintly with a knowing smile as she carefully ran her fingers over the delicate strands, weaving them into an intricate pattern, “Why not? He has a spark does he not?”</p>
<p>Lance leaned against the wall, his ire still clearly visible, “77095 was performing an extraction and that … mech intervened!”</p>
<p>Prehnite hummed noncommittally at her friend’s indignant tone before asking, “Did he cause any Ripples?”</p>
<p>Her question sparked a sullen silence from Lance before a short, “No. He … actually … smoothed a few of them.”</p>
<p>Prehnite didn’t look up from her work as an older, primmer voice broke into the conversation, “Then what is the problem, my dear mech Lance? Was that not the point of sending them? To cure from the inside what we could not from out here?”</p>
<p>Lance gave a startled growl at the new voice before mumbling something unintelligibly. The newcomer smiled indulgently at Lance before saying, “There is no need to be so worked up over this development. While it is exceptional, especially considering the circumstances, it is merely another thread in our little tapestry of the world, eh? Is it not? So, instead of worrying and standing there yelling at my mate, why don’t you go see to the clean up efforts in sector M-EMH, that’s a good fellow.”</p>
<p>Prehnite raised an optic ridge in silent humor as she heard Lance mutter a respectful goodbye and stomp off to do as bidden. Sitting back slightly, she inquired, “What draws you from your watch, My Spark? Normally you leave the handling of things to me.”</p>
<p>Her sparkmate, an old, wise looking mech with an intricate decorative wire beard that reached his chest plates, sat down next to her with a creak of gears and a grunt. Settling down, he answered, “True enough, true enough. However, those refugees of yours have gotten my attention…”</p>
<p>Prehnite carefully clipped the thread she had finished using and moved on to the next piece, “If it were merely your attention they had attracted, you would not have left your watchtower. There is something else on your processor.”</p>
<p>His white optics glinted as he leaned into her line of view, “Your Herald does not have the complete transcript of the original programming.”</p>
<p>Prehnite’s slender servos stopped their tasks as she finally locked optics with her mate, “No. She does not.”</p>
<p>His golden helm tilted fractionally, “Why not?”</p>
<p>Prehnite’s yellow optics flashed dangerously, “So that she will not be bound as we were. She will not die as my sisters did.”</p>
<p>Compassion flooded their spark bond as her mate gently rested a worn, golden servo on her shoulder plate. He did not say anything else, he merely offered his presence as comfort while he pondered over her words. Finally, Prehnite spoke, “What do you think of it?”</p>
<p>He studied his sparkmate’s work, taking in the design, a mix of soft blue and white hues that gave an artistic representation of something very few still among the living could remember seeing, “Perfect, My Spark. But come, let us see to our duties. For even here, there is no rest for the weary.”</p>
<p>Prehnite gave a dry smile, “Says the mech who spends his cycles endlessly watching and ceaselessly sitting on his lazy aft.”</p>
<p>Her mate scoffed as he helped her up, “Who are you calling lazy? It takes immense concentration to do my <b>work</b>. I simply cannot spare the time or concentration to do any of that youthful exercise scrap!”</p>
<p>Prehnite continued to smile knowingly, “Of course. Your creaking old bolts have <b>nothing</b> to do with it.”</p>
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<p>The little used inter-city speedway K-A-027 unfolded across a large chasm in Cybertron’s landscape just ahead of Cliffjumper’s wheels as the party of Autobots drove with all the speed they dared to make it back to Algol. From well behind the scouting Cliffjumper, Ratchet internally marveled that the speedway they were driving on hadn’t been destroyed long ago. Then again, it was a route long since forgotten by most Cybertronians in favor of the much faster, more efficient routes to Algol pass that had been established over the megacycles.</p>
<p>An ominous creak sounded through the metal as Ratchet drove hurriedly over it and the medic internally prayed that it would continue to hold them until they had safely crossed the chasm. They had certainly had more than enough trouble on the mission as it was than to assume that the speedway wouldn't break.</p>
<p>First, the rescue mission had been ambushed by waiting Decepticons, causing Hardwire to fall into his special mode. Then, they had been attacked by a sizable pack of Decepticons who had found them via a cloaked probe while Ratchet and Flashpoint had been busy trying to keep Arcee from practically offlining herself. After finally managing to stabilize Arcee while Optimus and the others drove off the Decepticons, they were now hurrying back to Algol City to finalize Arcee’s repairs and hopefully snap Hardwire out of his Bāsākā rage.</p>
<p>As if he could sense Ratchet’s thoughts, Hardwire drove a little closer to the medic’s bumper, revving softly as he had taken to doing over the past three joors of driving. Ratchet resisted the urge to yell at Hardwire, instead keeping his voice low as he called, “She’s doing fine Hardwire. She’s in a peaceful recharge.” With another soft rev, Hardwire allowed Ratchet to pull away a little bit. Ratchet grumbled under his vents as he smoothly took a turn, <em>emphasis on ‘little.’ Honestly, he’s even more possessive of Arcee than he is of Lickety-Split and Lightbright and they’re the youngest bots here!</em></p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s voice cut over the com from his scouting position ahead of the group, ::Anyone else think that it’s too quiet?::</p>
<p>Hardhead sounded decidedly unhappy as he answered first, ::You mean the peaceful quiet that you just shattered with your question?::</p>
<p>Flareup entered the conversation next, ::I agree with Cliff, it’s too quiet. Like Moonracer when she’s lining up a target.::</p>
<p>Optimus rumbled, ::Be on your guard, Autobots. This speedway has not been used for many vorns, but the Decepticons may still know of it.::</p>
<p>Ratchet grunted as he quickly checked Arcee’s vitals again, ::Agreed. Megatron is not the type to leave things to blind chance. If he knows of this speedway, then he would have certainly ordered it to be booby trapped.::</p>
<p>Lickety-Split joked weakly, ::Well, aren’t you all such cheerful mechs. I haven’t had this much fun since-::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s yell and the sharp report of his blaster caused the conversation to be cut short. Optimus, Hardhead, Ironhide, Flareup, and several others surged forward, driving to Cliffjumper’s aid while Firestar, Trailbreaker, and Hound, fell into a protective formation around Ratchet, Flashpoint, and the two youngest femmes. Hardwire revved angrily from his position behind Ratchet, trying to drive past Ratchet without scattering the protective formation. Ratchet shouted over the com in concern, his vision was blocked by Firestar and he needed to know what was going on ahead of them, ::What’s going on up there?::</p>
<p>Optimus rumbled over the com, his voice tight with concentration, ::Insecticons! Autobots, we must get off this speedway!:: Ratchet felt dread fill him, insecticons were a relatively new danger, but by far one of the deadliest yet. Said to have been found by Shockwave in the depths of Cybertron’s forgotten Underworld, insecticons were strong, brutal, totally loyal to Megatron … and always traveled in groups.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s engine roared as he suddenly transformed, taking a running leap over Ratchet and Firestar before transforming again and careening toward the steadily nearing firefight. Ratchet slid to a stop along with Lickety-Split, Lightbright, Flashpoint, and their three guards. They couldn’t risk getting involved in a fight with insecticons, not when Ratchet had a patient in his emergency carrying bed and the femlings had little to no combat training. Trailbreaker stayed close, ready to raise a shield to defend them if one of the screeching monsters noticed them and attacked.</p>
<p>Not that there was a very high chance of that. The insecticons seemed particularly preoccupied with the thundering Hardwire. An insecticon frame went flying past their group and over the speedway minus its helm and Ratchet felt his spark flutter a little bit in worry. It was terrifying to see the normally friendly and easygoing mech act so savage and Ratchet knew that the longer Hardwire remained in his programed rage, the higher the chances were that the violent tendencies would carry over into his every-cycle life.</p>
<p>Lightbright whispered over a short-range com so as not to distract the combatants, ::Look at him go … and I thought he was letting loose in the warehouse. Is it just me, or is he getting faster at taking his opponents down?:: Her innocent statement had Ratchet worriedly scanning Hardwire from afar.</p>
<p>His scans bounced back with results that confused him, <em>how is this possible?</em> With all of the combat Hardwire had been forced into that cycle, his energon levels should have been dangerously low. Yet, Ratchet’s scans indicated that Hardwire’s energon levels were maintaining a steady 95% in all systems. <em>Where is he getting the energon from? Did he have extra in his subspace? If so, how is it being injected into his systems?</em></p>
<p>Ratchet’s pondering was interrupted when a pathway suddenly opened in the battle and Elita-1’s voice barked commandingly, ::Ratchet! Now! Go through now!:: Ratchet surged forward, straining for every ounce of speed he possessed in order to get through the gap and to the end of the speedway bridge before the insecticons noticed him. The femlings, Flashpoint, Trailbreaker, Firestar, and Hound followed hot on his bumper as he plowed between two temporarily separated battles.</p>
<p>An insecticon broke free of the skirmish and began to charge the speeding medic when Optimus’ energon axe seared through the air, slamming into the charging insecticon and cracking its outer armor on impact. The insecticon, distracted by the pain of being attacked from the side, turned away to charge back into the fray in search of its attacker.</p>
<p>Ratchet barely had enough time to process just how close to offlining he had been when he broke through the fray and surged over the end of the speedway bridge to the safety of a normal surface road once more. Ratchet knew better than to stop even as he commed, ::We’re through! Get out of there Optimus!::</p>
<p>A flash lit the area behind them as someone threw a flash grenade, buying the other Autobots enough time to transform and drive off of the bridge. As soon as they were all across, Optimus shouted, “Hardwire! Take out the bridge!”</p>
<p>With a growl, Hardwire spun on his heel strut, dropping onto all fours as his powerful cannon unsubspaced. Just as the light died away, Hardwire’s cannon cracked the air. The heavy-duty plasma shot tore through two insecticons unlucky enough to be caught directly in its blast and exploded upon impact with the surface of the speedway bridge.</p>
<p>The old metal caved against the force of the blow, crumbling away from underneath the still disorientated insecticons, sending them tumbling into the chasm below along with sizable chunks of the bridge. The insecticons systems, still working on rebooting the optical sensors from the flash grenade, failed to register the commands to transform into their flight-capable alt-modes, causing the insecticons to plummet to their doom rather than fly to safety.</p>
<p>All of the Autobots gave a relieved vent as Optimus called, “Well done, Hardwire! Transform and roll out!” Hardwire paused only long enough to glare down the chasm where the insecticons had disappeared before transforming and driving away with the rest of them. Ratchet felt relief seep into his spark, they were almost back to Algol Base. <em>It should be visible just over this rise…</em></p>
<p>It was. But the sight that greeting him was far from the comforting one he had expected. His systems jolted with shock and dread at the sight of Algol City, it’s frontal walls utterly destroyed and smoke rising like thick flags of vapor, testifying to the one thing Ratchet hadn’t even considered when he had been mentally griping about the bad fortune of the rescue mission.</p>
<p>Algol City was under siege.</p>
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<p>Sunstreaker plunged his sword cleanly through the low quality armor of a vehicon, not even pausing as he ripped his sword out of the punctured spark chamber of his enemy and rolled past, optics hard as he made his way as fast as he could toward the secret Bunker. Terror washed over his spark from two young bonds and Sunstreaker glanced down swiftly at the youngling magnetized to his chest plates. Fast Track huddled against him, his favorite toy Prowl clutched in his servos as he shivered and whimpered at every noise. A swift glance at Sideswipe showed that Zipline was acting the same way.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker wrapped one arm around Fast Track protectively, working in conjunction with his twin to send soothing feelings to their terrified charges. Sideswipe was hunched slightly, trying to use his frame to shelter Zipline from the noise of battle as he effortlessly swerved around a vehicon’s wild shots and decapitated it with one swift flick of his sword. Together the two of them skated around a corner, Sideswipe exchanging his sword for a blaster to open fire on a small party of vehicons that had somehow made their way into the main base.</p>
<p>Zipline screamed in terror at the loud noise just above his helm and Sunstreaker winced as Fast Track immediately started to wail in chorus with his twin, <em>“Hush, you two. It will be alright. I promise, Sides and I are not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”</em> Sunstreaker sliced and hacked his way through the group of vehicons with the skill of a gladiatorial veteran, his motions quick and brutal.</p>
<p>Wild emotions of panic, worry, confusion, and a desperate desire for everything to just go away answered his attempt at comfort. The twinlings were scared to point of no longer being able to speak coherently even over their Guardian-Ward bond. Sunstreaker’s spark burned protectively as a red haze clouded his vision. The Decepticons would <b>pay</b> for the terror they had inflicted upon his charges.</p>
<p>A low snarl from Sideswipe as he seamlessly switched back to a single-edged sword indicated that his twin was very similar in temperament at the moment. But not as much as Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had never felt rage like Sunstreaker could. As the red grew, Sunstreaker began to lose the rigid control he had attempted to master ever since being assigned the twinlings. His vocalizer growled dangerously as it became more and more pleasurable to cleave his sword through sensitive parts just to hear his victims scream in pain as they offlined.</p>
<p>The terror increased and Sideswipe’s voice suddenly cut through the haze, <em>“Sunny! You’re scaring them!”</em> His brother’s words suddenly snapped Sunstreaker out of his growing rage, <em>what? </em>Looking down, Sunstreaker saw that Fast Track was crying, huddling as close as he could to Sunstreaker’s plating, shivering in horror at the energon now splattered over both his plating and that of his guardian.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt a flash of regret, he hadn’t meant to terrify Fast Track. Turning his optics back to the halls in front of them, Sunstreaker moved his left arm to more fully cover Fast Track, <em>“I’ve got you. I’ll never leave.”</em></p>
<p>With a final burst of speed, the two twins arrived at the hidden entrance to the Bunker, where a decidedly tense Whitestrike stood waiting for them. Seeing them, Whitestrike remotely triggered the command for the Bunker entrance, allowing them to pass as the reinforced wall panel hissed to one side. Rolling into the room, Sunstreaker crouched down, demagnetizing Fast Track from his chest plates and carefully setting the youngling on the floor, “Stay here. We’ll be back.”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s optics flew open, tears falling more rapidly as he lunged for Sunstreaker, scrabbling desperately at the golden armor as he wailed incoherently. The Guardian-Ward bond throbbed with a wordless plea to stay, to stay and keep them safe. Sunstreaker knew without looking that Sideswipe was experiencing the same thing with Zipline.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker hesitated, loyalties torn. He wanted to go out and fight, to slaughter the Decepticons who had dared attack Algol. But his recently activated parental programing railed against even the concept of leaving his younglings alone. Whitestrike had only stuck around long enough to open the Bunker door, by now, the mech had already returned to the battlefield. If they left, the twinlings would be all alone in the bare room. Helplessly, he glanced at his brother for an opinion. Sideswipe looked and felt just as conflicted as Sunstreaker. Hesitantly, Sideswipe whispered over their private bond, <em>“Separate? I’ll stay…”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker loathed that idea even more than straight up leaving the twinlings alone. An explosion sounded faintly from the outside and Sunstreaker twisted around to stare unseeingly at the door. The other Autobots needed him out there. More importantly, if he could kill the Decepticons out there, he could make sure that none of the fraggers came anywhere near the twinlings in the Bunker.</p>
<p>He had fought without Sideswipe directly at his side before, but it had never been pleasant. He always lost what little control he had and often got into more trouble than he could handle when he was without his twin. The same went about Sideswipe, the two simply couldn’t operate anywhere near the same level of efficiency when they were separate as when they were together.</p>
<p>His comlink opened at that moment, ::Ultra Magnus to all Autobots, rendezvous at outer Sector Five! Brutes have broken through the defenses! I repeat, Brutes have broken through the defenses!::</p>
<p>Sunstreaker looked back down at the sobbing youngling in his arms, <em>I can’t let them get any closer.</em> Looking up at Sideswipe he whispered, “Take care of them.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe fluffed his armor slightly, “Take care of yourself.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker pried Fast Track off of his chassis and held the youngling by his shoulder plating, “Track. Track, look at me.”</p>
<p>Fast Track reached for Sunstreaker, whining loudly, “D-don’t! D-don’t g-go!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt his spark twinge at Fast Track’s plea and vented deeply. Shushing the youngling, he touched his forehelm against Fast Track’s, “Listen, Track. Listen to me. I’m coming back. I’m coming back for all three of you, I swear it on my spark. On the AllSpark itself! I <b>will</b> come back.” He backed up his words with as much comfort and confidence as he could muster. Sideswipe reached out silently in aid, picking up Zipline and carrying him over to where Sunstreaker was crouched. Pulling his helm away fractionally from the distraught youngling, he said, “Just stay here, stay safe, and I’ll come back. That’s a promise, youngling,” <em>“And I </em><b><em>never </em></b><em>break promises to family. Ever.”</em></p>
<p>Standing up, he turned to Zipline, who was staring at him with wide, surprisingly tearless optics. The mechling’s feelings through the bond were scared. Sunstreaker brushed the emotion aside with confidence and comfort. Reaching out, he gently pulled Zipline’s helm forward a little bit and touched it with his own in a sign of affection, “You’ll be okay. Sideswipe is going to stay here with you and I’ll be back soon. Just stay with your brother and Sides, okay? Okay.”</p>
<p>Pulling away, Sunstreaker rolled for the exit, triggering the inside door control so that it rolled open. Something clutched at his leg, “<em>Daddy</em>!” Sunstreaker looked down at Fast Track, who was now hugging his leg. The word wasn’t in any language he knew, but Sunstreaker somehow knew instinctively what it meant and that knowledge filled him with protective determination. Resting his servo briefly on Fast Track’s helm, he didn’t say a word, he just flooded Fast Track’s and Zipline’s bond with him with love and understanding.</p>
<p>Sideswipe gently pried Fast Track off of Sunstreaker’s leg and wrapped one arm protectively around each youngling, holding them back from following Sunstreaker as he rolled out the door. Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder strut just in time to see his family before the door slid shut.</p>
<p>Sideswipe was crouched in the Bunker, optics hard and worried, yet accepting. Fast Track and Zipline were huddled together, pressing themselves as close to Sideswipe and each other as they could, their well-worn and well-loved plush toys squeezed tightly in their arms as they stared at Sunstreaker with frightened, yet trusting optics. They believed him when he said he would come back. They trusted him.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker transformed and drove away from the hidden door at top speed, heading for outer Sector Five. As the location of the Bunker vanished around the corner and Sunstreaker barreled toward the nearest exit, he felt fire burn hotly in his spark. But this fire was different from any fire that had kindled in his spark before.</p>
<p>The earlier fires had been anger, hatred, a desire to protect Sideswipe and himself, or a mix of the three. This fire had no hatred, no anger, just determination. Sunstreaker would drive the Decepticons out of Algol. He would protect the base. He would protect his brother.</p>
<p>He would protect his younglings.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Siege</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish dodged the hail of blaster fire whipping through the air like angered bees, running for the location of the next patient in need. Even as a blast of plasma seared the air mere micro-meters away from her helm, she felt no fear. Fear, hate, despair, all emotions had become fully irrelevant shortly after the attack started and Starwish had found herself in the middle of the battlefield.</p>
<p>Crouching next to the fallen Autobot, Starwish immediately scanned him, processing the extent of his injuries before following the instructions appearing in her helm and setting to work on repairing him. The mech’s optics flickered open, staring at her in surprise as she began clamping off the leaking lines left over from his missing arm, “S-Sta-?”</p>
<p>Starwish didn’t look up from her work, “Do not attempt to speak. It will only hinder your recovery.”</p>
<p>The mech nodded weakly and fell silent, optics powering off as his non-essential systems shut down in order to conserve what remained of his energon. Starwish clamped a burst line in the mech’s leg, her slender prosthetics working on soldering fractured bearings and other injuries caused by being too close to a plasma grenade when it went off.</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice cut into her work through her internal comlink, ::Prowl to Starwish, state your location.::</p>
<p>Starwish ducked some flying debris, leaning over her patient as she did so to keep the wounds she was treating from getting contaminated, ::I am treating a patient in Outer Sector Five.::</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice sounded strained, no doubt it was difficult redirecting processor power away from directing the battle to com her, ::Retreat to the Bunker immediately. Spec Ops reports that the Decepticons are targeting you and your family specifically. I repeat, retreat to the Bunker. First Aid will handle the situation until Ratchet returns.::</p>
<p>Starwish carefully slung the mech’s remaining arm over her shoulders, using a combination of her legs and her prosthetics in order to successfully drag the much larger frame of the mech toward better cover and relative safety. Further in Algol city, the sharp reports of blasters and the clang of metal against metal alerted Starwish to more potential patients as Autobots and Decepticons alternated between shooting and servo to servo in their quest for victory.</p>
<p>Setting the mech down gently in a hollowed out part of a building wall, she murmured, “I am going to put you in emergency stasis, it will preserve your systems until you can be transported to the medbay.”</p>
<p>The mech, already mostly in stasis lock, did not reply as Starwish carefully injected a stasis inducing sedative into his undamaged lines, ::Negative. First Aid alone cannot handle a battle of this enormity. I am needed out here just as you are needed in the Tactical Center.::</p>
<p>Standing up, Starwish sent a system ping to First Aid, alerting him to the status of a stable patient in need of transport before she turned and started running through the battlefield. Her internal monitor screamed with alerts of various Autobots in need of medical treatment as she ducked and dodged through the hazy field, the sound of the monitors almost overriding the screams of the outside world. Ultra Magnus’s voice shouted over her private com channel, ::Starwish, obey Prowl’s orders! Get to the Bunker!::</p>
<p>Starwish jumped aside as a Decepticon Brute slammed his charged electro-hammer into the ground, sending out a strong EMP pulse that would have immobilized her. Her optics flickered as the Brute suddenly whirled, slamming his hammer into the chest plates of an Autobot, crushing his spark chamber instantly and sending his lifeless frame flying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Patient: Offlined.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Enemy status: Overwhelming numbers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Other Patients: In danger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Healing Mode Level Two: Necessary?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Calculating…</span>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish ran past the Brute, diving behind cover to avoid his gaze before crawling past the scuffle. Ultra Magnus’s commanding pulse over their spark bond was accompanied by his roar as he swung his own war hammer at the Brute’s helm, knocking it off from behind and sending it flying, <em>“Go Starwish! This is no place for a youngling! Do as I say and get to safety!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish’s monitor pinged with an emergency patient, well away from First Aid’s last known location. Starwish stared for a long moment at Ultra Magnus, her spark stirring softly. Then her optics hardened with resolve, <em>“</em><b><em>No</em></b><em>.”</em> She closed her end of the bond before Ultra Magnus could protest further. Ultra Magnus started to turn in her direction, obviously intending to shout at her or even grab her and drag her off of the battlefield himself. However, Starwish had already transformed and was racing toward the emergency patient signal in her alt mode.</p>
<p>Leaping over rubble and swerving between the legs of startled combatants, she sped away from the main fight toward a ruined section of road from which the emergency ping was originating. The main battle quickly disappeared from sight as she slid around a corner, coming ever closer to the outskirts of the city. Transforming at high speeds, Starwish performed several handstands and cartwheels to syphon off speed until she came to a bounding stop next to the screaming mech.</p>
<p>Her scanners ran over his frame, or rather, what was left of it, even as information scrolled across her vision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Subject’s wounds: severe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Main injury: loss of legs and lower torso.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Internal injuries: Main pump: ruptured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Secondary pump: cracked and degrading rapidly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Main tank: punctured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Intake and vent regulator: overheating from frame stress.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Subject’s Frame: Irreparable at this time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Subject’s Spark: Showing signs of entering shock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Level One Healing Mode: Insufficient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Upgrading to Level Two: Upgrading … upgraded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Spark repair prosthetics: Activated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Spark Preserving Canister: Five in subspace.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Temporary Memory-Link: Uploading … uploaded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Energon type S dose: Standing by.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Commencing Level Two Healing Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Forgoing her welders or scalpels, Starwish reached for the mech’s chest plates with her prosthetics, her servos holding an unsubspaced Spark Preserving Canister ready as she was forced to rip aside the crumpled chest plates in order to reach the spark chamber. The mech wailed shrilly through a static filled vocalizer as she tore aside the plating. <em>Risk of subject’s spark going into shock: 75% and rising.</em></p>
<p>Exposing the spark chamber, she reached for the latch that would open it and reveal its precious cargo to the world, her prosthetic pincers moving with a confidence that almost didn’t seem to be her own. Every passing klik she worked, the back of her processor was filled with images of other operations, other patients, other sparks. Her prosthetics, their pincers now covered in a protective film, gently cradled the spark in preparation to lift it free of its chamber.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <em>Memory-Link:</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The healing house was oppressively silent as she worked, struggling to preserve the one spark the others had managed to bring to her after it had been nearly snuffed in the latest raid instigated by Liege’s Tribe. It was an operation she had had to perform far too many times since the start of the inter-tribe war. No. Even before then. When she was rescuing young transformers abandoned on Liege’s orders because they had been deemed a detriment to the tribe.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She just had to remember to be gentle. Lifting a spark out of the chamber it had resided in since its onlining was dangerous and could cause shock if handled with anything but the lightest of touches.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The spark flashed brightly as it slid free from its long time home, fighting against the smoke and microscopic debris that threatened to contaminate it as it was moved through the open air toward the Preserving Canister.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
  <em>Memory-Link</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Canister ready!” The excited voice of the assistant was barely heard through the veil of intense concentration as he worked to keep the spark stable in the short trip it was taking in his servos to the special canister he had developed for just such an occasion. The Quintessons had been merciless in their strike against one of their rebel bases, already A3 had lost five patients to injuries inflicted by the Quintessons’ mindless attack drones. He refused to lose this one as well.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A3 carefully rested his cupped servos just above the top of the open canister, making every motion as slow and smooth as he could as he carefully tilted his servos apart so that the spark slid between the gap in his servos and into the canister. Now all he had to do was close the canister and seal it.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The specially pressurized lid hissed softly as Starwish settled it back onto the top of the canister, sealing the spark safely inside as small programmed tentacles weaved around the spark, carefully administering energon and necessary care that would keep the spark alive until it could be placed in a proper spark chamber.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Operation: Success.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Patient: Stabilizing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Current Surroundings: Risk to Patient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">New Objective: Deliver spark to safer environment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish stood up silently, spark canister held firmly in her servos as she turned to head toward the base. A voice called from her right, halting her progress, “Starwish! Starwish!”</p>
<p>Half turning, Starwish blinked as Bumblebee stumbled down a pile of rubble to stand, panting, in front of her, “Bumblebee, what are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s doorwings twitched and shifted, their highly advanced sensors working on deciphering his surroundings as he answered, “Looking for you! I saw you drive off after Ultra Magnus ordered you to retreat and I came to make sure you were alright!”</p>
<p>Starwish started to reply when the scream of jet engines overhead cut her off. Two jets, identical in all but color, swooped low, transforming in midair to land on either side of the two Autobots. Starwish stared calmly into blood red optics, her buzz saw dropping out of subspace in place of her left servo. Bumblebee hissed in surprise, his twin blasters unsubspacing as he whirled on the seeker that had landed behind him, “Seekers!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Enemies detected: Patient in immediate risk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Beginning defense protocols.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish didn’t respond as she lunged forward toward the blue and yellow seeker in front of her, buzz saw whining as she slashed at his cockpit. The Seeker stepped back and to the right, deflecting her buzz saw with a large sword. Her opponent growled in surprised pain as her prosthetics suddenly activated, one of them wielding a scalpel that sliced into his left shoulder wing, leaving a painful gash. Twisting around, Starwish crouched in preparation for another charge, optics hard and focused as her prosthetics waved in the air above her threateningly. Each prosthetic hummed as it equipped a surgical tool that could easily be turned into a weapon given the circumstances.</p>
<p>Blue paint reflected the sharp light of her scalpel as the seeker stepped back and raised his sword into a guard pose. Starwish hesitated for a klik, he was holding back, that much was evident. The why, less so. Her right servo clutched the spark canister containing her latest patient’s spark tightly, processor racing to decipher the mech’s actions.</p>
<p>A cry of pain made her helm snap around, Bumblebee was struggling in the second seeker’s grasp. He was sporting several dents and leaking from a sword-inflicted cut in his armor, his faceplates contorted in pain as he struggled to repel the newest attack on his person. One yellow doorwing was held tightly in the seeker’s left servo, forced to bend in an unnatural position that, while not breaking the doorwing, caused great pain to the wiggling youngling. The green and grey seeker twisted the doorwing a little more, his right servo holding Bumblebee’s arms tightly behind his back struts, thus preventing Bumblebee from prying the strong servo off of his doorwing.</p>
<p>Starwish bolted, her legs launching her across the distance between herself and Bumblebee’s struggle. The wounded seeker lunged to intercept her, his bulkier frame acting as a barricade as his right servo reached out to ensnare her.</p>
<p>Her buzz saw disappeared, her servo reappearing in time to grab the seeker’s lower arm. Using the outstretched arm of the seeker as a stepping block, she swiftly swung her pedes up onto his shoulder plate, just behind the wing fin protruding from it. Pushing off, she sent the seeker stumbling away, his balance thrown by being used as a springboard for Starwish’s backflip.</p>
<p>Her buzz saw dropped neatly back into place, powering on with a dangerous whine as she twisted in mid-air to land facing the green and grey seeker who was shaking Bumblebee savagely by his doorwing, angry that the stubborn mechling had kicked the sensitive wing on his lower leg.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics narrowed as she charged, that mech had made a critical error in attempting to take Bumblebee hostage and had just made an even greater one by hurting him. Bumblebee was one of her patients and a Healer never let harm come to a patient. If that meant <b>inflicting</b> harm on the attacker, then so be it. With optic blurring speed, she gouged a rapid series of deep scratches in the chest plating of the seeker, forcing him to release Bumblebee in order to defend himself.</p>
<p>Bumblebee dropped to the ground, keening in pain at his now dislocated doorwing. Starwish stood protectively over him, her prosthetics waving threateningly at one seeker even as she initiated a stare-down with the other. The two seekers prowled cautiously around her in perfect sync, watching her every move as she followed their positions with her sensitive audio receptors and optics. They had underestimated her previously, and now had the injuries to testify to the bad judgement of that move. They were not going to do so again.</p>
<p>Starwish’s processor analyzed her chances of winning the upcoming fight without aid. With both seekers on their guard and ready for her this time, her chances of succeeding in battle while preserving the lives of both Bumblebee and her patient were almost nil. She needed backup. Not bothering with her comlink, her audio amplifiers could pick up the faint hum of proximity jammers emitting from both mechs, she reopened her spark bond with Ultra Magnus, <em>“I am in a standoff with two seekers. Bumblebee is down and I have a spark in a preserving canister. I need backup at these coordinates.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s response was instantaneous, a strong pulse of protectiveness surging over her even before she had finished listing off the coordinates, <em>“Just hang on, Little One! We are on our way!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish stared grimly into knowing red optics, she had a strong feeling that Ultra Magnus and whatever backup he was bringing would not arrive in time. The look in her opponent’s optics was clear, this was all planned. Their master wanted her specifically, and if he wanted her badly enough to send two elite seekers after her, then Megatron would no doubt have an ample distraction in place to keep the Autobots busy until it was too late.</p>
<p>Metal shifted behind her and Starwish glanced down at Bumblebee. The youngling was struggling to get up again, his optics blazing with the determination to fight. <em>They will destroy anyone who gets in the way of their objective. Anyone who tries to protect me. They will destroy Bumblebee.</em> There was only a split klik left to decide her next course of action, the two seekers were tensing to charge.</p>
<p>If she was captured, her life was almost assuredly forfeit. If she stood and fought, she might remain free. But Bumblebee’s spark, and the spark beating steadily in the canister clutched in her right servo would not. If she stood and fought for her own life, they would most assuredly die.</p>
<p>She had a choice, her life or theirs. In the end, it was no choice at all. Not for a healer. Not for a friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Sunstreaker spun, his swords slicing through the knee plating of another Decepticon, his spark pounding with the thrill that always came in battle. But this thrill had a tenser edge to it than usual. This was the thrill of being in battle alone, without the safety of his other half right next to him, supporting him, working with him toward a united goal. Sunstreaker ducked under a close blaster shot, a low snarl rippling from his vocalizer as he rapidly whirled to parry an axe-wielding Decepticon and push him back.</p>
<p>The Autobots were outnumbered, Sunstreaker had been able to tell that the instant he had arrived on the battlefield. But despite the larger force of the Decepticons, the Autobots had managed to halt the Decepticons from pushing further into the city. As Prowl had once stated about a similar battle, ‘the quality of the troops is more important than their quantity’.</p>
<p>Catching the axe with one of his swords, he used the other to swiftly decapitate his opponent, snorting contemptuously as he rolled deeper into the fight in search of a new target, <em>one less to shoot at us. </em>Sunstreaker’s com flared to life as a fellow Autobot screamed over the open channel, ::Gestalt! They brought a fragging Gestalt! Look out-argh!:: Sunstreaker looked sharply to his right, skidding to a stop as a roar shook the ground, heralding the rising silhouette of a Decepticon five member Gestalt that had just combined.</p>
<p><em>Well scrap.</em> Sunstreaker slid into a crouch, optics narrowing. The Gestalt had not noticed him yet, it was too busy lumbering after Ultra Magnus and his team. Sunstreaker zoomed in his optics on the back of the Gestalt’s combined form, looking for a vulnerable transformation seam to exploit. <em>There’s a good one. Cut off the helm and the entire thing falls.</em> Sunstreaker rolled forward, gaining speed as he dodged one-on-one Autobot/Decepticon fights and jumped over debris, his swords held easily at his sides as he prepared to jump up onto the roaring Gestalt.</p>
<p>The makeshift ramp he had chosen as his launch point loomed rapidly ahead of him, causing his spark to pound with the thought of the impending jump, <em>just a little faster.</em> Shooting up the ramp, Sunstreaker leaped into the air, hurtling toward the Gestalt’s unprotected back struts, swords raised high to stab the transformation seam at the base of its neck.</p>
<p>A ripple of shock, anger, and fear surged through his spark, bringing with it a whiplash of agony that speared into his right arm just moments before his impact with the Gestalt. It felt like something had just ripped into his right shoulder joint, tearing it open at the seam as his twin’s pained scream echoed over their bond, <em>“Sunny!”</em>. His arm went instinctively limp, dropping one of his swords as he yowled in pain. His thoughts of attacking Gestalt now shattered and his left arm clutching at his right in surprised pain, Sunstreaker slammed uncontrollably into the Gestalt’s back, bouncing and rolling down the length of the ridged metal surface before hitting the ground with a startled wheeze of his vents.</p>
<p>His optics flickered, trying to reset after the hard impact of his helm against the ground as his spark reached out frantically for his other half, <em>“Sideswipe? Sideswipe?”</em></p>
<p>The pain of his own frame mingled with that of Sideswipe’s as Sideswipe shouted desperately over the bond, <em>“They’re in the Bunker! Decepticons are in the Bunker! Ravage has Zipline! </em><b><em>Ravage has Zipline</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s optics finished reseting as he struggled to clamber to his pedes, his processor barely scrambling together enough sense to bellow over the open Autobot channel, ::Decepticons have breached the Bunker! The twinlings are at risk! Decepticons have breached the Bunker!:: His left leg strut protested his attempts to put weight on it and he flopped to the ground with a frustrated cry. His brother and his younglings needed him, he didn’t have time for the injuries his internal HUD was highlighting for his attention.</p>
<p>He tried again, only to freeze when a large square shadow loomed over him. Twisting around, he looked up, his spark skipping in its chamber with a mix of fear and outrage when he saw the looming pede of the sneering Gestalt hovering right over his frame, preparing to crush him. The combined voices of the five Decepticons formed a deep, contemptuous rumble as they said, “Should have run away, puny Autobot.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker saw his own offlining flash before his optics and felt an emotion that he hadn’t known since youngling-hood vaguely wash over him. Despair. He was going to offline. He was going to offline and take Sideswipe with him just when the twinlings needed them most. Sideswipe, sensing his despair even in the midst of his own conflict, reached to him desperately over their bond, <em>“Sunny? Sunstreaker! What is it? Whatever it is, get up! Run!”</em> Even though the certainty of his offlining had already settled deep in Sunstreaker’s tanks, he forced himself to look directly into the optics of the Gestalt without any sign of fear.</p>
<p>Curling his lip plates in a sneer of his own, Sunstreaker hissed wordlessly, showing his contempt for his destroyer in the flare of his armor and the defiance in his gaze. The Gestalt just laughed, ignoring the desperate blaster fire peppering his frame as their combined vocalizers produced a disjointed sound that grated over Sunstreaker’s spinal strut like ground glass.</p>
<p>The Gestalt was still laughing as the massive pede came down. Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, the world around him slowing down as he did one last thing for his family. Sending as strong a pulse of affection and care as he could to his terrified younglings and his confused brother, Sunstreaker walled off his end of the bond. If his bond block was strong enough, there was a chance that Sideswipe would survive the severing. There was a chance that the twinlings would not lose both of their guardians that cycle.</p>
<p>Sideswipe was flinging himself against the wall, pleading for Sunstreaker to reopen their connection and explain what was going on. Sunstreaker refused the plea, his vents stilling as only one thought repeated endlessly through his processor. <em>I’m sorry … Sideswipe…</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Siege Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sideswipe was flinging himself against the wall, pleading for Sunstreaker to reopen their connection. Sunstreaker refused the plea, his vents stilling as only one thought repeated endlessly through his processor. <em>I’m sorry …</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bluestreak watched in horror through his scope as the Decepticon Gestalt stomped down firmly on Sunstreaker, his spark going cold with terror. <em>No …</em> His finger hovered uselessly over the firing stud of his favorite sniper rifle, his optics defocusing in shock as the entire battlefield seemed to come to a stop down below him. He had missed. He had <b>missed</b>. He had lined his sights up to the Gestalt’s left optic, one of its only real weak points, but just as he had fired, a Decepticon seeker had swooped in front of his post, taking the shot through the wing by accident.</p>
<p>He had missed … and Sunstreaker had just payed the price. Bluestreak bowed his helm, doorwings shaking violently as that thought clawed endlessly through his processor, throwing him into a memory loop. Showing him again and again within the space of nano-kliks just how he had failed at a critical moment, at the moment of a friend’s most dire need. <em>No, no, no, no, please no. Not this, not this! No, no, no, no-</em></p>
<p>His com crackled faintly in his audio receptor, the voice speaking over it sounding far away despite the com being wired into his helm, ::-frag? Sun- alive!:: Slowly the words sunk into his processor, <em>what?</em> Bluestreak’s tear-filled optics slowly opened, staring vacantly at the floor. <em>Did he just say …?</em> A roar shook the air, seeming to shake even the tower in which Bluestreak was sequestered. It was followed by a crash which definitely shook the tower. A crash that was unmistakably the sound of several tons of metal being toppled over.</p>
<p>Bluestreak’s helm snapped up, his optics searching the battlefield in confusion. He stared in shock at the distant sight of the Decepticon Gestalt, toppled onto its back and flailing wildly. <em>How?</em> Bluestreak hastily realigned his right optic with his rifle scope, using it’s specialized zoom function to bring that section of the battlefield into clear view. Bluestreak felt his mouth plates flop open at what he saw as confused shouting bombarded him through his comlink.</p>
<p>An Autobot unintentionally quoted Bluestreak’s scattered thoughts over the com, ::Is that … Hardwire?:: Bluestreak hastily checked his scope for damages, unable to believe what he was seeing. The diagnostic came up clean and Bluestreak looked again, a dumbfounded hope blooming wildly in his spark at the sight of Hardwire, his frame visibly heaving from exertion as he stood protectively over the hunched form Sunstreaker. A <b>still functioning</b> Sunstreaker. <em>He’s alive? Sunstreaker’s alive? How is he-? Did Hardwire just-?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire’s frame arched as he bellowed at the slowly sitting up Gestalt, red optics flashing with rage that was clearly visible to all on the now completely silent battlefield. For a moment, nobody moved. Not Autobot, not Decepticon, even the seekers flying overhead had stopped their midair one-on-one fights to hover and stare in shock. Bluestreak hastily activated his end of the com, ::What just happened? I didn’t get to see it all and what it looks like can’t possibly be what it really is so what just happened?::</p>
<p>Blaster’s voice whispered in awe over the com, ::Hardwire grabbed that Gestalt’s pede and … and toppled it over…:: Bluestreak blinked, wondering if he had heard that correctly. Hardwire, normal sized Hardwire, had just physically grabbed a Gestalt’s pede when it was in its combined form and not only stopped it from stomping on Sunstreaker, but then pushed it over?</p>
<p>Optimus’s voice thundered over the channel, snapping all of the present Autobots out of their shock, ::Autobots! Resume the attack! Drive the Decepticons out of the city!::</p>
<p>Bluestreak snapped out of his daze, gripping his sniper rifle firmly as he immediately lined up his sights to the Gestalt’s optic again. The Gestalt was starting to get over the collective shock of being knocked over by a non-combiner and was beginning to stand. Bluestreak’s tank fluttered, then settled with cold determination, <em>I won’t miss this time!</em></p>
<p>His optics narrowed as he gently squeezed the firing stud, adding just the right amount of pressure that would coax his rifle into firing. He instinctively accounted for recoil and atmospheric conditions, his doorwings constantly updating his processor’s data right up until the moment the condensed round of armor-puncturing plasma left the barrel of his rifle. The shot surged through the air, screaming past the resumed aerial battles, over the helms of struggling Autobots and Decepticons, and straight into the left optic of the angrily towering Gestalt.</p>
<p>With a bellow, the Gestalt’s helm jerked to the side under the force of the blow, one large servo rising to cover the wound as it staggered back a step. Bluestreak growled in a moment of fierce satisfaction. His rifle didn’t have enough firepower to offline the Gestalt in one shot, but it did have enough power to do some damage and distract it. <em>Just one more shot and the helm will be blind! Then the Gestalt will have to separate and I can pick them off!</em></p>
<p>Prowl’s voice interceded in the middle of his lining up the next shot, ::Bluestreak! Target at these coordinates. The Decepticon’s Communications Officer has arrived on the battlefield. Take him down!::</p>
<p>Bluestreak bit his lip plating, reluctantly but obediently shifting his position to find and target Soundwave, ::What about the Gestalt?::</p>
<p>Silverbolt swooped past Bluestreak’s tower, his voice dry and slightly wary, as if intimidated by his own words, ::Yeah … I think Hardwire has that matter well in servo Bluestreak.::</p>
<p>Bluestreak resisted the urge to look over in the Gestalt’s direction to see what Silverbolt meant. He had an important job to do. Besides, after seeing what Hardwire had managed to do in order to save Sunstreaker, Bluestreak thought he had a good idea what Silverbolt meant without looking.</p>
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<p> </p>
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<p>Hardwire’s vents dragged in debris choked air in an attempt to help his cooling fans regulate his frame temperature as he glared up at the towering mech before him. The red haze in his optics was thick and overpowering as he snarled darkly at his chosen opponent. This mech was going to pay for what he had attempted to do. Trying to attack a guardian of younglings was a <b>very</b> big mistake. The massive mech snarled back down at him, his vocalizer rasping with the tones of five different voices instead of one. Hardwire’s helm tilted to one side in brief puzzlement as he took a few steps to the right, drawing his opponent’s attention away from the injured Autobot on the ground.</p>
<p>With a bellow, the mech in front of him drew and swung a massive hammer, swinging it down at Hardwire’s helm with a mighty whoosh of air. Hardwire reached up and caught the hammer, his cables flexing almost languidly as he gripped the larger end of the hammer firmly and pulled. He grunted as he jerked the hammer out of the other mech’s grip and flung it to the side. Looking up at his surprised enemy, Hardwire gave a contemptuous growl, the mech would have to try harder than that to bring him down. With every pulse of his spark, additional power flooded his frame, washing away the fatigue that had been building in his gears and replacing it with rage.</p>
<p>Not allowing the other mech another opportunity to strike, Hardwire ran forward, his conduit sword dangling easily in one servo, a high powered Kaonian Sniper rifle in the other. Streaking forward, Hardwire twisted at the waist as he ran between the other mech’s legs, pointing the muzzle of his rifle mere inches away from a transformation seam and firing point blank. The high powered blast, meant for covering great distances before unleashing terrible damage, pounded a dent into the thick leg armor. The shot bent the transformation seam painfully out of place, the warped metal now pinching or even severing a few of the sensitive energon lines underneath.</p>
<p>The shot made his opponent bellow in pain and bend over to swat at Hardwire. Hardwire dived behind the mech’s injured pede, subspacing his rifle as he did so before leaping up and grabbing at a ridge in the mech’s back leg armor. Hauling himself up, Hardwire stabbed repeatedly at the vulnerable energon conduits in the back of the mech’s left knee. Another roar of pain echoed over the screams and explosions of battle as the enemy mech’s left knee gave out and he crumpled into an unwilling kneeling position.</p>
<p>Hardwire was already crawling up the outer thigh armor, not about to be crushed by the bending leg when he still had damage to wreak and very little time with which to do it. Reaching the top of the left hip, Hardwire stabbed under the lip of the armor savagely, intentionally wiggling the blade a little bit in the wound to cause maximum damage in that single stab. His target groaned in pain and reached for him angrily, servo outstretched to catch him and crush him.</p>
<p>Hardwire leapt off of the hip plating at the last klik, landing on the side of the outstretched fingers, swiftly adding mild magnetization to his pedes so as to run swiftly up the outer side of his opponent’s servo and up the arm toward his real target on the larger mech. The helm. Hardwire’s HUD pinged softly as he charged up the shoulder joint and lunged for the transformation seam at the base of the helm,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Combat power at 400%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Amount of Red Energon dose types A and B remaining: 20%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Time remaining until termination of Level Two Guardian Mode activities: Three breems.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire snarled, his optics flashing a deep red as he drove his sword deep into the transformation seam that held the Gestalt’s helm unit to the combiners it commanded. With a howl of pain, the part of the Gestalt that was most connected to the helm, its torso, suddenly split away from its body, transforming in mid-air to reveal an enraged Helicopter mech. Like a pebble starting a rock slide, the Gestalt collapsed into its constituent mechs. Hardwire twisted in the air to land on the shoulders of one of the combined form’s former legs, a Brute, his sword flicking expertly downward toward a weak point in the mech’s back plates.</p>
<p>One of the other Gestalt mechs slammed into his side and Hardwire was forced off of his target in a tumble of snarls and clashing metal. Separating, Hardwire and the other mech scrambled to their pedes, both snarling venomously at the other as the rest of the Gestalt formed a loose circle around them.</p>
<p>The mech that had tackled him, the thickly-built helicopter mech who had been the Gestalt’s torso, bared his denta as he yanked one of his rotor blades free of his back and twirled it like a sword. Hardwire responded swiftly, his frame streaking across the distance between them, Conduit Sword snarling as bits of floating debris brushed against its energized edges. The mech stepped back and to the side, sword coming up to deflect the horizontal strike with his energy resistant rotor blade.</p>
<p>Hardwire spun with the momentum of the deflect, rotating on one pede to swing again, this time leaning closer so as to prevent another deflection. His sword met the mech’s rotor once again, both weapons sending chips of metal flying under the force of Hardwire’s blow. Hardwire’s engine rumbled powerfully as he shoved his weight against the locked blades. His opponent skidded backwards under the force of the strike, his pedes sending up sparks as he slid across the roughened road surface and overbalanced. The mech fell onto his back plating with a shocked grunt, red optics flickering upon his helm’s impact with the ground.</p>
<p>Hardwire lunged to take advantage of the moment of weakness, when several weights piled onto his back and shoulders with near identical war cries. Barely stumbling forward a step under the sudden pressure from behind, Hardwire snarled and shook himself violently, trying to dislodge the living interference to the fight. Words lanced across his vision again as he reached over his shoulder, grabbed the Brute trying to pin his arms, and threw him into the recovering Helicopter Con’s stomach plating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Amount of Red Energon dose types A and B remaining: 5%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Time remaining until termination of Level Two Guardian Mode activities: Less than one breem.</span>
</p>
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<p>Hardwire was dimly aware of a sense of urgency as he shook off and then continued to fight the Gestalt mechs, his lashing fury inflicting heavy damages on his slower opponents while the two swifter mechs who had operated as the arms and servos of their combined form continued to pepper him with EMP rounds. Static laced faintly through the red haze as he angrily grabbed the rotor blade the Helicopter mech was trying to stab him with, using it as a pulley to drag the mech into range of his shorter Conduit Sword.</p>
<p>The static began to rapidly increase as he repeatedly stabbed the mech through his chest plates and tossed the offlined frame to the side. Turning, Hardwire felt the world half-tilt to the side before righting itself in time for him to reach out and catch a jumping leg mech by his neck cables. The mech’s optics briefly flashed with fear before turning dark as Hardwire’s sword swiped across the exposed energon line in the mech’s neck.</p>
<p>Something heavy slammed into his back and Hardwire’s legs struggled to support him as he stumbled. Words scrawled over his vision again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Amount of Red Energon dose types A and B remaining: 0%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Unable to retain Level Two power requirements: Terminating Level Two Guardian Mode activities.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Resuming Level One: Resuming … resumed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Combat Power: Reduced to 70%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>No! Need to keep fighting!</em> Hardwire’s knees gave out as another blow struck him from the side, knocking him sideways and sending his sword flying from his grasp. Hardwire struggled to stand up again, the static becoming so thick around his optics that he could barely see anything other than dim shapes. His audio receptors buzzed loudly, drowning out the sounds of the surrounding lumps of darkness that he knew had to be mechs. Enemy mechs.</p>
<p>With a final rush of rage, Hardwire surged to his pedes, sniper rifle unsubspacing in place of his dropped Conduit Sword. His sensors registered the contact of his rifle’s muzzle against something metal and he fired, his audio receptors barely making out the crack of the rifle’s discharge.</p>
<p>He felt something slide painlessly between his lower right back plates, the sudden damage readouts disavowing the instinctive notion that the lack of pain meant that the contact wasn’t damaging. Hardwire felt the world tilt and connect with his left side. He struggled to get up, to keep fighting, but the blackness of stasis lock was too close for even his rage to fight away. As he slid helplessly into the darkness, he heard a voice, the voice of the strange mech who had tried to take Arcee, whisper through the static, “Be strong Hardwire-”</p>
<p>The end of the sentence was lost to the abyss of stasis lock, Hardwire’s optics dimmed and slid shut, his systems powering down against his will to save his spark. He didn’t see the worried expression of the intangible Agent 77095. Nor did he hear the remaining Gestalt members receive orders to carry him off or feel said mechs pick him up and rush him through the firefight to an awaiting dropship where Soundwave stood expressionlessly waiting for the second half of Megatron’s prize.</p>
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<p>Soundwave turned her gaze away from the damaged Bāsākā mech and the slender white femme now urgently tending to him. The dropship shuddered as it lifted off, the specialized shields shrugging off the Autobot fire that stabbed at it from both the air and ground as the Autobots attempted to stop the abduction of two of their members.</p>
<p>Soundwave balanced lightly in the tilting and weaving ship, careful to avoid bumping the fresh weld that was keeping her from leaking vital energon. The Autobot sniper had to be commended for being an excellent shot. Something she would have been less grudging to admit if his pinpoint accuracy hadn’t enabled him to vaporize a sizable chunk of her alt-mode wing right at the shoulder.</p>
<p>Forcing her attention away from her own injury, Soundwave reached out to Ravage, <em>“Ravage: Report.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage hissed as he skidded around a corner of the Autobot’s main base, barely avoiding being fatally shot through the helm by the enraged Autobot Sideswipe, <em>“Not good! I lost the youngling I’d grabbed! Little fragger makes more noise than Rumble and Frenzy combined! He blew out my right audio receptor and I dropped him! More Autobots have arrived as backup for their caretaker. Orders?”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave rapidly calculated what to do based off of Ravage’s specific circumstances and a host of data pouring in about the general state of the battle. The battle was not going well for either side. While the Decepticons had originally started out with both the element of surprise and a sizable advantage in numbers. The tenacity of the Autobots, the lethal efficiency of their tactician and field commanders, and the arrival of Optimus Prime on the field, had been sufficient to hold the Decepticons back until Iacon could scramble together enough energon to open a groundbridge and send more troops in to help their Prime.</p>
<p>The city of Algol was leveled. It’s defenses would be rendered moot for at least three orns. But the Decepticons had lost too much of their forces to actually hold the position against the fresh Autobot reinforcements. Megatron’s latest communication ping sealed her decision and she ordered, <em>“Ravage: Return. City: Lost. We will return another time. Younglings: Unimportant. Main objectives: Achieved.”</em></p>
<p>Ravage hissed one last time at the Autobots before whirling and disappearing into the ventilation system, rapidly making his way out of the base and toward the rendezvous point where more dropships were waiting to pick up the retreating Decepticons. Megatron’s orders played back in her mind as she reached up a servo to grab a ceiling handle for extra balance as the ship shook under the force of a particularly powerful blast.</p>
<p>Retreat. It was a logical decision, albeit one Soundwave would have acknowledged and acted upon with greater swiftness than her leader and mate. He had always been irrationally stubborn in the face of defeat, even a purely statistical one. Of late, his irrationality had grown even more, making him a far more demanding leader than most would have considered wise.</p>
<p>Rumble and Frenzy glanced up at her, sensing her thoughts from where they stood on either side of her, acting as bodyguards in case either of the prisoners should act up. Soundwave dismissed their silent concern with an absent wave over their bonds. They did not need to know her steadily growing worry over the state of Megatron’s sanity. They were too young to worry about such things.</p>
<p>Besides, her concerns did not matter at the moment. What mattered was the status of their objectives. Even though it was not in Decepticon servos, Algol City had fallen. The pass to Iacon was now cleared of its greatest obstacle. <em>Also …</em> her optics moved behind her mask to stare at the two prisoners, one in stasis, the other laboring with a drone-like diligence to make sure the mech stayed in the land of the online, <em>Megatron now has what may be the key to overcoming all other obstacles that stand between the Decepticons and Cybertron itself.</em></p>
<p>Her positioning system alerted her to the fact that the dropship was now out of Autobot territory and Soundwave in turn pinged the pilot with a slight change in flight path. Darkmount would have to wait. Soundwave had two prisoners who needed to be dropped off at different location in Kaon within the next five joors … and Primus knew how Shockwave despised tardiness. It interfered with his tight schedule.</p>
<p>The white femme suddenly looked up and stared at Soundwave’s mask. She didn’t say anything, but the dual colored optics reflected in the mask’s surface shone with an unreadable emotion that looked disturbingly like knowledge. The femling looked away, returning to her self-appointed duties, and Soundwave attempted to shake off the intense feeling that suddenly assaulted her spark. Guilt.</p>
<p>Soundwave forced herself to look away from the femling, she had shed her moral coding during the very beginning stages of the war. What she did was necessary for a greater whole, a greater Cybertron. The end of the Great War and the caste system would justify the means Megatron and the Decepticons went to in order to achieve it.</p>
<p>So why did Soundwave still feel horribly sick inside?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Cages</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment Jazz stepped off of his dropship with Fermium and Mirage in tow, he knew that the fight for Algol City hadn’t gone well. Mechs rushed back and forth in a frenzy of activity, emptying dropships of passengers, most of them being carried on hover-stretchers, as quickly as possible so as to let the ship take off and fetch more.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus could be clearly seen in the thick of the organized chaos, standing well above most of the crowd as he boomed out orders both out loud and over comlinks. Jazz narrowed his optics as he herded a dazed looking Fermium through the crowd. Ultra Magnus’s behavior was … off. He was rigid and cold, seeming to care for nothing but orders and rules as his biting tones kept the Autobots in the hangar on the move. Ultra Magnus was always all business during battle and its hectic aftermath, but this kind of rigidness had not been present since Starwish had entered his life and become his charge.</p>
<p>Jazz felt dread flicker through his spark and hastily forced it back, rushing to conclusions without all of the facts was a sure way to get killed in the field. Doing so even on base could have similarly disastrous consequences. Jazz turned to Mirage, ::Take Fermium to the decontamination chamber and get him started on the conversion process.::</p>
<p>Mirage’s gaze slid unreadably from Jazz to Ultra Magnus and back before he nodded and gently took the confused scientist’s arm, leading the brightly colored mech away with barely a word. Now freed from the other mechs’ presence, Jazz bobbed and swerved through the crowd to Ultra Magnus’s side. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to know if everyone was alright. If Starwish was alright.</p>
<p>Jazz reached Ultra Magnus just as the other bot paused in his rapid fire salvo of orders. Jazz tapped his arm to get his attention, “Magnus!”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus whirled, his optics settling on Jazz instantly, “First Lieutenant Jazz, what is your status and that of your mechs?”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned under his visor briefly as he saluted and answered, “No injuries ta report, sir. Buffer is still en route ta Iacon though and Mirage and I brought back a neutral from Kaon. Mirage is prepping him for the conversion process now.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded absently and waved Jazz off as if he was just a common soldier, “Understood. Report to Prime for debriefing immediately.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s frown returned and this time stayed as he stepped in Ultra Magnus’s way, “What’s the status of the Algol survivors, Magnus?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s optics were harder than raw energon as he briskly brushed the smaller mech to the side, “That is a matter for the general debriefing in six joors. <b>Dismissed</b>, Lieutenant.” Ultra Magnus pushed his way into the constant flow of mechs, his voice rising over the hubbub to once again bark out orders and demand status updates.</p>
<p>Jazz stood utterly still for a moment, letting the bustle of the hangar surge and ebb around him as his processor raced with dread-filled thoughts. Something was very, very wrong. Worse, Jazz had a strong feeling that something was wrong with Starwish. Whirling on his heel strut, Jazz ran out of the hangar. He needed intel on the situation and he needed it <b>now</b>. Information was the life of a spy, without it, things went seriously wrong. Often to the point of fatality. Jazz didn’t have enough information on the situation and that set all kinds of alarms off in his processor.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus wasn’t in the mood to enlighten him and Jazz wasn’t about to wait six joors to uncover the problem. Therefor, he had two options, check the medbay, which would most likely get a wrench thrown at his helm, or check with Prowl. Seeing as the second option was more likely to produce results, Jazz opened his com, ::Jazz ta Prowl. What is your location?::</p>
<p>There was a pause before Prowl answered, his voice sounding decidedly clipped and weary, ::Acknowledged, Jazz. I am in the Command Center. What is your status?::</p>
<p>Jazz turned a corner, leaping around a startled Autobot as he headed for Prowl’s location, ::Ah’m fine, but somethin’ tells meh thah Ah’m an exception ta tha norm right now. What happened out there?::</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice was mildly distracted, ::The Decepticons managed to infiltrate our defenses and sabotage our sensor grid and defense cannons. They then used a groundbridge to launch an attack on Algol. We lost almost half of the forces stationed at Algol before reinforcements arrived.::</p>
<p><em>Scrap! So that’s why there was almost no-bot in the Decepticon hangar! Most of them were taking a groundbridge to launch an early attack on Algol!</em> Jazz bounded through the doors of the Command Center, neatly dodging a Junior Tactician as the mech rushed to a data console. Jazz came to stop next to Prowl and a severely dented Optimus Prime, both of whom were surveying the rush and work of the Iacon Command Center, listening to reports and occasionally giving orders.</p>
<p>Jazz spared Optimus a brief glance, Ratchet was no doubt going to have a few things to say to the Prime about “taking care of himself” when the CMO was done dealing with more critical patients. Looking back at Prowl, he demanded, “Tha cons were given a priority order. Megatron wanted Hardwire, Starwish, an’ the twinlings. Did ya get Buffer’s transmission?”</p>
<p>Prowl looked away from the report he had been skimming over, his optics locking with Jazz’s grimly, “We received the communication moments before Soundwave jammed our long range signals. Both Hardwire and Starwish were already on the field when it came.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt the dread from before hit him again with a vengeance. Keeping his voice carefully controlled, he switched to a private com channel, ::What is their status?::</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings sagged briefly, the glow from a nearby data terminal throwing eerie blue highlights on the tactician’s dented frame, ::Zipline and Fast Track were attacked by Ravage and a cloaker, who attempted to abduct them. The effort was thwarted by Sideswipe and several other Autobots.:: Prowl glanced away from Jazz for a klik before he said the words Jazz was sincerely hoping not to hear, ::Hardwire and Starwish were captured during the course of the battle.::</p>
<p>Jazz’s felt a gust of air leave his vents, <em>frag it all!</em> One servo clenched as he whirled to face Optimus, ::Ah’ll grab Raj an we’ll head back out Prime. We’ll be in Kaon by-::</p>
<p>Optimus held up a servo to stop his words, ::Negative Jazz, you will stay here for the present time.::</p>
<p>Jazz bristled, “But Prime!”</p>
<p>Optimus laid the previously upheld servo on Jazz’s shoulder, his voice over the comlink rumbling softly, ::We <b>will</b> rescue them Jazz, but we need a plan first. If you rush to Kaon, you may very well make things worse for them. You know that.::</p>
<p>Jazz felt his protests die in his vocalizer, he knew that Optimus was right, rushing back to Kaon without a plan or any form of backup would be almost assuredly suicide. They needed a plan and a cohesive rescue team if they were to have even a chance of getting Starwish and Hardwire back before it was too late. Looking away, Jazz stared blankly at the far wall as Optimus let go of his shoulder and returned to his tasks. The saboteur ignored the surprised glances from mechs who had overheard his outburst, his thoughts were focused on Hardwire and Starwish. <em>Stay strong you two. We’re going to be there as fast as we can.</em></p>
<p>His processor chose that moment to taunt him with images of Starwish, to remind him of how gentle-natured and frail she was. Would she be able to survive the Decepticons long enough to be rescued? She was so small, so shy, so unprepared for the viciousness of Megatron and his troops. <em>Star…</em> his servo clenched again, <em>I’m coming Star. We’re all gonna be coming. You just need to stay online till we get there. Just … hang on … please.</em></p>
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<p>In the movies, prison cells were always dark. The darkness would be oppressive and terrifying, embodying the horrid nature of its owner. But this was worse. Everything was bright, well lit, robbing her of any sense of anonymity or privacy that darkness would have granted. The overpowering sense of clinical examination, like being a bug under a microscope, seemed to fill every corner of the depressingly clean room, looming over her like a physical, malevolent presence.</p>
<p>It choked her very spark with a feeling of hopelessness while the barrier over the cell entrance purred softly like a hungry predator from which she could not escape. Starwish sat shivering in the far corner of the small cell, trying to block out her surroundings and situation, trying to pretend that she was anywhere but her current location.</p>
<p>It wasn’t working.</p>
<p>Her vents dragged in air in ragged gasps as she rested her forehelm on her arms and squeezed her optics tightly shut. She drew her knees a little closer to her chest, trying to fold in on herself a little more as if the action might help isolate her from reality. She was in a Decepticon prison cell. Worse, she wasn’t in a normal prison cell, one that mirrored the horrible appearance of her predicament and offered at least the solace, or curse, of being truly alone, she was in one of Shockwave’s holding cells.</p>
<p>There were cameras in almost every location and drones keeping an optic on everything else. She hadn’t seen very many Cybertronians in the lab, but the ones she had seen had either been guards … or the moaning shells of what used to be other prisoners. Just the thought of the glimpses she had gotten of Shockwave’s laboratory before she had been dragged away to a cell made another sob rise in her throat.</p>
<p>She wished desperately for it all to be a nightmare, a sick delusion of her tired processor. She wanted to know that any klik she would wake up with Moonracer and Flareup shaking her worriedly out of her nightmare and with Ultra Magnus sending strength and gentle concern through their spark bond. But no comforting pulse swept over her spark, no phantom sensation of shaking dragged her out of the reflective white cell and to her own room where her roommates would stand over her with understanding expressions. This was reality, and she was well and truly on her own.</p>
<p>The sound of pede steps coming down the corridor made Starwish stiffen. Her optics snapped open, staring in terror at her own lap as she listened to the pede steps come closer. Her vents stalled briefly when the sound came to a stop right outside her cell, <em>don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up and maybe whoever it is will go away. Please go away. Please just go away!</em></p>
<p>“Hey. You. In the cell.” Shaking, Starwish refused to look up at the cold bark from outside her cage. She just wanted whoever it was to go away. As much as she hated being alone and watched through cameras, she was very sure that any physical Decepticon company could only lead to pain.</p>
<p>Her audio receptors flicked in surprise when a second voice spoke to the first, “Maybe she’s in recharge?”</p>
<p>The first voice, whose accent sounded strangely like something she’d expected to hear in downtown New York City, snarled back, “Use your sensors dumbaft! She’s online an’ ignoring us!”</p>
<p>The second voice took immediate offense to the insult of the first and there was a clang of metal hitting metal as he hissed, “I knew that! So don’t call me dumbaft!”</p>
<p>Starwish could almost hear the first voice sneer as another clang pierced the air, “Or what, <b>dumbaft</b>? The name suits yah if you’re going to act so glitchy!”</p>
<p>The second voice snarled insults as the clanging grew in intensity until both voices were almost drowned out by the banging and scrabbling sounds just outside her cell. Morbid curiosity conquered her fear and made Starwish slowly look up to see what was going on. She blinked at the spectacle unfolding just in front of her cage.</p>
<p>Two Decepticons, no bigger than Zipline and Fast Track, where rolling up and down the short expanse of hallway visible from her corner, hitting each other and spitting insults with the savagery of two squabbling tomcats. Although it was mildly difficult to tell with the constant entangling of limbs going on between the two, Starwish realized that the two were identical accept for the thin highlight stripes running up and down the arms and legs of their armor.</p>
<p>One of them, the one currently biting the other’s servo, was a dark navy color interlaced with a bright royal blue stripes running down each limb. The other, who was now firmly smacking his counterpart on the helm with his unbitten servo, was dark navy with deep, blood-like red stripes decorating his armor in the same pattern as his opponent. It was rather unnerving and yet amusing to see such identical Decepticons firmly insulting the other’s looks and intelligence.</p>
<p>Starwish continued to watch them in a horrified sort of fascination. A thought suddenly occurred to her, <em>They’re Mini-Cassettes, like Eject and Rewind.</em> The two fighting mini-cassettes abruptly stopped fighting and craned their helms to stare at her from behind identical red visors. Starwish flinched under their gaze, realizing that she had said her thoughts out loud. The blue one shoved his counterpart aside roughly, scrambled to his pedes, and firmly stomped over to the energy barrier preventing her escape, “Hey! We are <b>not</b> like those two Auto-brats! We are way better!”</p>
<p>The other one stormed over to stand next to his twin, “Yeah! We’re faster, stronger, and way better at … everything than those Auto-wimps!”</p>
<p>Starwish immediately ducked her helm back down, curling up into a tight ball once again with the low murmur of, “Sorry.” There was a long pause during which Starwish internally begged for the two small Decepticons to go away. Small or not, if they took extreme offense to her comment, they could easily beat her to within an inch of her life or more. Especially since one of Shockwave’s guards had disabled her access to her subspace pockets, thus disarming her of any of her surgical tools-come-weapons.</p>
<p>Finally, there was a soft ping and one of them hissed, “See what you did? You scared her into ignoring us again.”</p>
<p>There was another ping and a retort of, “I scared her? More like your ugly faceplate sent her into spark shock.”</p>
<p>There was another long pause during which Starwish dimly guessed a stare-down was occurring before the Decepticon with the thickest accent said, “Hey. Stop ignoring us!” Starwish peaked at them briefly before burying her helm again, she didn’t want these belligerent mini-cassettes to see her welling tears.</p>
<p>Another uncomfortable silence stretched between the three Cybertronians before the second mech growled, “We brought yah energon, Autobot! So pay attention to us if you don’t want to starve.” Slowly, Starwish raised her helm again, trying her best to look stoic and emotionless as she faced the twin gazes of the newcomers once more.</p>
<p>True to his word, the blue highlighted one held up a small energon cube for her to see before ambling to the side of the energy barrier and doing something out of her line of sight. The red one continued to stare her down challengingly, as if daring her to try something as the energy barrier fizzled out and the two marched inside. Starwish didn’t dare move as the blue one of the pair strode to the center to the small cell and held out the energon cube tantalizingly. Starwish glanced from the cube to the small mech holding it and back again warily. Her fuel levels were low, it had been several joors since she had last refueled. Since before the surprise attack on Algol in fact. But the stories she had heard about the Decepticons made her wary of simply trying to take the cube.</p>
<p>The blue mech swished the cube’s contents slightly, “Well? I’m not coming all the way over to ya.” Starwish decided not to point out that “all the way over” was only about three steps away. Instead, she cautiously uncurled from her corner and reached tentatively for the energon cube.</p>
<p>Just before her fingers touched the cube, the red one suddenly yelled and lunged at her, “<b>Rah</b>!” Starwish’s audio amplifiers jerked backward at the loud noise and Starwish jolted back with a shriek of terror. The mech came to an abrupt stop after making only a two-step lunge and laughed, “Did yah hear yourself scream? Hah! <b>This</b> is the femme that landed a hit on Dreadwing and Skyquake? Those two are slipping up!” The mech continued to laugh at Starwish’s startled tears until his counterpart crossed the short distance between them and smacked him hard on the helm.</p>
<p>The red-lined mech stopped laughing and growled angrily, “What was that for?”</p>
<p>The blue one motioned curtly to Starwish, “Soundwave said to feed her, not scare her! Get with the program, Frenzy!” Frenzy snarled darkly at the other mech, obviously insulted. Starwish stared, internally warring with emotions of fear and hope as the other mech turned back to her and smiled in a way that was presumably supposed to be comforting, “Ignore him, he’s a slaghelm. I’m Rumble, I’m the toughest of all Soundwave’s cassettes.”</p>
<p>From his corner, Frenzy mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like an insult to his fellow cassette. Rumble pointedly ignored him and held out the energon cube again, “Well? You want it or what?” Starwish timidly wiped her tears away and, after a cautious pause, snatched the energon cube and held it almost possessively as she watched the two mini-cons with large optics. The cube was much smaller than the ones she had received in Algol, it was small enough to fit neatly in her palm and was only as tall as her pinky finger. Still, it was energon, and her levels were getting very low.</p>
<p>Cautiously curling away from the two staring mini-cons, she sipped at the cube, quietly shivering as she felt the needed energy hit her tanks and dissipate into her systems. When she had drunk about half of the small cube, she looked up at her audience and whispered softly, “Why … why…?” She couldn’t get the words out, she just wasn’t sure what to ask. Why had they brought her energon? On Soundwave’s orders? Why would Soundwave care? Why were they still here? What was going to happen to her?</p>
<p>Frenzy seemed to sense at least one of her questions, “Why’d we bring ya energon? Simple. Soundwave ordered us to bring ya some. Shockwave’s too busy with his latest project ta bother and the drones won’t have ya in the schedule yet. ‘Sides…”</p>
<p>Rumble took up the talking as he suddenly leaned close to her and murmured low enough that only her audio amplifiers would catch it, “Don’t drink anything Shocks or his drones give you. You probably won’t wake up. He likes his test subjects quiet when his drones come for ‘em.” Starwish felt her spark freeze briefly in terror. Shockwave drugged his prisoner’s energon, why hadn’t she thought of that before? She glanced down fearfully at the energon in her servo, briefly wondering if there was a drug hidden within it as well.</p>
<p>Seeing the look, Frenzy snorted a laugh, “Don’t worry, we didn’t drug it. No reason to. You ain’t going nowhere.” Starwish nodded numbly, she supposed that was a good enough reason. Besides, why would they warn her about drugged energon if they’d intended to drug the ration they’d just given her?</p>
<p>Drinking a little more of the rapidly decreasing supply of energon in the cube, an odd thought crossed her processor, <em>they act a lot like kids. Kids who are running with a bad crowd, but kids all the same. Eject acted young as well. How old are they?</em></p>
<p>She decided against asking that question, it might make them angry again. Instead, she finished the last of the energon in the cube and timidly handed it back to Rumble, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Rumble looked almost surprised for a nano-klik before snorting and looking away, “Whatever. Just doing our job.” The two walked away, the barrier lowering for them as if on a hidden signal before raising once more the moment they were on the other side.</p>
<p>Frenzy glanced over his shoulder at Starwish as they walked away, his expression unreadable. Starwish felt the horrible sensation of dread that had settled in her tanks grow a bit heavier. It was almost like he was memorizing her faceplates, as if he expected never to see her again. As the two disappeared, Starwish retreated to her corner miserably, <em>considering where I am? That may not be far from the truth.</em></p>
<p>Tilting her helm back to rest on the white wall, she closed her optics tightly, <em>where are you Opi? Where are all of you? My friends…</em> Starwish’s thoughts drifted to Hardwire and she shuddered with worry, <em>Please be okay, Hardwire. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose another family member. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you or the twinlings. </em>She opened her optics and stared vacantly at the ceiling, <em>at least I know that the twinlings are safe. The Decepticons didn’t get them. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wouldn’t allow it.</em> That didn’t make her situation any better, but at least she could take comfort in knowing that the twinlings were safe from whatever horrors Shockwave had planned.</p>
<p>Just thinking about Shockwave caused tears to spring up again, and this time, Starwish couldn’t stop them from falling. She was captured. She was at the mercy of whatever Shockwave wanted from her. What was she going to do? Wrapping her arms around herself and drawing up her knees, Starwish closed her optics again, tears still rolling freely from behind her optic shutters as a sob escaped her vocalizer, <em>Someone, anyone, save me. Please. Wake me up. Opi. Jazz. Anyone. Don’t let Shockwave take me…</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunstreaker lay in the medbay main room, staring</p>
<p>at the ceiling as he was possessively snuggled from</p>
<p>nearly both sides. Zipline was tucked under</p>
<p>his right arm just beneath the shoulder, small servos reaching around his precious plush toy to clutch at Sunstreaker’s armor. Fast Track, having exhausted himself from the stress of the cycle and his crying fit at seeing Sunstreaker’s injuries, was stretched halfway on his recharging twin and halfway on Sunstreaker’s chest plates, his plush held loosely in one servo as he sluggishly purred in response to Sunstreaker’s absent petting.</p>
<p>On his left side, Sideswipe slumped, more of his frame on the berth and his injured twin than the small chair First Aid had brought him as he dozed. His left arm stretched out to lightly flop over both the twinlings and his brother as subconscious anchor, reminding him of the fact that his family unit was safe and alive, despite the terrors of the cycle.</p>
<p>Glancing away from the ceiling to observe his family, Sunstreaker silently considered his situation. He was alive. That was a miracle he hadn’t believed could happen when the Decepticon Gestalt had towered over him and attempted to smash him flat with a pede. His helm flopped back onto the berth with a faint clink as his processor pulled up the vivid memory files of that moment when offlining had stared him in the faceplates and laughed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <em>Flashback:</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sunstreaker’s optics were closed, not willing to see the object of his demise crash down on him. He could hear Sideswipe screaming faintly through their walled off bond, begging for an explanation, for assurance that Sunstreaker was alright. His sharp audios could hear the creak and hiss of hydraulics as the pede rushed ever closer. His proximity sensors pinged his HUD crazily as his end came-</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Only for it to stop short with a loud crash of metal against metal, just above his frame. For a klik, Sunstreaker thought that perhaps the pede had crushed his frame and he was simply unable to feel it as his spark slipped out of his frame and to the Well of AllSparks. The groan of strained gears and a low savage growl suddenly made him think otherwise.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His optics snapped open only to be met with the sight of the dirty bottom of a huge pede hovering only meters above him, poised like a giant trash compactor that had been abruptly shut down. Not quite believing his own sensors, Sunstreaker dazedly looked in the direction of the growl. Red optics blazed unnaturally bright in the shadow of the pede, their owner’s engine the only noticeable sound on the abruptly silent battlefield.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sunstreaker felt his vocalizer rasp, disbelief marring his words with static as he hissed, “Hardwire?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hardwire’s gaze briefly flickered up to meet his, something akin to recognition piercing the unnatural, bright haze that clouded his optics. It really was Hardwire. He was standing almost directly over Sunstreaker’s middle, his back struts nearly bent double, shoulders and servos braced against the underside of the Gestalt’s pede, his leg gears groaning faintly from the strain of their load. Sunstreaker blinked once in denial. His optics refocused on his surroundings … only to discover that he was still lying on the ground, with a Gestalt’s pede being held meters over his frame by a snarling Hardwire. Hardwire was really there, using his own frame to hold back the weight of a</em>
  <b>
    <em> fragging Gestalt</em>
  </b>
  <em>.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Before Sunstreaker could scramble together enough sense to ask how Hardwire had gotten there and how the frag he was doing that, Hardwire’s optics flashed even brighter and his snarl erupted into a roar as he heaved upward on the massive pede he was holding. The Gestalt toppled over with a bellow, unable to keep proper balance under the force of Hardwire’s sudden surge.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sunstreaker held perfectly still, afraid to so much as vent as Hardwire stood over him in a manner he could only label as protective, vents heaving from the strain of his recent feat.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>End of Flashback</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s faceplates shifted into a dark scowl. He hadn’t seen Hardwire since. A pair of nearby Autobots had dragged him off to the nearest dropship to be transported to Iacon for medical treatment. His brother and the twinlings had, fortunately, arrived just before Sunstreaker could go crazy from worry about them. Sideswipe’s right arm had been clawed deeply by Ravage in the surprise infiltration of the Bunker and Zipline had several scuffs from being nearly dragged away by the filthy Cyber-Cat, but aside from that, the rest of his family was safe and unharmed.</p>
<p>But even that knowledge didn’t put him completely at ease. He couldn’t be at ease until he knew what had happened in the rest of the battle. Hardwire had saved his spark, and most likely the sparks of his brother and younglings in the process, yet Sunstreaker had yet to see him in the flow and bustle of the medbay. Hardwire had taken several injuries, albeit minor, by the time Sunstreaker had seen him, so why wasn’t he here? Perhaps more disturbingly, Sunstreaker hadn’t seen Starwish anywhere in the medbay or Iacon. Either as a patient or a medic.</p>
<p>With all of the wounded that had come in from Algol, if Starwish was functional and present, he would have been bound to see her at some point, tending to the less injured mechs and freeing up Ratchet and the other veteran caregivers to focus more on the critical cases instead of having to periodically send out one of the harried medics to enact emergency repairs on the minor cases before rushing back to the Surgical Wing. But he hadn’t seen her, and that made his spark flicker with dread.</p>
<p>Starwish was his younglings’ sister just as Hardwire was their brother. If anything drastic had happened to them … if they had offlined, Sunstreaker was not sure that Zipline and Fast Track would be able to recover from the shock. Especially not right after being nearly kidnapped and nearly losing one of their guardians. It would be too much for them.</p>
<p>Sideswipe stirred, awoken from his light recharge by Sunstreaker’s unhappy thoughts. Blue optics blinked blearily at him as Sideswipe’s spark brushed against his, <em>“Sunny? What’s the matter? Is your leg bothering you again?”</em> At that thought, Sideswipe sat up straight and alert, <em>“Should I call First Aid? Or Ratchet? Are the welds breaking open? Is-”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker shot him a bland look and firmly placed his left servo on top of Sideswipe’s helm in a gesture for silence. Sideswipe fell silent over their bond, worry still permeating it until Sunstreaker answered, <em>“I’m fine. I was just … thinking about Hardwire and Starwish. I haven’t seen them since the battle.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn, <em>“Hey, you’re right. Maybe … maybe I should ask around? See what I can find out?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker shook his head immediately, internally fighting down an instinctive wave of fear at being separated from his twin so soon after nearly offlining, <em>“No. Stay here. We’ll either ask everyone here in the medbay or wait for someone to come in who isn’t completely slagged and ask them.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sighed softly, clearly grateful that he didn’t have to leave his brother’s side, <em>“Someone who isn’t slagged and who also isn’t busy running around from patient to patient like an over-energized cyber-puppy.” </em>As if summoned, First Aid hurried past, his mumbling almost lost in the sounds of groans, creaking gears, and muted conversation that hung in the main medbay room like refinery smoke. Sunstreaker noted the near wild look in First Aid’s optics, the look of a bot who was seriously overworked but was too focused on his task to even realize it.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker couldn’t fault the medic for his half crazed gaze as he disappeared into the storage room for a few kliks, reemerging with a part of some kind in his servo. First Aid paused just long enough to run a general scan on the occupants of the room before disappearing through the doors that led to the Surgical Wing. No doubt he had only emerged to fetch a part required by the senior medics for an operation and the checking of the other patients had been simply a habitual action rather than conscious choice. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how many critical cases there were, but by the buildup of waiting mechs who only had relatively minor injuries, it had to be a lot.</p>
<p>One of the mechs more toward the center of the main room stared thoughtfully at the doors to the Surgical Wing before declaring, “They say that one of the medics brought in a Spark Preserving Canister. That’s probably what they’re working on.” The general stir of the main room picked up in intensity as mechs reacted to the shocking news.</p>
<p>One mech, his left arm twisted beyond use, hissed incredulously, “An S.P.C.? Those haven’t been used since the war with the Quintessons! Have they?”</p>
<p>Another mech who Sunstreaker didn’t know piped up, “Only master surgeons are allowed those because of the risk rate in transferring a spark to one. Who did the transfer?”</p>
<p>From his position exactly opposite Sunstreaker’s berth, a rookie Autobot named Hot Shot frowned thoughtfully, “Ratchet maybe? I mean … he’s the Prime’s personal medic.”</p>
<p>The conversation was growing steadily in volume, to the point where Fast Track began to stir uneasily underneath Sunstreaker’s servo. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe glared at the other occupants of the room in unison, hissing darkly at the same time, “Quiet! You’ll wake up the younglings.”</p>
<p>The other mechs immediately fell silent, they had no intention of waking the younglings and incurring the front-liner twins’ wrath. They were here to be repaired, not beaten to slag by two hot-tempered, overprotective, violence-prone guardians who, despite being in the medbay, where not injured enough to not be considered a threat.</p>
<p>As Fast Track settled down into a peaceful recharge once more, Sideswipe looked around the medbay, his optics searching for something. Sunstreaker rested his helm on the berth again, feeling a processor ache beginning to form from all of the events of the cycle. He barely acknowledged the ping in his helm that alerted him to Sideswipe opening a com channel to the other mechs in the room.</p>
<p>However, he forced himself to pay attention when Sideswipe asked the question that had been irking Sunstreaker for the past few joors, ::Has anyone seen Hardwire or Starwish since the battle?::</p>
<p>There was a small chorus of negative responses as the mechs from Algol all frowned worriedly and shook their helms. Several of the mechs in the room were not from Algol however, so Sideswipe obligingly sent still images over the channel to those who wouldn’t know Hardwire or Starwish by name. There was a pause as the Iacon mechs looked at each other or mulled over the images, trying to remember if they’d seen either of the two.</p>
<p>Finally, a mech who seemed to be at least partially sedated commed back sluggishly, ::I thought I saw the mech in the battle … he was fighting off the separate parts of that Gestalt. I was on my way to assist but … some seekers strafed my position and, well,:: he motioned to his noticeably pedeless and shortened right leg, ::I was no longer capable … of assisting. I saw him … get brought down and dragged off to a … Decepticon dropship. My squad tried to stop the dropship … but they didn’t make it in time. I’m sorry.::</p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt like his spark had suddenly dropped into his tanks. <em>Hardwire’s been captured? </em>Mentally, he swore vehemently, his anger rising as he immediately thought of all the things he had heard of and seen done to those who were unlucky enough to be treated to the Decepticons ‘hospitality’. Sideswipe sent a quick pulse to his twin to remind him to remain calm, if Sunstreaker got too upset, he might wake up Zipline and Fast Track.</p>
<p>Sideswipe looked almost pleadingly around the room, ::What about Starwish? Did anyone see what happened to her?::</p>
<p>Everyone either shook their helms or commed a negative. Not one of those currently in the massive medbay main room knew what had happened to the small femling. Sunstreaker shared an uneasy glance with his twin, that did not bode well. <em>What could have happened to her? Was she captured as well? Or … offlined?</em></p>
<p>The doors to the surgical wing swept open, temporarily distracting Sunstreaker from his thoughts. Two medics stepped out, their optics immediately sweeping the crowd of assorted mechs who needed their attention. Sunstreaker stiffened as one of them, a mech named Hoist who had helped repair his leg earlier, quickly made his way down the row to come to a stop in front of Sunstreaker’s berth. Hoist flared his E.M. field in a friendly manner, using the energy of his frame to smile since his faceplates were completely covered by both a battle-mask and a blue visor, “Hello there. How are all of you this cycle?”</p>
<p>The question was accompanied by a light scan running over Sunstreaker and his family unit to check their conditions. Sunstreaker just gave Hoist a flat, dark look. <em>We’re all in the medbay, how do you think we are?</em> Sideswipe sat up a little bit straighter, shrugging off the tingle of the scan as he asked, “Have you seen all the other medics here?”</p>
<p>Hoist looked mildly taken aback by the question, “I suppose so, why? If you want to request a specific medic, I’m afraid the others are still occupied in the Surgical Wing.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shook his helm, “I need to know if you’ve seen Assistant Medic Starwish. Little white femme? Has shoulder prosthetics? Dual colored optics?”</p>
<p>Hoist’s helm cocked to one side as he considered the question before shaking his helm, “I’m afraid I haven’t. Sorry.” He ran another swift scan over them before stepping back, “Well, it appears that the welds I did on you two earlier are still holding and the younglings are getting some much needed recharge. I need to see to the others, call if you need something, alright?” Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Hoist resumed darting up and down the rows, scanning, chatting, checking, and repairing.</p>
<p>He gave no signs of exhaustion, although Sunstreaker attributed most of that to Hoist’s lack of facial cues. It was hard to tell the state of a mech when you could only take his word for it. Dismissing Hoist from his thoughts and shooting a long glare at the other medic when his patient acted up with a startled yelp that risked waking the twinlings, Sunstreaker returned to ponder Starwish’s disappearance.</p>
<p>Sideswipe lightly smacked his brother’s helm with his right servo, his voice sounding irritated and tired over their bond, <em>“Let it go and recharge, Sunny. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but worrying yourself glitchy isn’t going to do anything about it.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker gave a low growl and returned the cuff weakly, not wanting to admit how tired he was, <em>“Don’t call me Sunny. Besides, since when do you get to give me orders?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe huffed and readjusted his chair so that he could flop more comfortably on the berth. He would have taken a berth, but the moment he had vacated his earlier to be closer to Sunstreaker, it had been claimed by another patient. So instead he just resumed leaning on Sunstreaker like a over-sized Cyber-Kitten as he answered Sunstreaker’s irritated query, <em>“Since you acted like a glitch and shut me out of our bond when you needed me. Don’t even think about protesting your reasoning, I’m not going to listen.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker sent Sideswipe a rebellious pulse over their bond, <em>“Give me one good reason why I should try to recharge in all this commotion.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe didn’t even pause in his ritual of trying to get comfortable in the naturally uncomfortable position of sitting on a chair and leaning the majority of one’s weight on someone else’s medical berth, <em>“It isn’t that noisy in here. As for reasons on why you should recharge, here’s some. One, you need to recharge and recover if you want to be on the rescue team for Hardwire with me. Two, you also need to recharge so you can properly take care of yourself and the twinlings and finally, I want to recharge and you brooding is going to keep me up. So mute it and power down.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker couldn’t help but smirk internally at his brother’s logic. Trust Sideswipe to sound both like a mature adult and a youngling simultaneously. Sunstreaker closed and powered down his optics, <em>“When you put it that way. Fine. But if someone tries to move the twinlings while I recharge, I’m going to rip them apart.”</em></p>
<p>The last thing Sunstreaker heard as he activated his recharge protocols was Sideswipe’s mental growl of, <em>“You’d have to wait for me to be done with them first, Sunny. No one is ever touching them without our permission again.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker felt a flash of fierce love light up his spark even as his recharge protocols dragged him into the oblivion of recharge, but before he could formulate a coherent thought to put the feeling into words, he was already powered down for some much needed rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cogwheel stepped back, her vents releasing a puff of air in exhausted relief as the chest plates of the patient settled shut with a soft click, the spark the armor now protected successfully accepting its new home. Her eight, extremely sensitive, optics blinked a few times in order to relax the hyper-zoom function installed in them as she carefully began to wipe protective spark-film off of her servos and prosthetics.</p>
<p>Her optics now reset to normal parameters, she looked up at her co-surgeon for the risky maneuver they had just performed, “Status?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked up from the monitors, his optics shining with equal measures of exhaustion and satisfaction, “His spark is stable, barring any unforeseen complications in the integration with his new spark chamber, he’s going to be just fine.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel flashed a smile at Ratchet, “Good, that’s very good. The other emergency patients?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s optics dimmed briefly, “Fifteen stable and recovering, three are in stasis lock until more parts come in to finalize the repairs … and ten fatalities.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel closed her two main optics in grief, allowing the other optics to guide her steps as she followed Ratchet out of their recent surgical patient’s room and down the hall, “That … is better than it could have been.”</p>
<p>Ratchet shot her a scathing look, “Worse than it should have been if we’d had a proper medical staff on servo. Frag the Decepticons and their snipers.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel reopened her two main optics and gave Ratchet a sympathetic look with them, she could understand his frustration. There were very few medics left in the Autobot forces, most of them had been offlined by Decepticon snipers under orders from Megatron to specifically target anything with a medical insignia. Not even Decepticon medics dared to wear the symbol of their profession anymore for fear of being taken out by accident by their own side.</p>
<p>Changing the subject, Cogwheel folded her servos in front of her as she said, “At least we have the best medical training can offer right here, you were brilliant with that S.P.C. Ratchet. I don’t think any other medic could have transferred a spark to an S.P.C. while on the battlefield with so little repercussions on the spark itself.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stopped in the hallway, his optics shutting and his frame suddenly shaking. His vents were heaving to keep his frame cool as Cogwheel’s medical sensors registered the sudden spike in her fellow medic’s stress levels. Cogwheel spun to face him, her slender servos reaching out to grasp his shoulder plating, “Ratchet? Ratchet, what is it? What did I say?”</p>
<p>Ratchet opened his optics again as he visibly forced himself to calm down. Brushing Cogwheel’s servos off of his shoulders, he murmured softly, “I didn’t make the transfer.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s eight optics widened as she hastily began to follow him, “You-? Then who-?”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a low rev of his engine as he stopped in front of the door that led to the private room of the mechling named Bumblebee, “Her designation was … <b>is</b> Starwish.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s processors scrambled to match the designation with any medical records stored in the Iacon medical personnel database. Nothing appeared. She started to asked Ratchet who Starwish was and where she was now, but Ratchet had already slipped into Bumblebee’s room, locking the door behind him. Cogwheel stood outside for a moment, puzzling over the new data and Ratchet’s reactions while giving it before hurrying away to check on other patients. <em>He used ‘was’ than corrected himself with ‘is’. Does he think she is offline but is holding onto the hope that she is still alive?</em> Deciding to put away that mystery for later, Cogwheel carefully input the code to a different private room and stepped inside.</p>
<p>The moment she did, she found herself being bombarded with shouted questions as a mech who shouldn’t even have been <b>sitting up</b> scrambled to stand and get as far away from Cogwheel as he could, “Who are you? Where is Ratchet? Or Starwish? Stay away from me! If you’re a Decepticon plant, I’m not fooled by the repaint! What is your identification number?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel suppressed a groan as she stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to slide shut and lock behind her, <em>no wonder this one was fully sedated when he arrived and had his subspace pockets locked down.</em> “Take it easy, Red Alert. My designation is Cogwheel, I am medic of the Iacon Medical Institute. I’m just here to check on your condition. Please lie back down, you’re going to risk further injury to your back struts if you try to stand…”</p>
<p>As she spoke, she carefully inched closer to the panicking patient, sedative ready in her subspace. One look at the hyper-aware and agitated glaze in the optics of her patient told Cogwheel that her already long day was about to get even longer. <em>He knows Starwish as well, I wonder what she would have done to calm him down … Or where she is now…</em></p>
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<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Cages Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shockwave looked up from the monitors silently, studying the subject’s physical condition with his own keen optic. He watched the mech lay there on the table, utterly still except for the occasional intake of vents to regulate frame temperature. Outwardly, he was not an extraordinary subject. In fact, Shockwave had been … discontented to learn that Megatron wanted him to leave his current project in favor of studying the subject. Now however…</p>
<p>Shockwave remotely triggered the audio/video recording devices hidden for his personal uses about his lab, “Cycle three after subject’s delivery to my laboratory. Subject has remained offline ever since regular injections of strong sedative starting during the first cycle’s repair efforts. However, despite sedation, after witnessing the destruction he is capable of both on the field and in my lab despite injury, I have deemed restraints to be a logical precaution in the event the subject comes online prematurely.”</p>
<p>Glancing down at the monitors, he pulled up another readout, “Deep scans on the subject’s internals have revealed … unique modifications to his structure. Most of the modifications are seemingly minor and would be easily overlooked by medics as custom preferences in frame design. However, my own examination has uncovered an internal subspace pocket attached to his secondary energon pump. The purpose of having a subspace pocket attached to such a delicate and vital internal organ is as yet unknown to me. I will investigate this matter briefly before beginning the processor scan Lord Megatron ordered.”</p>
<p>Leaving the monitors, Shockwave approached the lab table to which the subject was strapped down and carefully reached his servos down into the maze of tubing and wires that made up part of the mech’s anatomy. Long experience made it easy to find the secondary pump as it lay inert in the mech’s chassis. The purpose of the secondary pump was to help syphon energy to necessary areas when rapid reaction time was vital to the frame, such as a battle, or to keep the frame online should the main pump fail and it’s location was the same in most frames.</p>
<p>As he carefully unhooked the secondary pump from its host frame, he mused to himself on the possible ramifications of the internal subspace pocket, <em>it would be logical to theorize that the pocket’s primary function involves the energon flow of the frame during battle. Perhaps … emergency injections of energon so the subject does not run low in the middle of a firefight? Fascinating.</em></p>
<p>Carefully pulling the pump free, it wouldn’t do to prematurely offline Megatron’s prize before all available data had been collected, Shockwave rolled the item over in his servos curiously, taking in its make and condition. <em>A rounded model. Most efficient for its purpose.</em> His optic flashed a deeper red as Shockwave ran a powerful scan over the part, looking for anything unusual in its internal tubing. His HUD flashed, immediately pulling up readouts and reports garnered from the scan.</p>
<p>Shockwave stood there, perfectly still in frame as he analyzed the data flowing to his processors. Shockwave’s touch abruptly became more delicate as he handled the secondary pump, <em>Most fascinating.</em> Carefully, Shockwave opened the plating of the secondary pump, exposing its collection of tubes, pistons, and wires that made it functional. Unsubspacing an extraction needle, he slid the tip into one of the pump’s lines and delicately extracted a small amount of the red film lining the inside of the tube.</p>
<p>That done, he subspaced the needle and the sample and turned back to the mech on the medical berth. As he reached into the mech and began carefully reattaching the pump, he spoke aloud for the recording logs, “Secondary pump shows residual traces of two variations of red energon within its lines. The grade of fuel appears to have been ninety seven percent purity, the highest purity ever recorded for processed red energon. I extrapolate that it was these ingredients, added to his fuel at a key moment, that enabled him to forcibly restrain and separate the components of a Gestalt on the battlefield.”</p>
<p>Shockwave carefully finished rewiring the pump into the frame, it would be useful to see it activate the subspace pocket at a later date, “As there are no signs of red energon in the subject’s tanks, it is logical to assume that the red energon was stored within the subject’s subspace and released into his system via injection into his secondary pump. This would have allowed the effects of the red energon types to be immediate.” <em>It also explains how the subject took out ten of my restraining drones immediately after coming online.</em></p>
<p>Shockwave removed his servos from the mech’s internals and moved to check the monitors again, “The red energon, coupled with the subject’s Bāsākā coding would make unleashing the subject on the battlefield truly devastating. I doubt the Prime’s resolve to create such a weapon and the capability of his medical staff to succeed in the procedures needed to install the subspace pocket safely into the subject’s secondary pump.”</p>
<p>He motioned for a waiting drone to bring him a needed tool that he did not carry in his subspace before looking up at one of the cameras in his lab, “Soundwave, might I suggest an investigation into who might have the capabilities to perform the necessary procedures? If the creator of the subject is still functional, he may very well be able to replicate the procedure for Lord Megatron’s purposes.” There was no acknowledgement, but Shockwave knew that Soundwave had heard. Soundwave heard everything in Kaon and most of what happened on Cybertron.</p>
<p>He refocused on the task at servo, Megatron wanted to know more about the Bāsākā Syndrome phenomena and whether or not it could be forcibly installed into another Cybertronian. A medical grade scan could show him the bulk of the processor coding, but as Shockwave was looking for something more in depth and specific, a medical grade scan would not be sufficient.</p>
<p>Striding to stand by the mech’s helm, he tilted it to the side so that the back of the helm was facing him. His fingers carefully probed the base of the helm, searching for a dataport. Dataports were a rarity now, the war making it too dangerous to have a way for someone to directly link with another’s processor. Most had insisted on getting theirs removed or welded shut in order to prevent easy access for hackers and torture specialists. Still, it was logical to check every possibility.</p>
<p>Predictably, the small dataport was welded tightly shut and even had a small piece of extra metal plating welded on top of it to prevent forced reopening. Shockwave examined the welds with interest, noting the size and precision of the marks. They were barely noticeable, faint to the point that the casual observer would miss them altogether. <em>Whoever worked on your frame was skilled in their work.</em> Reaching into his subspace, Shockwave retrieved a specialized grinding wheel and set to work removing the weld holding the protective piece in place.</p>
<p>A shower of sparks launched into the air, lighting his area of work like a fountain of miniature fires. Shockwave ignored the sparks as they flew in every direction, some even landing on his thick armor plating before sputtering into nonexistence. Because the welds were thin and precise rather than overly strong, Shockwave was able to make the removal of the metal piece swift and easy. The size and shape of the metal piece, as well as the subtle nature of the welds, was no doubt an effort to make anyone examining the subject’s helm believe that the dataport had been removed. Only Shockwave’s scans and great experience had prevented him from falling for the ruse.</p>
<p>Subspacing the grinding wheel, Shockwave grabbed the chisel a drone had fetched for him and worked the metal piece loose with a few deft movements. The rectangular metal piece fell to the floor with a soft ping that Shockwave ignored as he began working on opening the dataport previously hidden beneath, “Subject is equipped with a 7.5 size rectangular Exilian brand dataport.”</p>
<p>He barely glanced up from his work to curtly order a hovering drone, “Fetch dataport cable twenty-five C.” The drone nodded and trotted off, leaving Shockwave to work the dataport open with practiced servos.</p>
<p>Shockwave had just managed to partially slide back the dataport cover when the monitors keeping track of his subject’s life signs started beeping in alarm. Shockwave stiffened, listening to the sound of the monitor as his HUD opened a new window of data for his review. <em>Accelerated life signs, increased processor activity, all indicative of onlining protocols. Impossible. He is under heavy sedation. The effect of the drugs should not wear off until-</em></p>
<p>His calculations were interrupted by an unintelligible yell and a sudden spasmodic jerk from the subject of his examination. Although normally confident in the strength of his precautionary restraints, the current circumstances and Shockwave’s previous experience with his subject made the head scientist take a few steps discreetly backward.</p>
<p>He watched silently as red optics snapped open and the helm of his patient whipped back and forth in an attempt to pinpoint location. The mech shouted something incomprehensible, a collection of rounded sounds that made no sense to Shockwave’s audios. Shockwave remembered reading the report of the mech Breakdown, who had noted the strange linguistic behavior of the mech now strapped firmly to Shockwave’s medical berth.</p>
<p>Shockwave’s helm tilted faintly to one side as he processed the shout again. It was incomprehensible to him, but that did not mean it was meaningless. He was able to detect clear, enunciated patterns even in that short burst of speech. The mech’s vocalizer wasn’t glitching, he speaking another language. Straightening his helm, Shockwave murmured softly, “Fascinating…”</p>
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<p>Hardwire was disorientated, his frame ached and his helm pounded nauseatingly as he struggled to figure out his surroundings. Worst of all, something in the back of his processor was screaming a warning. He was in danger, the something said, but he didn’t know why or where. He groaned and stared fuzzily at the ceiling, it was a smooth, reflective black metal. <em>My room doesn’t have a ceiling like that. Neither does the medbay…</em> “Ratchet? Aid? Where am I?”</p>
<p>He tilted his helm to the right, frowning in rapidly increasing panic as nothing familiar came into view and there was no response to his words, “Bulkhead? Prime? Where am I?”</p>
<p>A voice he recognized from somewhere spoke from his left, “Fascinating…” Hardwire twisted his helm to look at the speaker in confusion, what was fascinating? A single red optic stared expressionlessly at him from a helm set atop a massive, predominately black/purple frame.</p>
<p>Hardwire felt the world, or maybe his spark, briefly stop. For a klik, he could only stare in wide-opticed horror at the figure standing a short distance away, then instinct kicked in and he tried to scramble to his pedes and get away. His frame lurched against heavy restraints and he realized he was pinned down at the hips, ankles, upper arms, and wrists. Looking around wildly for some way to get loose, Hardwire finally realized where he was and froze from horror again.</p>
<p>He was in a lab. To be terribly precise, he was in <b>Shockwave’s</b> lab. Shockwave, the head scientist of the Decepticons, creator of the Predacons and, if the tales Bulkhead had told him were to be believed, the most sadistically sparkless mech on the entire planet. Hardwire’s vents were starting to heave as he twisted to stare at Shockwave again. The mech was watching him silently, standing a few feet away next to a group of beeping medical machines that Hardwire noted with revulsion were connected to various parts in his exposed middle.</p>
<p>Upon being stared at for several breems, Shockwave finally moved. His faceless helm tilted to one side as he asked coldly, “Are you cognizant of who I am and your current situation?”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared incredulously at his captor before whispering hoarsely, “Shockwave. You’re Shockwave.” He glanced around the bare, painfully clean lab and added shakily, “And I’m currently gibbering in English while strapped down to a berth in your lab.”</p>
<p>His helm turned to watch Shockwave again as the other mech shifted slightly and started speaking, “Most interesting. The subject appears to be utilizing a fully functional alternative language. Evidence also suggests that he is cognizant of his surroundings.” <em>Subject?</em> Hardwire felt his cables tense despite the pain the action caused. <em>I’m a subject. A test subject. I have to get out of here!</em></p>
<p>A door behind Shockwave slid open and a mech walked in carrying a cable. The mech was smaller than Shockwave, more spindly and with more internal parts exposed than any mech Hardwire had seen before. One red optic sat atop a thin neck and one glance at the stiff, robotic manner with which the mech moved told Hardwire that if the mech had ever <b>been</b> someone … he wasn’t anymore. The machine silently handing Shockwave the long cable it had been carrying was no longer a living, functioning mech. It was … something else entirely. A drone.</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his tanks threaten to purge whatever energon he had left and his spark flutter madly in its chamber. <em>Is Shockwave going to do that to me too?</em> His processor whirled with dread and fear, he couldn’t even remember how he had gotten into this mess. When had he been captured? Were there others? Had the femmes they’d been trying to rescue escaped? What about Prime and the others? Were they locked up somewhere or … offline?</p>
<p>His questions were abruptly pushed to one side as Shockwave announced to the room at large, “I will now investigate the structure of his Bāsākā coding and determine the likelihood of transferring the coding to another processor. Drone, hold his helm still.”</p>
<p>Hardwire jerked back as far as his restraints would let him, “<b>What</b>?” <em>He’s going to do what?</em> Hardwire’s optics swept over the length of the cable, watching as Shockwave plugged one end into a large computer console sitting against the wall nearest Hardwire’s helm. Hardwire’s spark dropped with dread as he remembered the Transformers Prime series and the cable Megatron had used to extract information. <em>A Cortical Physic Patch? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no-</em></p>
<p>Shockwave’s assistant grabbed his helm and forcibly turned it so that he was staring at the wall, <em>no!</em> With a yell, Hardwire started struggling. Bucking, squirming, shouting, he strained to do something, <b>anything</b> that would stop the drone or the nearing sound of footsteps. Twisting his helm at a painful angle, he spotted an exposed cable in the drone’s wrist and latched onto it with his denta. He ground down, hoping that the action would make the drone release his helm, at least temporarily.</p>
<p>His denta abruptly punctured the energon line and the sour taste processed fluids and energon flooded into his mouth without warning. Hardwire sputtered and jerked back, trying to cough out the life-blood of another mech. The drone didn’t so much as twitch, it simply grabbed his spluttering helm with both servos and forced Hardwire’s helm into the position Shockwave wanted.</p>
<p>Panting, Hardwire thrashed, trying to get away even as energon dribbled onto his faceplates from the injured mech’s wrist. <em>This has to be a nightmare, it has to be! Make it stop!</em> A shadow fell across him as Shockwave’s voice sounded right overhelm, “Hold still if you do not wish to be short-circuited by the hardline connection.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hissed the most inventive curses he could think of at Shockwave, his struggles having been forcibly reduced to mere shaking by the firm, unrelenting grip of the drone and the thick restraints on the rest of his frame. He felt fingers pry something open on the back of his helm and barely had time to wonder what Shockwave was doing before something icy cold was pushed inside.</p>
<p>A numb feeling raced through his helm, spreading rapidly from the area of Shockwave’s tampering. It felt like someone was burying his helm in freshly cut ice cubes, the cold burning more painfully than any fire could hope to match. A dim part of Hardwire’s processor realized that Shockwave had just plugged the long cable into his helm, but the rest of him was too busy thrashing and screaming in horrified rage at the icy feeling sliding deeper and deeper into his mind.</p>
<p>Icy claws dug into his processor and suddenly Hardwire’s frame went slack against his will. His mind was just too cold to command his body. He could only lie there, venting heavily, as something foreign sorted swiftly through the coding of his processor, searching for something in particular. Hardwire managed to summon enough willpower to squeeze his optics shut, he didn’t want to see his surroundings, he just wanted it all to go away.</p>
<p><em>Please stop, please … go away. Leave me be.</em> As the pain slowly receded, leaving only numb paralysis in its wake, Hardwire became dimly aware that Shockwave had left his side and was talking to himself again. Hardwire felt a tear work loose from underneath his optic shutters to slide down his faceplate as Shockwave’s cold, emotionless tone washed over him, “Processor sync complete, the computer has found the Bāsākā coding. The coding appears to have been altered from its most common state, restricting the subject from attacking femmes or younglings. Further analysis will be needed to determine how the alteration was successfully done…”</p>
<p>Hardwire wished he could mute his audio receptors, he didn’t want to hear Shockwave verbally dissect him. Unfortunately, the numbness in Hardwire’s helm made it too hard to concentrate and he was forced to listen as Shockwave spoke aloud and in depth about what he found as he coolly commanded the computer to pick apart sections of Hardwire’s coding. Hardwire could feel every shift in attention, every probe through his mind, and internally screamed in rage that he could do nothing to stop it.</p>
<p>Hardwire felt another tear trickle free of his optic shutters to join the first, <em>Prime, Bulkhead, anyone … make it stop. Just make it stop …</em></p>
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<p>Knockout trotted down the long, dimly lit corridors of Darkmount, humming softly to himself to drown out the memory of Starscream’s latest shrieking rant. Honestly, the mech could be such a bore at times. At least he’d managed to escape early this time, he mused with a cocky smile. Breakdown had worked his miracle timing again and commed just as Starscream was warming to his rant, stating that the remaining Gestalt members who had fought in the Algol battle had destabilized and needed Knockout’s immediate attention.</p>
<p>His smile refused to fade as he bounced into his medbay and called to his assistant, “Alright Breakdown, which one is trying to join the Well this time?”</p>
<p>Breakdown didn’t respond and with a faint frown Knockout looked over to see what Breakdown was doing. The moment he caught sight of his large assistant, Knockout’s good mood vanished. Breakdown was sitting on an empty medical berth, shoulders hunched, helm cupped in his servos, “Breakdown?” Breakdown didn’t so much as twitch at the sound of his name.</p>
<p>With growing unease, Knockout accessed the medbay network and checked the monitors to his Gestalt patients. They were all stable. The frown on Knockout’s face deepened, <em>It’s not like Breakdown to lie about a medical condition without my say so. </em>Striding over to Breakdown, Knockout lightly tapped his companion’s big shoulder strut with a polished fingertip, “Not that I don’t appreciate the save, Breakdown, but maybe you should explain why you called me down here on a false alarm. Hmm?”</p>
<p>Breakdown’s only response was to take a massive intake of air and let it out shakily. Knockout’s worry blossomed into full concern and he tilted his helm to try to look at Breakdown’s faceplates, “Breakdown, talk to me,” he hesitated a klik before adding quietly, “that’s an order, Breakdown. Tell me what is going on.”</p>
<p>Finally Breakdown raised his helm from his servos, his yellow optics looked pained, “There was a … problem … with the vehicons in sector eight. The glitches rewired the hallway lighting incorrectly again so I was headed down to straighten them out.” Breakdown’s servos clenched together and his shoulder’s hunched, “I took the shortcut through Shocker’s lab.”</p>
<p>Knockout hissed disapprovingly, “And you thought that was a good idea <b>because</b>?”</p>
<p>Breakdown shrugged listlessly, “I was in a hurry.”</p>
<p>Knockout sat down on the berth across from Breakdown, “I can understand that. But what does you taking a shortcut have to do with calling me to the medbay under false pretenses? Not that I preferred the alternative, mind you.”</p>
<p>Breakdown’s jaw worked soundlessly for a klik before he finally grunted, “One of his drones walked past me … carrying … carrying a 7.5 processor interface cable…”</p>
<p>Knockout’s optics flashed with understanding as the puzzle pieces assembled in his mind, “Oh … Oh my.”</p>
<p>Breakdown nodded weakly, “Yeah, ‘oh’.” Reaching up, he rubbed his faceplates wearily with a servo, “I thought I was over that. But seeing the cable … seeing Shocker’s drone … I couldn’t handle it.” Knockout nodded in silent understanding, after all, how could anyone get over the kind trauma of what Shockwave had done to Breakdown?</p>
<p>With a sigh, Knockout rested a servo on the top of Breakdown’s helm, silently offering what comfort he could for an event that could never be changed. Breakdown allowed the servo to remain on his helm, his voice a bare murmur as he said, “He’s gonna do it again, Knockout.”</p>
<p>Knockout winced at the lifeless quality in his normally stubborn companion, “There’s nothing you can do Breakdown.”</p>
<p>Breakdown’s engine revved deeply with long festered hatred as he slammed his servos on either side of him, the medical berth shuddering under the force of the blow, “And who’s fault is that?” Yellow optics snapped up to glare fiercely into Knockout’s red gaze. Breakdown didn’t say what he was thinking, but Knockout didn’t need words to translate that look, not after all they had been through together. <em>“I’m going to stop it this time,”</em> Breakdown’s gaze said silently, <em>“I won’t let it happen again. No matter what it costs me.”</em></p>
<p>Knockout cocked an optic ridge and tilted his helm to one side, <em>“Want some help?”</em> he asked without words. Breakdown’s faceplates registered surprise, then acceptance of Knockout’s silent offer to help. Dipping his helm again, Breakdown stood up with a grunt, “Come on, you look like you could use another buffing.”</p>
<p>Knockout nodded happily at the acceptance and stood. Breakdown wasn’t much for planning anymore, he would need someone else to work out the fine points of a strategy. He would need Knockout. Knockout hadn’t survived with his paint job intact for so long without learning to outthink most Cybertronians, it wouldn’t be very difficult to figure out how to help his big friend with his goal. <em>But who can think properly when they’re looking so shabby? I’ll figure it out after the buffing,</em> “Remember to be careful with my shoulder plates, Breakdown, I just added a coat of polish.”</p>
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<p>Breakdown allowed a tiny grimace to show briefly on his face as he grabbed the buffer and began obediently working on Knockout’s back with exaggerated care. Even as his servos went through the near therapeutic motions of using the buffer, Breakdown’s processor was far away, buried deep in memories of pain and betrayal. His engine growled softly again, <em>I don’t care who it is, I’m not going to let it happen again. Even if I have to- </em>He felt pain stab through his processor as his thoughts went “out-of-bounds”. He paused in the buffing long enough to regather his thoughts and mentally retreat to the deepest recesses of his own processor.</p>
<p>When the pain finally receded, Breakdown ground his denta, <em>someday Shockwave. Someday I’ll give you a proper thank you for what you did to me. Then you’ll never do it to anyone ever again.</em></p>
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<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Preparations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Springer growled low in his engine as the persistent chiming of his comlink dragged him out of a peaceful recharge. He cursed dully, the surface of his berth muffling the sound as he not so politely protested being disturbed from a well deserved rest. <em>What now? </em>Rolling over and sitting up in one, all-too-practiced movement, he activated his comlink and snarled, ::<b>What</b>? I swear Whirl, if that’s you and you got stuck in the hangar rafters again, then I am going to tell everyone to just fragging <b>leave</b> you there this time!::</p>
<p>A lazy drawl that was definitely not Whirl answered his outburst with a tone that told of the owner’s smile, ::Good to hear, Boss. I’ll pass that on for when Whirl does get stuck in the rafters again.::</p>
<p>Springer stared blankly at the wall of his small berth room, trying to decide whether to be angry, embarrassed, or just go back to recharging. Deciding that anger would get him nowhere, embarrassment would get him laughed at, and going back to recharge would be futile, he sighed, ::What is it Wheeljack?::</p>
<p>Springer could almost see Wheeljack leaning back languidly in the nearest chair as he answered, ::Got a message from Iacon. They got a job for us.::</p>
<p>Springer, now fully online, stood up with a frown and swiftly made for the door to his quarters, ::Iacon? Message us? What’s the job?::</p>
<p>::Yeah, Iacon. It was even a high ranking officer. He wouldn’t write what the job was, guess it was ‘to risky to tell over the com’ or some such scrap. Just want’s us to rendezvous with him for the mission.:: Springer mulled over that information for a few breems as he left his room and strode down the halls of one of the many Wrecker bases scattered across Cybertron.</p>
<p>Carefully sidestepping the three mech jumble that appeared to be the completely drunk forms of Twintwist, Topspin, and Broadside, Springer commed, ::Rendezvous where?::</p>
<p>Wheeljack sounded vaguely irked at the question, ::Why don’t you come down here and see for yourself instead of making me list off the numbers?::</p>
<p>Springer glanced over his shoulder at the drunken mechs recharging peacefully in the hallway and smirked tiredly, ::Message interrupt your raid on Medix’s high-grade stash?::</p>
<p>Wheeljack sounded unabashed in his answer, ::Yep. You know how long it took me to crack that lock code? Fragger had Perceptor program it with a five klik time limit to finish inputting the code before it resets and changes the password. Now I have to start all over again.::</p>
<p>Springer gave a soft bark of laughter as he turned another corner and arrived at the door to the base command center. Like all of the doors in the Wrecker base, it could be identified by the pattern of scorch marks, energon stains and long knife-made scratches on its surface. Being the door everyone liked the least to be in the vicinity of, it had the fewest scorch marks. Springer noted with faint unease that the newest dent in the door looked suspiciously like a faceplate as he keyed the door to open.</p>
<p>Stepping inside, Springer winced at the unhealthy, yet stereotypical of late, grinding noise the door gave as it slid open, “We really need to repair the doors around here.”</p>
<p>Wheeljack, in the middle of trying to tilt his chair back as far as possible without falling over, grunted noncommittally, “Why? We can always make a new one when it shorts out.”</p>
<p>Springer tried not to sigh again. He was beginning to see why Impactor had always looked like he had a massive processor ache, it was a pain being the only mech on base with a functional common-sense circuit. Instead of arguing against the logic, or lack thereof, of blowing a hole in the wall should a new door be needed, he simply steered the topic in a less explosive direction, “Whatever, just show me this message Iacon sent.”</p>
<p>Wheeljack righted his chair and pressed the necessary button with a sarcastic flourish. As a rule, Wheeljack didn’t care much for normal Autobot officers. Mostly because they had little things called “rules” that got in the way of his fun. The screen flared to life with the message and Springer leaned over the seated Wheeljack to get a closer look at the text. It had no video or audio, but it was heavily encrypted with a special, officers only, security code. Whoever had sent it wanted the Wreckers and only the Wreckers to see it’s contents.</p>
<p>Springer frowned at the short text, aside from the rendezvous coordinates, it only contained a brief message saying that all of the battle-ready Wreckers were supposed to meet there within the next three cycles. His optics skimmed over the coordinates and his optic ridges raised in surprise, “That’s halfway across the planet from here! He want’s us to meet there in three cycles? Seriously? It will take us a couple meta-cycles at least to drive all that way!”</p>
<p>Wheeljack hummed, “Could always fly…”</p>
<p>Springer skewered Wheeljack with a dark look, “No way. We are <b>not</b> taking those junk heaps you and Seaspray have been tinkering with.”</p>
<p>Wheeljack scowled, “They are not junk heaps! ‘Sides, me and Spray got them all fixed up now. They’ll run smooth as high-grade energon and get us to the coordinates well within three cycles!”</p>
<p>Springer shook his helm firmly, “No way in pit! Whoever sent this message can deal with whatever ‘mission’ he has himself! Might do the fragger good to finally get out of his office.”</p>
<p>Springer turned dismissively away from the message, thoughts already turning toward reclaiming his lost recharge, when Wheeljack called smugly, “You didn’t check the priority code.”</p>
<p>Springer glanced over his shoulder strut wordlessly, daring Wheeljack to try something stupid just so he could fly his new toy sitting out in the hangar. Wheeljack motioned easily to the message on the screen, “Look at the top. Right after the encryption sequence.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly, fighting off the vague impression that turning around would be an offlining sentence, Springer turned and zoomed in his optics to focus on the indicated area of the message. His lip plates curled and he cursed darkly at the words written there while Wheeljack smiled triumphantly. <em>Of course it would be Priority Prime! Of course it would! It couldn’t possibly be Priority Delta or Priority Magnus or anything we could ignore! Of course this would be the one time the Prime himself actually wants us around!</em></p>
<p>His curses trailed off weakly as Springer’s processor began focusing more on how to answer the call rather than bemoaning its existence. He’d learned over the past few vorns that cursing only worked for about three breems, then a leader had to return to focusing the task at servo. <em>Halfway across Cybertron … No way we’d be able to drive that in time. Especially not with Rack’n’Ruin’s alt mode being so slow…</em></p>
<p>Grinding his denta, Springer glanced up from the floor. Wheeljack was watching him think with an anticipating gleam in his optics, <em>the only way to get there in time would be …</em> Wheeljack wiggled his optic ridges, “Well?”</p>
<p>Springer heaved a sigh, “Just … don’t get us killed. Okay?”</p>
<p>Wheeljack whooped loudly and leaped out of the chair, “I’ll start prepping the Jackhammer!” Wheeljack ran out of the room, barely allowing the groaning door enough time to open halfway before charging out, roaring to all within audio range, “Seaspray! Prep the WindShear! We’re taking them out for a flight! Yeah!”</p>
<p>Springer followed Wheeljack out into the hall, listening to him whoop and shout as he ran down the halls, eliciting muffled curses and hastily taken blaster shots from disgruntled fellow Wreckers just jerked mercilessly out of recharge. <em>Well, there goes the last of Wheeljack’s sanity. Might as well finish off mine.</em> ::Springer to Wreckers, everybody up and off your afts. We’ve got a mission to prepare for.::</p>
<p>Roadbuster sounded dangerously close to test firing his cannons on the nearest object as he commed, ::What mission and why is Wheeljack running around like a Decepticon with Whirl on his tailpipe?::</p>
<p>Springer chuckled at the comparison as he headed toward the his quarters, ::Wheeljack and Seaspray are getting an opportunity to try out those old junk heaps they’ve been fixing up. As for the mission, we’ll find out the details when we get to the rendezvous. For now though, all I can tell you is who sent for us.::</p>
<p>Pyro stormed out of his quarters as Springer passed, ::Who? I wanna know who to shoot first chance I get for waking me up at such an unreasonable joor. There isn’t even anything to blow up yet!::</p>
<p>Springer suppressed the smile that threatened to break out as he looked at the crowd already gathering in front of his room, <em>who needs a conference room when we have the hallway in front of the commander’s quarters? </em>Out loud, he declared in a completely serious tone, “You might want to save that shot for someone else, Pyro. I doubt the Autobot army would take kindly to you shooting our Prime.”</p>
<p>The change in atmosphere was palpable, the mood of every Wrecker changing from angry and sullen to shocked and even touch humbled. Backstop shifted nervously from pede to pede, his energy field flaring slightly in instinctive preparation to use his specialty shield, “The Prime? He sent for <b>us</b>? Why? I mean, he’s got the entire army at his disposal. Why would he call in us?”</p>
<p>A gruff voice broke over the rising murmur, quelling the barrage of questions before it could begin, “Obviously because he’s got an assignment for us that no one else can do! So what are you all standing around here for? You’ve no time to hang around like lost cyber-ducklings! Get your gear together, emergency marching protocols! Move it! Go, go, go! Or I’ll have you on salvage duty till the Sea of Rust shines like silver!”</p>
<p>Ingrained training took over as the Wreckers instantly scattered in obedience to the gruff bellows, their questions forgotten as they rushed to gather their gear, emergency rations, and anything else they might need for the coming mission. Springer threw Kup a grateful look, “Thank’s Kup.”</p>
<p>Kup just shrugged, “Someone’s gotta kick ‘em in the tailpipe for you. They might take offense if you did it yourself. Now,” he slid a well-honed glare Springer’s way, “aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”</p>
<p>Springer held up his servos in surrender, “Gearing up, I got it. Do me a favor and tell Medix to make three doses his special wake-up brew, will you? Twintwist got Topspin and Broadside drunk in the hallway again and Medix isn’t answering his coms.”</p>
<p>Kup grunted an affirmative and strode away with a wicked grin only Drill-Masters could master so perfectly. <em>He enjoys watching others drink Medix’s wake-up brew far too much.</em> Springer shook his helm indulgently as he stepped into his quarters and began the brief operation of “gearing up”. Moving around the small room, he subspaced his additional ammo clips and weapons, taking a moment to cradle his favorite rifle before putting it in subspace with the others. His own private stash of energon went next, Springer pausing to scan each cube to make sure Whirl hadn’t spiked them with high-grade again. It wouldn’t do to get drunk on the battlefield.</p>
<p>His gathering efforts paused when his optic fell on the holocube sitting innocently by his berth. Briefly forgetting his previous task, Springer gingerly picked up the cube and rolled it over in his servos. It was battered and scratched from many vorns of travel and use. It had been with him since the beginning after all, it was bound to pick up some war scars of its own. But, despite its scuffed appearance, it still functioned as well as it had the first cycle he’d held it.</p>
<p>He knew without even looking what was contained inside the cube. Memories, images of times he didn’t ever want to forget. No matter how bittersweet those memories had become. Logic told him to leave it, save the room it would take up in his subspace for something else. But long ingrained habits and the superstition all the Wrecker’s held about their bases’ survivability rate made him carefully place it within his subspace as well.</p>
<p><em>Who knows?</em> He thought as he strode out of his quarters and started making his way to the hangar, <em>I might need something to remind me of the good times before this is over.</em> His comlink pinged with the unique dual frequency of Rack’n’Ruin, ::Hey Boss?::</p>
<p>Springer broke into a jog as he rapidly approached the hangar, it was an advantage to all the Wreckers’ that their bases were so small. Made it easier to get to places, ::What is it Rack?::</p>
<p>The voice was irritated as he responded, ::It’s Ruin and we were just wondering what your order for every Wrecker to get ready to leave meant.::</p>
<p>Springer’s jog slowed back to a walk, <em>huh?</em> ::I meant what I said. Every Wrecker is to prep and assemble in the hangar for a mission from Prime.:: There was a long silence from Rack’n’Ruin’s end and Springer felt his helm-ache start to increase in strength as he worked up the courage to ask, ::Why do you ask?::</p>
<p>The hangar door groaned open for him and Springer stepped inside to the sight of Rack’n’Ruin, Backstop, Pyro, and Rotorstorm all standing around waiting for Wheeljack and Seaspray to finish prepping their newly repaired ships. Perceptor was rushing back and forth between the two ships, calling frantic instructions and admonishing either one for an incorrect technique of some kind. Springer noted that the four waiting Wreckers weren’t watching Perceptor, instead they were staring at something high up in the rafters.</p>
<p>Rack’n’Ruin turned around and one of them pointed upward, “Does that mean we have to get him down now? ‘Cause Wheeljack said that your newest orders were to leave him up there.”</p>
<p>Springer looked up in growing dread, spotted what everyone else was staring at, and groaned aloud, “Really Whirl? <b>Really</b>?”</p>
<p>From his stuck position in the highest rafters, where he had somehow gotten wedged in the triangle of three beams set too close together to conceivably fly through, Whirl grunted and swiveled his helm to stare down at Springer, “Really what? I almost had it that time!” Whirl’s rotors twitched against the rafter they were pressed against as his legs kicked wildly in an attempt to magically pop free, “Uh … Spring-Spring? I think I’m stuck.”</p>
<p>Springer ground his denta together, “One, my name is not ‘Spring-Spring’. Two, I can see that you’re stuck you glitch! Anyone can see that! Frag, most of us would have learned that you would get stuck after the first <b>twenty</b> times you tried to fly through those rafters!”</p>
<p>Turning away with a low snarl, Springer hissed, “Pyro, get him down. Rotorstorm, Backstop, help him out.”</p>
<p>Pyro eyed Whirl with an almost predatory gaze, “Any preferences on how we get him down, Boss?”</p>
<p>Springer glanced up at the still wiggling Whirl before responding, “As long as you don’t break him and don’t bring the hangar down on our helms, I don’t care.”</p>
<p>Pyro clapped his servos together gleefully, “Shoot him down it is then! Yo, Backstop, think you can shield the rafters around Whirl so that we don’t give Springer a worse helm-ache?”</p>
<p>Backstop shrugged, “Sure.”</p>
<p>Springer turned down the sensitivity of his audios, he just didn’t want to hear how Pyro intended to get Whirl down. Or the chaos that would probably follow when they freed the glitchy helicopter. <em>I think I might be safer in Wheeljack’s “ship”. Why did I ever take this job?</em></p>
<p>A large “whump” sound that was more felt than heard and the faint sounds of shrieking curses and laughter made Springer hang his helm and huff through his vents, <em>right, because I was the only one dumb enough to, that’s why.</em></p>
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<p>Jazz carefully tested the sharp edge of his daggers, checking each and every one for any conceivable flaw before storing them away in subspace. His acid blaster, flash grenades, and several other tools that only Special Ops were allowed to carry were quickly inspected and also placed in subspace. His enhanced sensors registered a presence outside of his room even before the figure knocked quietly on the door.</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t respond to the knock, he just kept checking his gear. To any outside observer, he was the picture of methodical calm. Even a medic would have registered nothing amiss with his life-signs. However, his calm was an illusion, maintained only by the rigorous vorns of training and experience in the art of lying with both body and voice. It was an illusion that he was attempting to use to fool even himself.</p>
<p>The knock sounded again and, after a pause, it was exchanged for the owner’s voice, “Jazz. Open the door.” Jazz’s servos paused in their work and his helm tilted in the direction of the door silently. He considered pretending to ignore the person on the other side, but quickly dismissed the notion. If he attempted to ignore his visitor, his visitor would only stay and pester him through the door.</p>
<p>Wirelessly triggering the locking mechanism, Jazz allowed the door to slide open and his guest to step inside. The moment the neutrally-held doorwings passed the threshold, the door hissed shut and locked once more. Jazz didn’t look up from his work as he said softly, “Anything you need, Prowl?”</p>
<p>Prowl barely glanced at the illegal tech arrayed on Jazz’s berth room floor as he carefully moved a small packet of EMP grenades out of his way and sat down on the berth, “I came to ask the same of you, Jazz.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s gaze briefly slid upward to look at Prowl before returning to his work, “I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice was soft, lacking the cold edge it normally possessed, “Your accent is slipping Jazz. It does not take a battle computer to calculate that you are upset.”</p>
<p>Jazz stiffened, trying to stem the crack that threatened to break through his facade of calm, “The Autobot’s have lost an important base, there were heavy casualties just making sure that the Decepticons didn’t win the lost base and a femling and a rookie got captured on Megatron’s express orders. Everyone’s upset, Prowl.”</p>
<p>Prowl sounded as close to coaxing as Jazz had ever heard him, “Upset enough to have a collection of illegal Viral Daggers arrayed in plain view of an ex-enforcer?”</p>
<p>Jazz went still, his only motion being the tightening of his jaw gears, “You going to pull me off the mission for them?”</p>
<p>Jazz could hear the soft motion of Prowl shaking his helm, “No. No I am not. I just want to know that you will not do anything that you will regret later.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt his lip plates curve against his will into a feral smile, “Who says I’ll regret it?”</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice became stern, “You will, for one. Starwish, for another.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt like his spark chamber had abruptly shrunk in size and was squeezing his spark, “You mean if she’s still able to speak. If those … if the ‘cons haven’t already broken her into a thousand pieces. Destroyed her processor, her spark, her frame, all for their own twisted-” He muted his vocalizer hastily when he realized that he was letting his emotions effect his processor and seep into his voice.</p>
<p>Jazz felt a weight rest lightly on his right shoulder plate, “A wise mech once told me that hope was hard to hold onto, but very rewarding if kept close to the spark.” Jazz stared silently at the hacking cable in his servos, refusing to speak. Prowl spoke instead, “I am afraid that I cannot offer much more in the way of comfort, Jazz. You know that … I am inexperienced with offering wise words of aid. Despite my lack, however, I will say this; I do not believe that Starwish or Hardwire will come to irreparable harm.”</p>
<p>Jazz turned to face Prowl finally, his optics searching Prowl’s faceplates for any sign of falsehood or doubt in his own words. He saw nothing but quiet, stoic understanding of Jazz’s conflict and the silent confidence in his own words. Venting shakily, Jazz whispered, “How can you so sure?”</p>
<p>Prowl shook his helm, “It is not something I can rationally explain and perhaps it was wrong to voice my thoughts. However, there is … something that tells me that it is not their time to join the Well.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt a humorless smile curl across his face, “Are you saying … that you’re listening to your instincts? Without scientific proof of its validity?”</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings flicked up and down in a Praxian shrug, “Certain mechs are beginning to effect my behavioral patterns.”</p>
<p>Jazz managed a weak chuckle, “Well that’s just great, Prowler. That’s just great. Have these ‘certain mechs’ effected your behavioral patterns enough to ignore the legality of my gear?”</p>
<p>Prowl slid off of the berth to carefully sit cross-legged next to Jazz on the floor, “Just this once, because of the circumstances, I believe my behavioral patterns have been altered enough to tolerate … helping you in the checking of your gear. Despite its … questionable legal status.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s laugh was slightly more real this time as he accepted Prowl’s clumsy offer of comfort, “Just make sure not ta press tha red buttons, Prowler.” The two settled to working in silence, swiftly checking and categorizing Jazz’s gear by relevancy and which he would most likely need on the coming mission to rescue Starwish. But even as Jazz engaged in playful banter with his tactically-minded friend, the tightness in his spark would not go away, nor would his processor stop replaying all of the horrid things he had seen Decepticons do to their prisoners, replacing the images of the original victims with Starwish.</p>
<p>Jazz briefly fingered one of his Viral Daggers, examining his reflection in the blade as he mentally swore that he would repay any and every injury the Decepticons inflicted upon Starwish and her brother with a thousand of their own to nurse. Prowl’s servo rested on his shoulder again, “Have you been informed yet? Prime has sent out the call to the Wreckers. They will meet you at your suggested rendezvous point for the mission.”</p>
<p>Jazz subspaced the Viral Dagger, purposely ignoring the message hidden in Prowl’s tone that warned him about entertaining such savage thoughts, “Good. We’ll need their brand o’ crazy ta get into Kaon. By tha time we get there, Buffer will have re-infiltrated and figured out where they’re holding Star an’ Wire.” <em>And if they’re still alive or whether there will be Pit to pay.</em> His engine revved softly, <em>No one’s gonna hurt Star and get away with it. No one.</em></p>
<p>Jazz stood up, the necessary gear stored in his subspace, “Thank’s for tha help, Prowler. But Ah’d better get rolling.”</p>
<p>Prowl stood up and nodded, following Jazz out the door with an unreadable expression, “I would tell you to be careful, but as that would be a futile exercise, I shall instead ask you to bring back Starwish and Hardwire safely.”</p>
<p>Jazz flashed Prowl a broad grin, his facade of cheerful calm fully in place once more, “Course, Ah will Prowler. Can’t disappoint ya, now can Ah?” Leaving Prowl to return to the tactical center, Jazz started jogging down to the hangar where a dropship would be waiting to take him and the rest of the rescue party to the rendezvous point, ::This is Jazz. Prep complete, Ah’m on mah way.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s normally cheerful voice commed back grimly, ::Understood, Jazz. The rest of us are ready to roll.::</p>
<p>Jazz’s grin regained its feral quality, ::Then let’s go show tha ‘cons why they don’t take our friends away.::</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Cages Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish felt another uncontrollable shiver shake her frame as she was led out of her cell and down the hallway. She had taken the advice of Rumble and Frenzy to spark, and while she had seen evidence suggesting that it was a good thing she had not accepted the energon brought to her by the drones, the small cube the two had brought had failed to provide enough energy necessary to wait out her captivity.</p>
<p>Another message warning her of her low energon levels pinged her HUD, but she promptly ignored it like all of the others, it wasn’t as if she could do anything about it as she was forced down the halls to some unknown location. Her pedes stumbled as a spasm went through them and the guard on her right growled condescendingly as he caught her, “Keep your pedes prisoner, Shockwave doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”</p>
<p><em>So, that’s where they’re taking me. To Shockwave. </em>A small part of Starwish shrank in terror at the realization that she was going to finally meet Shockwave, the mech who ran this lab and no doubt thought of her with the same interest he would an insect. But the rest of her was simply too tired from the constant fear and lack of recharge that had plagued her while in her small, stark cell to react.</p>
<p>She hadn’t been able to conserve energy properly because of some of the guards, luckily not the two escorting her, who always happened to pass by just when she started to doze off. They jibed and pounded on the side of the cell entrance whenever they passed to keep her awake and frightened, thus making her simply too tired to react to the news of her destination. So, she simply focused on placing one pede in front of the other so that she would not be beaten by the guards as she was led to her doom.</p>
<p>The guards on either side of her strode with utter confidence as they engaged in an argument over the top of Starwish’s helm about whether or not Shockwave could “like” or “dislike” anything. For all intents and purposes, it was as if Starwish didn’t exist. They hadn’t even bothered to place her in stasis cuffs, they were so assured that she could not best them.</p>
<p>Briefly, a tiny spark of rebellion flared in her and she considered attacking them just to prove that she was not completely beaten yet. But the spark soon sputtered out with the cold realization that she was, in fact, beaten in this circumstance. She was too small to stand up to her captors, too starved to put up any kind of struggle, and too emotionally destroyed to seriously contemplate fighting the odds. A clinical part of her processor chose that moment to calmly inform her that she was exhibiting signs of shell shock, <em>no duh.</em></p>
<p>The guards ceased their discussion abruptly as they rounded a corner and were halted. They stiffly slid to attention on either side of Starwish, who was currently too busy trying to ride out the sudden session of bucking the floor had decided to engage in to look up and see why they had stopped. As the bucking wore off, Starwish’s audio amplifiers twitched in response to the guards’ voices, processing what they said obediently even if Starwish couldn’t have cared less at that moment, “Commander Starscream. What are you doing here, in Shockwave’s facilities?”</p>
<p><em>Starscream?</em> Starwish slowly forced herself to look up. Sure enough, Starscream stood there, looking as if he had just stepped out of the T.V series with two other Seekers she didn’t recognize standing a little ways back and on either side of him. Starscream stood there stiffly, glaring hatefully at the two guards, “Do I need <b>permission</b> to come here? I am Lord Megatron’s second in command!”</p>
<p>The guard on her left spoke for the group, his tone one of clearly forced politeness, “Of course … Commander Starscream. We meant no insult. We only wished to see if there was something we could assist-”</p>
<p>Starscream waved the guard into silence, “Bah! As if I need the help of you glitch-ridden flunkies!” <em>Look who’s talking,</em> Starwish mused sarcastically, the sudden sensitivity in her optics to light was beginning to stir up the faintest feelings of pained rebellion again. At least if she was taken to Shockwave, there was a chance that her destination would be darker than the hallway and thus, less painful. Starscream’s less-than-pleasing voice wasn’t helping her growing helm-ache at all either.</p>
<p>Her mental complaints were brought up short when she realized that Starscream’s attention was on her instead of the guards now, “And who would this be? One of Shockwave’s new ‘pets’, eh?” Starwish stared at him silently, trying to summon enough willpower to glare instead of shrink away from the Seeker and failing miserably. Starscream’s lip plates curved into a cruel smile as he raised a servo and traced the lines of Starwish’s faceplates with one sharp claw, “Such a delicate little thing. A pity that Lord Megatron gave you to <b>Shockwave</b>. I would have found much better purposes for an Autobot of your … unique build.”</p>
<p>Fear stirred in Starwish’s spark once more and she tried to discretely tilt her helm away from Starscream’s deceptively gentle touch. Her optics widened as his stroking turned into a firm grip on her chin, forcing her to not only face him, but to hold still as he leaned in closer to her, “How do you like the sound of that, hmm? Perhaps if there is anything left of your frame and processor when Shockwave grows tired of you, I can see to it that you are delivered to my quarters for more … comfortable activities.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s cooling fans activated with a soft whirr as she tried to convince herself that Starscream was not insinuating the same thing a human male would have been hinting at in the same circumstances. Starscream’s smile grew a little bit, his red optics glowing with a disgustingly pleased gleam. Starscream ran his glossa over his denta slowly and purred, “Yes, I think that would be quite nice…”</p>
<p>Before Starwish could consciously think of any possible courses of action, her training, coupled with her ingrained human instincts, kicked in and she lashed out savagely at the mech in front of her. With the blinding speed of fear and desperation, Starwish’s servo whipped up, all the fingers of her servo except for her index and middle finger curling into her palm. With her two extended fingers, Starwish jabbed firmly at the main energon line in Starscream’s unarmored neck.</p>
<p>The blow was not strong enough to actually puncture the line, but there was enough power behind the strike to serve its intended purpose of severely denting the line, abruptly decreasing the flow of energon to Starscream’s processor and causing him to stumble back with a surprised wheeze. Starscream’s servos clutched at his neck, his expression incredulous as he protectively covered the already recovering energon line.</p>
<p>The guards on either side of her gave shocked exclamations at the sudden attack from their passive prisoner while the purple Seeker standing behind Starscream suddenly laughed at her actions. Starwish had subconsciously slid into a defensive combat stance, her vents heaving as she tried to restrain her fear and sudden anger. Knowing that she was probably going to suffer for her outburst, a twisted part of Starwish decided to at least enjoy the reason for her inevitable punishment and she growled rebelliously, “You might want to reconsider that plan, <b>Starscream</b>. Captured does not necessarily mean declawed … and I can assure you, this ‘pet’ can still <b>bite</b>.”</p>
<p>Starscream’s optics widened slightly as he took another step back, “Guards!” His voice sounded oddly hoarse and static-laced as he coughed and shouted, “Restrain your captive!” Obediently, two pairs of servos roughly grabbed her arms and held them away from her sides so that she was practically suspended between the two mechs. Starscream whirled on his two companions, “Stop laughing!”</p>
<p>The purple one toned his laughter down to muffled sniggers, while the blue one, who hadn’t seemed to laugh at all, just raised an optic ridge silently. With a snarl, Starscream turned away from them and marched back to where Starwish was restrained. Starwish was unable to move away as Starscream leaned in close once more and snarled darkly, “You will regret that, femme.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s spark thudded in its chamber wildly and part of her wanted to simply run away and cry. Instead, she blurted unthinkingly her voice empowered by the bitterness of her capture, “You always make threats when your enemy can’t hit back, don’t you, Starscream? Where’d you learn that trick from? The times you displeased Lord Megatron? Or did he always break your wings first to make sure you couldn’t fly away?” <em>I am really going to regret saying that later, aren’t I?</em></p>
<p>Starscream’s faceplates twisted into one of utter rage and loathing, his vocalizer stuttering futilely in an attempt to say something. Eventually, he seemed to give up trying to form a witty response and instead stormed past, the other two flyers following behind him like well trained dogs. Just as they passed her, Starwish thought she heard one of them murmur faintly, “Good luck, femme.” But the tone was incredibly low and the Seekers were gone before Starwish could identify which one might have spoken.</p>
<p>For almost a breem after that, there was utter silence in the hallway. Starwish felt the fight seep out of her as her mind finally registered the full enormity of what she had done and she went limp in the guards’ grasp. Finally, one of them burst out laughing, “Did you see the Commander’s faceplate? Hah!”</p>
<p>The other one started guffawing as well, “Yeah! He never saw that one coming!” The two resumed leading Starwish down the hall, but this time, she was surprised to realize that their touches were gentler, almost to the point of respectful as they laughed at Starscream’s ego-puncturing the entire way.</p>
<p>Looking down at her, the guard on the left nudged her lightly to get her attention. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, he dipped his helm to her cheerfully, “Designation’s Crankshot, femme. The big slagger on your right is Jugurnot. Great hit you landed on Starscream, by the way.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked at Crankshot vacantly for a moment, trying to wrap her processor around the sudden friendliness, “Uh … thank you?”</p>
<p>Jugurnot laughed gruffly, “Don’t thank us, femme. You’re the one who actually did what everyone on base wants to do to ol’ Screamer.”</p>
<p>Starwish hummed faintly in acknowledgement, unable to think of anything else to say. Apparently, she didn’t have time to say anything else anyway, because at that moment, the three of them rounded a corner and came to a stop in front of a large, reinforced door.</p>
<p>Crankshot huffed darkly, “Well femme, this is your stop. I’d wish you luck, but it doesn’t exist in there.”</p>
<p>Jugurnot gave her a thoughtful look, “You’re not going to try to escape?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at the door in front of her, <em>so this is the door to Shockwave’s lab? I thought it’d be … bigger, more grandiose somehow.</em> With a faint shake of her helm, Starwish whispered, “Would I get very far if I did?”</p>
<p>Crankshot shrugged, “No. But after the spunk you showed to Screamer, I thought we’d have more trouble from you at this point.”</p>
<p>Starwish just lowered her gaze to the floor, despair rising in her spark uncontrollably. She wanted desperately for someone to blast down the walls and rescue her at that very moment. She wanted for Ultra Magnus, or Optimus, or Jazz to come rushing in, guns blazing, and pull her away from the grim reality of Shockwave’s door and the lab no doubt beyond. However, no one came tearing down the halls shouting her name, no one appeared with her rescue in mind.</p>
<p>Instead, the door slid open with a soft hiss and Starwish was escorted by Crankshot and Jugurnot into the waiting lab. Crankshot was the one who called out, “We’ve brought the subject you ordered, Commander Shockwave.”</p>
<p>A cold voice that she had only ever heard before from a T.V show rumbled darkly, “You are late. The distance from the subject’s cell to my lab and back can be traversed in five breems. I ordered that the subject be brought to my lab seven breems ago.”</p>
<p>Crankshot lightly pushed Starwish further into the room as he answered, “Commander Starscream detained us in the hall, sir. He wanted to examine the prisoner himself.”</p>
<p>Shockwave seemed less than interested in Crankshot’s excuse, “Indeed. I have no further need of you, return to your duties.” Starwish sensed Crankshot and Jugurnot leaving hastily upon Shockwave’s order and couldn’t prevent a bitter thought from entering her mind, <em>even the guards are frightened of Shockwave and he’s their employer.</em></p>
<p>Heavy pede-steps sent vibrations through the ground as Starwish continued to squint at the floor. She shuddered as a strong scan swept up and down her frame without warning. Shockwave’s voice sounded directly in front of her as he said, “Your energon levels are below acceptable levels. Have you not been receiving rations from my drones?”</p>
<p>Starwish mumbled as she risked a swift glance up at Shockwave, “Haven’t been drinking them.” He was exactly as she had imagined he would look. Tall, broad, intimidating, and completely apathetic. The only difference she could see between the real Shockwave and his television version was that this Shockwave had two servos instead of one and a cannon.</p>
<p>Shockwave made a noise that sounded similar to a sigh of exasperation as he grabbed her right arm and started steering her somewhere, “That action was illogical. Refusing your rations only weakens your systems and wastes a precious commodity. Still, your actions ensured that you will give me no trouble. Lie down.”</p>
<p>Starwish shakily allowed herself to be arrayed on a cold medical berth, unable to find the previous anger that had made her lash out a Starscream. She simply felt so … tired. The lights in the lab were far too bright, every noise Shockwave made was too loud. Her system pings were heralding her HUD more urgently, warning her of imminent shutdown to conserve energon.</p>
<p>“Melody…” The sound of her English name, rasped and painfully hoarse, made her fluttering optics snap open in surprise and she twisted around to look at the source.</p>
<p>Her spark lurched in her frame as her optics met Hardwire’s dulled and pain filled ones, “Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire was strapped down to a berth in a shadowed corner, the armor of his chest and middle pried back to expose his internals. Wires leading to monitors were attached to various parts of his anatomy, and his faceplates were fixed in a strained expression. His optics briefly brightened with desperation as he raised his helm fractionally off of his berth to whisper, “Melody … run…”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at Hardwire in horror, “Hardwire…” her stress levels skyrocketed and she felt one last surge of energy liven her frame as she lunged for her brother, “Hardwire!”</p>
<p>Before she even gott halfway off of the berth, a strong servo grasped her left shoulder, jerking her to a sudden halt as something else pricked one of her energon lines. A new message popped up in her HUD, alerting her to the presence of sedative in her system, just before darkness forcibly enclosed on her, cutting off her weak struggles to escape and reach Hardwire’s side.</p>
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<p>Shockwave carefully rearranged the femme on the berth, signaling for one of his drones to bring more energon and an intravenous tube. <em>Fascinating,</em> “Interaction between the femme and mech subjects reveals that both are capable of conversing in the alternative language originally displayed by the mech. Furthermore, analysis would indicate that the two subjects, while showing no signs of a spark bond, are mutually interested in the well-being of the other.”</p>
<p>Tilting the femme’s helm, his fingers expertly traced the metal plating, searching for signs of a hidden dataport, “The femme’s dataport is hidden in the same manner as the mech’s. It is logical to extrapolate that the two underwent modification by the same specialist. Soundwave, I advise once again that you investigate the origin of their creation and the specialist who performed the modification procedures. Drone, fetch dataport cable Ten-C.”</p>
<p>Shockwave scanned the femme once more, taking in the information of her low energon levels, scuffs from capture, and other such basic data. His interest focused on the prosthetics attached to her back and he ran a swift scan over them, musing over the gathered data as he set to work removing the cover for the femme’s dataport. <em>Interesting. Such a modification took great skill and planning.</em></p>
<p>As he pried the metal cover off of the femme’s dataport, he reported, “The prosthetics attached to the femme’s frame appear to be based upon the Arachnicon prosthetics customary to that frame type. However, these prosthetics are smaller and more compact than the original design. They are also comprised of a rarer grade of cybertronium. Although a deeper scan and sampling will be necessary to confirm, the armor appears to be only twenty-five percent cybertronium. My original scans have indicated that the other seventy-five percent is comprised of the much lighter metal cybertrix.”</p>
<p>Shockwave paused in his speech to contemplate the ramifications of his previous statement, “Unusual, considering that only speed-orientated seekers have ever traditionally used cybertrix in their frames as the metal, while strong for its light weight and able to withstand greater air pressure, lacks the density necessary to make it an effective armor in combat scenarios.”</p>
<p>The drone reappeared with the ordered cable and Shockwave turned his processor away from the prosthetics. With careful deliberateness, Shockwave plugged one end of the cable into a computer and moved to plug the other end into the femme’s now exposed dataport. A rattling and groaning from the corner caused him to look up from his task. The mech subject was writhing against his restrains feebly, apparently trying to work his way free of his captive position. Seeing that Shockwave’s attention was on him, the mech hissed something in an almost pleading tone.</p>
<p>Shockwave noted the syllable and marked it down as part of the mech’s strange language before resuming his appointed task. With a click, he plugged the femme’s processor into his computer and waited for the specialized program the computer contained to break down the femme’s firewalls and access the processor coding itself. The mech in the corner gave another rasping snarl, struggling against the paralysis in his frame that was always a side-effect of forced processor interfacing.</p>
<p>The computer pinged as it successfully breached the femme’s firewalls and Shockwave proceeded to ignore the mech subject in favor of examining the femme’s coding, “I will now determine if the femme is also equipped with a variant of the Bāsākā coding.” <em>Although the reports from the battlefield strongly indicate otherwise.</em></p>
<p>Lines of code began scrolling down the screen and after a few kliks of searching through the femme’s core data, Shockwave reported, “There is no sign of the Bāsākā Syndrome within this femme’s coding. However…” his helm tilted to one side as he isolated several strings of code for closer examination, “fascinating. The femme is equipped with a medically orientated program, nearly identical in design to the restraint program in the mech subject. As with the mech subject’s coding, the program is designed in locked tiers, each one granting access to increased abilities within a specified field.”</p>
<p>His fingers clicked a few keys in command, “The program, as with its Bāsākā counterpart, is under a unique lockdown that even my computers cannot hack. Although I am able to read the coding of any previously unlocked levels, I am unable to determine the nature or number of higher program tiers. Perhaps examining the base coding for the program will grant more insight into the purpose of these programs.”</p>
<p>Shockwave fell silent as he sorted methodically through layers of program coding, looking for its base, the origin to which the rest of the coding would ultimately adhere. His skilled search finally led him to his goal and Shockwave’s fingers froze in mid-motion over the the keyboard, “Impossible…”</p>
<p>Resetting his optic, Shockwave ran a self-diagnostic before rereading the isolated code. His entire frame stiffened as he stood up straight, “Soundwave. I have a matter which requires your immediate attention and expertise.”</p>
<p>An inconspicuous ping of his comlink was Soundwave’s only acknowledgement. Shockwave resisted the urge to pace in front of the computer, it was a useless activity from his previous existence that he had never been able to fully purge from his drives. Clamping down on the urge to indulge in useless motion, Shockwave instead began searching both the Kaon databanks and his own for the status of any scientists who had come online before the Quintesson invasion of Cybertron countless vorns ago.</p>
<p>When that search proved futile, Shockwave searched for any mechs who had been involved in both the science caste and the archivist caste. Again, his search met with failure and he broadened his search to merely any scientists with confirmed ties to either the archivist caste or mechs who had been online since before the life-cycle of Sentinel Prime.</p>
<p>Nothing. Something akin to frustration rose in Shockwave’s spark before he quickly dismissed it as irrelevant to the situation. His searches having proved ineffectual, Shockwave was forced to acknowledge that his answers would simply have to wait upon the discretion of Soundwave. <em>Unless… </em>::Shockwave to Lord Megatron.::</p>
<p>There was a pause before the decidedly peeved voice of his master answered the com, ::Yes, Shockwave. What is it?::</p>
<p>Shockwave had learned a long time ago that Megatron’s current tone meant impeding danger to whoever interrupted his task, ::You pardon, Lord Megatron, but I have uncovered new data that I humbly request permission to follow through on.::</p>
<p>The peeved tone was partially replaced with one of interest, ::What kind of information?::</p>
<p>Shockwave stared at his computer screen again as he answered, ::I have come across evidence that the original modifier of the two subjects you had delivered to my laboratory may have been able to translate and encode data written in the ancient Language of the Primes.::</p>
<p>When Megatron spoke, it was clear that his ire had been completely forgotten and replaced with dark curiosity. Megatron had always held a deep fascination, bordering on obsession even, for the artifacts of the times when the Thirteen still roamed Cybertron, ::Indeed, Shockwave? Elaborate.::</p>
<p>Shockwave shifted his body posture subconsciously in muted confidence. He knew that if he approached the matter correctly and appealed to the obsessed side of his master’s nature, Megatron would let Shockwave have his way in the matter, ::Affirmative, Lord Megatron. Upon analysis of the two subjects’ processor coding, I have determined that they are both equipped with highly advanced programs. The femme subject’s programming in particular, is heavily laced with coding written in the Language of the Primes.::</p>
<p>Megatron’s voice growled predatorily over Shockwave’s internal com, ::Can you determine the identity of the programmer, Shockwave?::</p>
<p>Shockwave knew in that instant that he would get what he wanted. Megatron had never been able to completely disguise the nuances in his voice and Shockwave instantly recognized the undertone of obsession in his master’s question. Megatron would agree to anything if it offered the chance of answers, ::Not through conventional means, Lord Megatron. Their coding alone will not be enough to pinpoint the programmer. However, if I were to access one or both of their memory banks, there is a high probability that I could determine the identity of the programs’ creator. Might I suggest, My Lord, my invention the Cortical Psychic Patch?::</p>
<p>There was a lengthy pause and for a moment, Shockwave wondered if he miscalculated the intensity of Megatron’s obsession over the Thirteen. Then, Megatron asked quietly, ::Is it stable enough to use, Shockwave? I do not wish to lose a precious opportunity to resurrect the lost sub-species of Bāsākā mechs simply on a possibility, no matter how interesting that possibility may be.::</p>
<p>Shockwave’s answer was immediate, ::The Patch is stable, Lord Megatron. I ran the final tests on the finished product just a megacycle previous. There will be only minimal risk of a processor failure because of the procedure. Furthermore, the femme subject is not equipped with Bāsākā coding and I have already copied the sections of her coding that are in the Language of the Primes for Soundwave’s analysis. Should the femme’s processor destabilize, your plans will not be slowed.::</p>
<p>Megatron’s purr vibrated softly through Shockwave’s helm in a manner that would have made anyone else shudder, ::Then by all means, Shockwave, use your new toy.::</p>
<p>Ignoring the erroneous comment of the Cortical Psychic Patch being a “toy”, Shockwave replied, ::As you wish, Lord Megatron.::</p>
<p>Cutting the com line, Shockwave turned to his waiting drones, “Deliver the completed Cortical Psychic Patch to Laboratory 5A.” His optic wandered down to the femme’s frame, running calculations and estimations swiftly. <em>Waiting until her energon levels are within safe parameters would help ensure the success of the Patch.</em> Nodding decisively to himself, he added, “Transfer the femme subject and her intravenous equipment to Laboratory 5A as well. We will begin in seven joors.” With that decided, Shockwave left the laboratory, ignoring the horrified and desperate look on the mech subject’s faceplates. He did not care about that, he had a scientific mystery to solve … and Lord Megatron’s full permission to unravel it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Aftermath Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fast Track huddled against Sunstreaker’s good leg, watching as the dropship slowly lifted off and began to fly away, “Daddy?” Sunstreaker looked down at him expectantly. Fast Track blinked back the tears that threatened to form as he choked out, “They’ll bring Star and Wire back safe … won’t they?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker answered softly, “They’ll do everything they can, Track. Absolutely everything they can to bring Star and Wire back home safely.”</p>
<p>Fast Track hid his face against Sunstreaker’s leg again. Somehow, the words did little to comfort him. Sideswipe crouched down, gently rubbing Fast Track’s back struts with a servo, “Hey, Jazz is head of Special Ops, right? He always gets what he wants when he puts his processor to it. So don’t worry, ‘kay? Your siblings are going to be just fine.”</p>
<p>Zipline shifted his position, moving from clinging to Sideswipe’s leg to clinging to his own twin as Fast Track mumbled, “Okay…”</p>
<p>As Fast Track made room for his twin to huddle against Sunstreaker, Zipline’s voice echoed over their bond, <em>“I wish we could do something to help. I wish we could fight…”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track whined softly and shook his helm in response to his brother’s declaration, he never wanted to see fighting ever again. Not when it had hurt so many bots and put his big brother and sister in danger. Zipline prodded him stubbornly over their bond, refusing to let his twin not see his desperate point, <em>“If we could fight, we could make others stop fighting, don’t you see? We could make all those Decepticons stop hurting our Daddies and Star and Wire and everyone! We could make it all stop.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track tilted his helm to stare at his sibling morosely, <em>“No, we couldn’t. We’re just two, Zip. We wouldn’t be able to make a difference.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline glared at Fast Track, <em>“Yes, we could! We could go tearing in whenever someone was trying to hurt our family and-”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track jerked back violently away from the flickering images Zipline was sending, “<b>No</b>!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked down at the twinlings immediately, “Twinlings?” They chorused in concern.</p>
<p>Fast Track ignored their question. Instead, he ran and hid on Sunstreaker’s other side, “I don’t wanna! You can’t make me! I’m never going to fight! I’m never gonna do that!”</p>
<p>Zipline actually snarled, the twins rarely argued for long, but on this matter Zipline refused to back down, “Yes, you will! Everyone fights around here! Cliff and Jazz and Optimus! Everyone! Our dads are the best fighters of them all!” Accompanying his declaration was the strong impression that the two younglings should grow up to be just like them and that Fast Track should be agreeing with him, not running away.</p>
<p>Fast Track shook his helm violently, “No! I wo fi! I to sca! N! Yo ca ma m!” Abruptly, Fast Track whirled and ran away, pelting out of the hangar and down the halls of Iacon. The concerned shouts of his dads followed his retreat and his bonds with them were flooded with worry. With a tiny cry, Fast Track did the one thing he had never dared to do since coming to Cybertron, he shut his end of the bonds. The moment the wall came down, Zipline’s anger turned to terror. Fast Track could faintly feel his twin pounding against the spark barrier, demanding entrance.</p>
<p>Fast Track began weaving through the forest of moving legs as he entered a busy hallway, barely avoiding being accidentally kicked in his mad scramble to get away from the stress and fear pounding in his own spark. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe hurtled against the spark block in a united effort, demanding that he raise the shields immediately. It felt like Fast Track was drowning in his own frame. He was barely able to think around the pounding, barely able to see through his own tears.</p>
<p>With a sob, he accidentally bounced off of someone’s leg and went stumbling into another, more vacant, hallway. With desperation the only thing keeping him moving, Fast Track sensed a door opening and threw himself through it, not caring where it led as long as there was a chance he could hide within. There was a startled grunt overhead as Fast Track scuttled inside and dived under the nearest object. Scurrying to the darkest corner, he curled up tightly and buried his faceplates in his arms.</p>
<p>The pounding against his spark walls increased desperately until finally, Fast Track lowered them and shouted, <em>“Just leave me alone! I’m not going to fight! You can’t make me! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! I just want everyone to come home and stay where it’s safe!”</em></p>
<p>There was a shocked pause on the other end before Sideswipe called softly, <em>“No one’s asking you to fight, Track … when you’re ready, you can do whatever you want as a function.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track sent the equivalent of a hiss in the direction of his twin’s bond before he called to his parents, <em>“Zipline is. He wants to make me fight the Decepticons. But I don’t wanna … it’s scary, daddy. You two are the best fighters I know but … but you still got hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore … I want you to stop fighting so you won’t get hurt anymore.”</em></p>
<p>Pede steps outside of his hiding place interrupted Fast Track’s thoughts and he looked up fearfully in time to see a strange bot crouching in front of his refuge, “Hey there, youngling. You okay?”</p>
<p>Fast Track opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly remembered the Decepticons who had broken into the Bunker and tried to drag off him and his sibling off. His answer turned into a shriek of terror as he pressed further into his corner, <em>“Daddy! Daddy! Con! </em><b><em>Con</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p>An explosion of rage and worry flooded him, silently demanding to know where Fast Track was that very instant. Fast Track curled desperately in on himself, heedless of the words the strange bot was saying in a comforting tone. He was suddenly regretting running away from his family, <em>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Just come save me! Please!”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe and Sunstreaker sent him waves of confident comfort while Zipline wailed worried apologies for driving his twin away and into danger. The door to his hiding place slammed open and a ball of snarling red fury crashed into the strange mech, driving the stranger to the floor with a sword at his neck cables. Fast Track stared, wide-opticed at Sideswipe’s display of furious power, reveling in how it made him feel strangely … safe again.</p>
<p>A moment later, Sunstreaker dashed in, his repaired leg limping slightly under the strain of running so soon after repairs. Sunstreaker stood tall, towering over the pinned mech, blasters whining with power as he aimed them at Sideswipe’s captive. Zipline rushed past his guardians, dived under the shelf that served as Fast Track’s hiding place, and tackled Fast Track in a desperate hug, <em>“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you run away!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track burrowed into the hug, all of his anger at his twin forgotten in an instant. He had been alone in a moment of sheer terror and now he never ever wanted to be alone again. Zipline cuddled his sibling, not even commenting when Fast Track clutched both the Soundwave and Prowl plushes that Zipline had brought with him. All he did was hold Fast Track more tightly, <em>“Don’t worry, Track. It’ll be okay now. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”</em></p>
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<p>Sideswipe pressed his sword a little bit closer to the neck cabling of the mech pinned beneath him, his optics narrowed in fury as he snarled. The sound of his spark pounded in his audio receptors wildly as his parental programs screamed to end the threat to his younglings. Behind him, Sunstreaker growled deeply, just as enraged and close to losing control as Sideswipe, if not closer.</p>
<p>The mech beneath him was not struggling against Sideswipe’s grip. Instead, he was shouting something desperately. After the first few times, Sideswipe’s audio receptors began to clear just enough to let him make out the words, “Autobot! Autobot! Friendly! I’m a friendly!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe blinked, cycling his optics as he slowly came back to his senses. Looking down again, he spotted the Autobot insignia emblazoned on the mech’s chest plates, <em>Autobot.</em> Cautiously, Sideswipe removed his blade from the mech’s neck cabling. However, he didn’t release the mech fully just yet, he’d had too many close calls with his family recently to take any chances, “What’s your designation, class, and function?”</p>
<p>The mech beneath him vented a few times before answering, “My designation’s Hot Shot! I’m a Warrior Class and my function is soldier in the Autobot army! We met briefly in the medbay, remember?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe searched his memory banks swiftly, <em>oh yeah, that rookie who got into an argument with Jolt.</em> Sideswipe felt some of his tenseness fade as he let Hot Shot up, “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Hot Shot scrambled to his pedes and shot a decidedly nervous glance at the glaring Sunstreaker as he answered, “The medical staff cleared me for light duty. Cleaning duty, actually. I was just grabbing some cleaning solvent when that youngling rushed past me and dived under the shelf. I … I just wanted to see if he was okay, I swear! I didn’t mean to make him cry!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe almost felt sympathetic for Hot Shot, it was clearly not his fault that he’d been in the wrong place at the worst time. However, Sideswipe’s parental programming was focusing too much on the sounds of his crying younglings to feel sympathy for anyone else. So, he didn’t comment when Sunstreaker snarled darkly to Hot Shot, “Leave. Now.”</p>
<p>Hot Shot practically ran out of the utility closet, leaving the two front-liners alone with their twin charges. Turning, Sideswipe crouched in front of the shelf the younglings were huddled under, bending practically double in order to see underneath, “Twinlings? Hey, it’s okay now. You can come out.”</p>
<p>There was a long pause during which Sideswipe and Sunstreaker sent waves of love and care to their younglings. Finally, Zipline emerged from underneath the shelf, followed closely by a sniffling Fast Track and two dragged plush toys. Sunstreaker slid down slowly into a cross-legged position on the floor, not even grimacing on behalf of his finish as the two younglings scrambled into his lap and huddled there, hiccuping and crying.</p>
<p>Sideswipe settled down on the floor and leaned against his twin, content to gently stroke the helm of the nearest youngling and wait out the tears. Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe, his optics serious as he asked a silent question over their bond, <em>“What do we do about this?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe shrugged fractionally, <em>“No idea. It’s not like we can just stop fighting. Not when we have them to protect.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker looked down at the younglings in his lap, <em>“Strange. I never thought a youngling under our care would come to hate fighting.” </em>Again, Sideswipe offered up a shrug. What was he supposed to say to that?</p>
<p>Neither of them really knew anything about caring for younglings. They had just made it up as they went along most of the time based off of their own younglinghood, the advice of Ratchet, and whatever meager instincts their parental programming had imprinted upon them. True, the programming was getting stronger and they were settling more into the roll of guardians, but that didn’t mean they knew everything. It certainly didn’t mean they knew what to do about this new dilemma.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker tilted his helm down and to the side, his expression one of remembrance. Finally, he rubbed Fast Track’s helm with a servo and murmured, “Fast Track? Are you listening?”</p>
<p>There was a loud hiccup from Fast Track’s vents and a faint, “Uh-huh,” in response.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker was staring almost vacantly at the shelf nearest his optic level as he spoke, his voice gentle, yet strangely firm, “You don’t have to be a front-liner like us unless you wish to be so. But you can’t make us stop fighting. We have to fight, all of the adult mechs here have to.”</p>
<p>Fast Track whined unhappily, one little servo clenching and hitting Sunstreaker’s abdominal plating in futile frustration, “W-why? W-why do y-you have to? I want y-you to stay here!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker sighed deeply, “Because we love you Fast Track. We love both of you and never want to see you get hurt. But there are some beings out there that will try to hurt you, hurt us, if they get the chance. If they get the chance, they’ll do a lot of horrible things to innocent bots … the Autobots have to make sure they never get that chance.”</p>
<p>Leaning down, he lightly nuzzled the top of Fast Track’s helm, “We don’t fight to get hurt, or because we necessarily like it, we do it because we love our families and because we want to keep them safe.”</p>
<p>Fast Track and Zipline both looked up at him, “But,” whispered Fast Track, “you’re my family … an you get hurt when you go out there … can’t you keep us safe … in here?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker glanced around the utility closet and actually chuckled, albeit faintly. Shaking his helm, Sunstreaker stroked Fast Track’s helm again, “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that, My Youngling. Don’t worry about it now, alright? You’ll understand eventually. For now … just get some recharge. Everything will be fine.”</p>
<p>It took several breems of coaxing and soothing impressions through the bond, but, eventually, Fast Track was lulled into recharge. Zipline’s optics drooped heavily, his own recharge protocols beginning to initiate because of his close proximity to his sleeping twin, “<em>Daddy</em>?” Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both murmured faint acknowledgements to Zipline’s call. Zipline forced himself to stay awake long enough to look both of his guardians in the optics, “I think … I think I get it … and … someday…” Zipline sighed tiredly before finishing his sentence, “someday I wanna be just like you two.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe watched Zipline finally drop into recharge and tried to unfreeze his spark from the block of terror in which it had been suddenly encased. He would have thought that hearing those words would make him proud and pleased. Instead, all he could think about was the many injuries and close calls he and Sunstreaker had sustained in their life-cycles and how he wished desperately that Zipline and Fast Track would never have to face those same dangers.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker sensed his feelings and nudged him lightly through the bond, <em>“Relax. You’re going to wake them up if you keep worrying.”</em></p>
<p>Impulsively, Sideswipe laid his helm on Sunstreaker’s shoulder strut, just as he had always done when they were younglings, staring wide awake into the darkness of the lunar-cycle and wondering what might be lurking in the shadows all around. Sighing heavily, Sideswipe said impulsively, <em>“I wish they never had to grow up.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker smirked humorlessly, for once allowing Sideswipe to lean against him without protest, <em>“Our mech creator used to say the same thing almost every night.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe watched Sunstreaker out of the corner of his optic, <em>“Is that where you got that speech?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker hummed vaguely in response, <em>“You were already in recharge that lunar-cycle. He had come home late again with dents and scratches all over his frame and … and I told him that if he didn’t stop fighting and getting hurt, I would run away. He told me almost the exact same thing I told the twinlings.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe nodded thoughtfully, he could dimly remember a late lunar-cycle filled with holographic fluxes of Sunstreaker shouting and their mech creator’s voice murmuring softly yet gruffly in the background, <em>“I think I remember that. It was a few metacycles later that you began deliberately starting fights with the other students at school, right?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker grunted, <em>“Yeah. I wanted to see what he was talking about, so I started getting into fights. Never actually figured it out until vorns later.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe motioned down to the twinlings, <em>“When we got assigned them?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s lips briefly shifted into a sarcastic smile as he jostled Sideswipe’s helm on his shoulder, <em>“No. It was the cycle I figured out that someone had to keep you from offlining yourself through sheer stupidity and that ‘lucky’ someone was me.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe grumbled stubbornly, <em>“Hey! I’m not stupid!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker just gave a muffled laugh in response, <em>“Says the mechling that snuck into the Cyber-Wolf cages in the Zoo in an attempt to tame one and bring it home.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe mulled over that memory briefly, <em>“Okay … maybe that wasn’t the most well thought out plan ever. But it doesn’t make me stupid!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker carefully rearranged Zipline on his lap in order to prevent the sluggishly shifting youngling from falling off it altogether, <em>“Sure it does.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe playfully whined over their bond as he helped Sunstreaker rearrange Zipline, terror of the future and all of its troubles momentarily forgotten, <em>“Sunny!”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Fighting Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ultra Magnus stared vacantly at the report in his servo, trying to summon the willpower to actually read it. Finding himself unable to concentrate on his work, Ultra Magnus set the datapad down with a heavy sigh and leaned his elbow struts on his desk. <em>Starwish.</em> It had been seven cycles since the battle for Algol. Seven cycles since Starwish and Hardwire had been captured by the Decepticons and taken away.</p>
<p>Seven cycles agonizing over what was happening to his young charge.</p>
<p>Rubbing his faceplate with one of his servos, Ultra Magnus whispered bitterly to his empty office, “Why did she not follow my orders and retreat?” The room had no answers, only an unbearable silence that made him want to yell, if only to banish the horrid lack of sound for a short time. Suppressing the urge, Ultra Magnus instead rested his chin on his folded servos and mused to himself, <em>I never thought I could miss her humming so much.</em></p>
<p>Of course, Ultra Magnus had never thought he could come to care for a femme so much after the offlining of his sparkmate. Yet here he was, grieving once more. He frowned at his thoughts, <em>stow that talk,</em> he mentally reprimanded, <em>she’s not gone yet. If she was, Jazz and the others wouldn’t be on a mission to bring her and Hardwire home.</em> Tilting his frame restlessly back in his chair, he wished fervently that he could have gone with the rescue party.</p>
<p>But he was needed here. His Prime, the Autobots, they all needed him right where he was. Organizing, strategizing, planning for the repercussions of the latest battle’s aftermath. The needs of so many made his emotional need to rescue Starwish himself instead of trusting Jazz and his team insignificant. In short, he had to do his duty rather than listen to the urgings of his spark. Again.</p>
<p>A com ping interrupted his thoughts, ::Optimus Prime to Ultra Magnus.::</p>
<p>Even though Prime wasn’t in the room, Ultra Magnus straightened into a more military posture, ::Ultra Magnus here. What do you need, Prime?::</p>
<p>The Prime’s voice was completely calm and neutral as he answered, ::Reports are coming in from the northern front, I believe your expertise will be needed in their analysis.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus looked down briefly at the stack of datapads already piled on his desk and suppressed a sigh, <em>it is not like I can concentrate on my current work anyway,</em> ::Acknowledged, Prime. I am on my way.::</p>
<p>Standing up, Ultra Magnus made his way to the door of his office, trying continually to suppress the memory files threatening to rise to the surface. Stepping out of the room he had spent the past three joors in and locking it remotely, Ultra Magnus entered the flow and pulse of the Iacon base. As was customary, mechs saluted and parted way for him when they spotted his looming frame approaching before resuming their own tasks.</p>
<p>His optics swept over the hallway traffic as he walked briskly toward the Tactical Center. As it always was in the aftermath of a battle, or even on a normal cycle, the halls connecting the various military wings were throbbing with business, chatter, and purpose. Every mech had a defined function here, every mech knew what they had to do and how much time they had in which to complete the task. Ultra Magnus too, knew what was expected of him at that time. But unlike most the mechs hurrying from place to place, he currently loathed his function with a decidedly un-patriotic passion.</p>
<p>His spark reached out vainly for that of his charge, only to feel the bond stretch farther off into the distance than he could currently follow. The fact that there was a bond at all told him that she was still online, but knowledge of anything more, like her wellbeing and location, were unattainable. Looking up and to his right briefly, he stared out of the hall window, observing how the thriving activity of Iacon was not limited to the halls of the command center. There entire city was alive with purpose and dedication.</p>
<p>It was unbearably similar to That Cycle. The moment that thought struck him, Ultra Magnus swiftly closed his optics and turned away from the window, fighting memories that flooded to the forefront of his processor. Memories that started out joyful and bright, but twisted instantaneously into confusion, agony, and horror.</p>
<p>Forcing the memories back with an effort, Ultra Magnus opened his optics and hurried on his way. There was only one way he knew to fight the agony of not knowing the condition of a loved one, or the grief that followed their passing, and that was to bury himself in his work. It had worked before and Primus knew that he had plenty of work to be done that cycle.</p>
<p>Perhaps, by the time he was done with his work, he would be able to look up and be greeted by good news about Starwish or, better yet, by the sense of their bond becoming less stretched. <em>Perhaps,</em> he mused to himself. But deep inside, Ultra Magnus felt himself begin to close his emotions away from the world. In war, one learned better than to give too much hope for miracles and that it was always better to prepare for the absolute worst contingency.</p>
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<p>Starwish felt numb and cold. It was as if she was locked away in a dark freezer. She could barely summon enough willpower to hate the cold. Mostly she just lay there … wherever there was. Slowly, the cold and numbness receded, leaving her simply lying on her side in total blackness. Carefully, Starwish sat up and looked around. It was completely dark except for a small circle directly around her, she noticed. It was like the blackness was an imprisoning wall and not simply a lack of light.</p>
<p>Starwish frowned, trying to remember how she had gotten to this strange place, but nothing came to mind to explain things. She started to methodically sort through her latest memories to try and find a discrepancy, <em>that’s right!</em> She thought with a sudden shiver, <em>I was taken to Shockwave’s lab! I met Starscream and those two seekers on the way and-</em></p>
<p>“You might want to reconsider that plan, <b>Starscream</b>. Captured does not necessarily mean declawed … and I can assure you, this ‘pet’ can still <b>bite</b>.” Starwish looked up with a startled shriek at the sudden snarl spoken in her own voice. She realized with a jolt that she was no longer sitting in a dark mystery place, but in the hallways leading to Shockwave’s lab. Her optics went round with shock as she realized further that she was not alone in the hall.</p>
<p>Starscream was standing a few feet away, servos clutching at his neck cabling while the purple seeker that had been following him laughed and the other looked vaguely impressed. Across from Starscream and his seekers stood the two prison guards Crankshaft and Jugurnot … and Starwish herself.</p>
<p>Starwish stared at the unfolding confrontation from a distinctly third person perspective, “H-how?” Standing up slowly, Starwish inched toward the blue seeker as he stalked past her … past self? Other self? Starwish didn’t know what to call her double. She reached out to shyly touch his arm and ask what was happening, but recoiled in horror when her servo passed right through him. Starwish could feel her vents beginning to work overtime as she struggled not to panic. <em>I don’t understand? Am I … not real? Are they not real? Am I … offline?</em></p>
<p>“So. Starscream is indeed the reason for the guards’ tardiness.” Starwish screamed in shock and whirled to face the distinctly icy voice.</p>
<p>She stepped back with a squeak of confusion, “Shockwave?”</p>
<p>Shockwave’s single optic looked down at her expressionlessly, “Interesting. You are the first subject to be aware of my presence during a connection of this nature. Perhaps it is an effect of the completed product compared to the prototype.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s processor raced as she tried to understand Shockwave’s words and she became vaguely aware that the blackness had returned, only this time there were two bright circles of light in the darkness. One around her and one at the pedes of Shockwave. It was like standing in an empty theater with the spotlights focused on solely them.</p>
<p>Sounds flickered on the edge of Starwish’s hearing, it almost sounded like actors shouting out the lines of a Shakespearean play, but it was gone as soon as she looked around for the source. Turning back to Shockwave, Starwish asked shakily, “Where am I? Where are … we?”</p>
<p>Shockwave was looking around at the darkness surrounding them as he answered in a strangely casual tone, “We are within the depths of your subconscious processor. I have been given permission by Lord Megatron to utilize this method of searching in order to uncover the identity of the mech who modified your processor and frame.”</p>
<p><em>Wait … so we’re in my mind? Shockwave is in my mind? </em>Starwish fought down an instinctive wave of revulsion, she needed to figure out how he had gotten in here and how to get him out, then she could be disgusted. <em>Think, Starwish! How could he get in here … like this? I know I’ve seen this kind of thing before … but where?</em></p>
<p>She was suddenly standing in a cold medbay made of black metal, with Knockout standing not too far away, frantically pressing buttons on a console, “Doesn’t this thing have a fast forward button? Or better yet, erase?” Beside her, Shockwave took a sharp step back as if startled by the sudden change in surroundings. Starwish hastily looked beyond Knockout, a feeling of dread rising within her as she spotted Starscream and Megatron lying on separate berths with a single purple and black cord connecting them. <em>The Cortical Psychic Patch!</em></p>
<p>The scenery around them vanished again as Starwish whirled on Shockwave, “You’re using the Cortical Psychic Patch! That’s how you’re in my mind!”</p>
<p>Shockwave’s frame was tense as he loomed over her, “How did you know of that project? What was that memory file? I would know if Knockout had attempted to use my invention on Lord Megatron and Starscream. That event does not exist. Explain yourself!”</p>
<p>Starwish’s mind rushed through memories of the T.V show and of her past, causing their surroundings to shift and ripple like a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and smells before she refocused on Shockwave. Lifting her chin and trying not to shake, she hissed, “You wouldn’t believe me and I don’t want to tell.”</p>
<p>Shockwave’s servos curled into half fists as he took a few steps toward her, menacing her with his presence, “You will give me the data I require, femme. How did you know of my invention? What was that memory file?” His helm tilted to one side briefly before righting itself, “Your programmer.” Shockwave’s armor actually bristled like the hair of an angered dog, “Who is your programmer? The one who modified your frame and processor, what is his identity?”</p>
<p>Starwish backed away fearfully from the large mech standing in her mind as their surroundings buzzed like static, “I-I don’t know!”</p>
<p>Shockwave followed her retreat, his voice beginning to rise in volume and intensity, yet still holding only the barest hints of tone, “That is illogical. The modifications are extensive and would have taken too much time to safely keep you in stasis for the duration of the operation! <b>Who built you</b>?”</p>
<p>The world around them morphed into the abandoned base Starwish had first awoken in as she remembered her first time as a Cybertronian. Shockwave whirled to face the Memory Starwish as the image screamed in fear at seeing her reflection and realizing she was surrounded by strange bodies, while in a strange body. Shockwave looked around at the memory attentively, “I am aware of this location. It was abandoned for tactical purposes. It is far from the appropriate location to perform a frame or processor operation. Did your modifier leave you here? For what purpose?”</p>
<p>Starwish was shivering uncontrollably, a part of her mind wondering how she was even calm enough not to scream, let alone reply to Shockwave’s question, “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Shockwave turned to her again, “You must know. There is no sign of a memory purge in your processor or of a memory block within your code. Show me the memory of your modifier!”</p>
<p>Starwish felt anger rise up in her like a hurricane. Not just anger at Shockwave’s callous intrusion into her mind, but at the entire situation. Her transformation, her fears, being in a war, her doubts on whether this was even reality, her bitterness at never being able to say goodbye to her friends before being snatched away and dropped into the strange world and mysteries of Cybertron.</p>
<p>She didn’t know how she had gotten here, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t know, a fact that tore at her every time she so much as stopped to vent. She didn’t know and this mech standing in front of her had the audacity to demand that she did. Had the gaul to demand she bare memories of transformation that she simply didn’t have, to demand she show him any of her memories at all!</p>
<p>Something snapped within Starwish, but this time, it didn’t make her cry in fear and despair. This time, it swept away her fear in a tidal wave of rage. The blackness around them suddenly tinted red, “I said. I. Don’t. Know.”</p>
<p>She took a step toward Shockwave, her servos bunching into fists, “I don’t know how I got here or why I was taken from my home,” the reddish darkness morphed into the image of her human neighborhood, complete with her human self laughing and talking to someone else, “I don’t know how I transformed,” the memory of her first awakening came back, “I don’t even know what I am … and you have the nerve to come in here and demand I bare my soul to you. I Don’t. Have. The. Answers.”</p>
<p>She straightened, all of her senses tingling with her rage as Shockwave looked alternately at her and at the hissing, rolling waves of red forming around them. Shockwave finally murmured in open confusion, “This is not how a Cybertronian mind works…” Looking down at her, he asked, “What are you?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt all of her fraught emotions coil like a weapon as she shrieked, “I don’t <b>know</b>!” The red abyss all around them exploded into a plethora of memories. One by one, so swiftly it was almost a continuous blur, Starwish’s cybertronian memories rushed past, rolling away to make room for her human ones. Grass coated the ground as a clear blue sky arched overhead like an endless dome of color as fluffy clouds chased each other across the expanse under the coaxing of a strong breeze.</p>
<p>Tears dripped down Starwish’s face as it all came back with crystal, heartbreaking clarity. Every scent, sound, touch, breath, it all unfolded around her, bombarding her with memories of her home. Shockwave was twisting in an almost continuous circle, trying to take in everything at once, “This … is impossible.” His voice sounded strangled as he hissed the words.</p>
<p>Starwish felt hair blow briefly across her face under the breeze and for one unforgettable moment, she was human again, with a heart beating in her chest and hands made of flesh instead of metal, “No. It isn’t.”</p>
<p>Shockwave whirled to face her as the blue sky overhead began to fill with dark clouds that rumbled ominously with her rage. Melody Starwish Travers stood tall and unafraid, her eyes staring Shockwave down fearlessly as she hissed, “This is my past. These are my memories that I hold close to my soul. This is my <b>mind</b>,” thunder roared overhead as she tilted her chin up and hissed, “and you are not welcome here.”</p>
<p>Lightning cracked across the sky as she screamed at Shockwave, “Get. <b>Out</b>!” With a rush, Starwish was cybertronian again, her memories surging around her like physical beings as she attacked Shockwave. Her memories slammed into him like a battering ram as she clawed at his manifestation in her mind, screaming and punching, lightning streaking the air all around as she poured every ounce of willpower she had into pushing Shockwave out.</p>
<p>A thousand and one memories clamored like war cries, her own voice rising to mingle with them as she pummeled Shockwave with anything she could think of or remember. Shockwave fell back, his arms up in an effort to protect his helm as imagined rain lashed his frame cruelly and his intended test subject drove him back with a ferocity unknown to Cybertronian kind, “This … this is not … logical! You … the Patch should prevent you from doing this!”</p>
<p>They were suddenly standing on a precipice, behind her stood everything that Starwish had ever known or thought or dreamed. Behind Shockwave hung a chasm filled with howling wind and in the distance, the tall dark metal spires that seemed to represent his own processor. Starwish sneered, “News flash, Cyclops. Humans aren’t logical beings … and neither am I.”</p>
<p>Lunging forward, Starwish shoved Shockwave hard in his chest plates, forcing him over the edge of her mind and into the howling chasm. Shockwave’s cry of astonishment was snatched away by the distance between them as the wind in the chasm grabbed him and dragged him away, back toward his own processor.</p>
<p>Starwish stared after him for a long moment, her sneer vanishing and being replaced simply by a grim look. Behind her, her memories began to fade away, returning to their assigned places while her dreams and thoughts retreated to their hidden alcoves of shielding darkness, waiting for the day she would need them again.</p>
<p>Starwish wrapped her arms loosely around herself, watching expressionlessly as a flash of pure white lightning pierced the expanse of the chasm with a glow that would have blinded her real eyes or optics. When it receded, the chasm and the distant, tall spires were gone. Starwish was once again alone within her own mind.</p>
<p>Exhaustion swept over her as the blackness settled fully into place and Starwish let her knees fold abruptly underneath her. Tears slid down her face as she realized just how hollow she felt now that her pent-up rage, bitterness, and fear were spent. “It is exhausting, isn’t it? Having so much to bear and remember on your own?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up wearily, “Who’s there? Haven’t I already done enough fighting for mental privacy for one day? Or one lifetime?”</p>
<p>The feminine voice that had spoken first seemed to smile, “I suppose you have. Don’t worry, I won’t be long if you don’t want me, I just want to give you a message.”</p>
<p>Starwish raised an optic ridge in wary curiosity, this being didn’t sound anything like Shockwave had, “What … kind of message?”</p>
<p>For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of a femme not much older than her, with bright lavender optics and a tentative smile, “Just that you don’t have to be afraid. You’re here for a purpose, not because anyone wanted to be cruel to you. I know it … it hurts to be hollow, but there’s someone nearby who can help you, who wants to help you.”</p>
<p>Starwish hastily looked up and around, “Wait, you know what happened to me? To my family? You know who did this? Who? Who are they? Who are you? What do you want with us?”</p>
<p>There was a pause, “I can’t say,” Starwish opened her mouth to shout as some of the spent anger came creeping back to her, but the voice hastily continued, “please don’t be mad! It wasn’t my decision! I’m … technically not supposed to be talking to you at all but since you’re frame is in deep stasis lock right now, this is the only time I can and Andromeda always says that I should trust my instincts about people more often so…”</p>
<p>Something about the voice made Starwish’s anger drain away. Whoever it was didn’t sound much older than she was, certainly not the type to vindictively transform someone into a fictional alien and place them on a fictional world. Starwish stiffened a little bit when she registered part of her visitor’s rambling speech, “I’m in stasis lock?”</p>
<p>Another pause, followed swiftly by a sigh, “Yes. Yes, you’re in stasis lock. That’s the only reason I’m able to speak with you actually, being so deeply buried in your own mind makes you more susceptible to … telepathic messages, I suppose you would call them. Andromeda says it’s because the subconscious mind is more attuned to the fact that there are other beings out there even if we can’t see them or hear them normally.”</p>
<p>There was another pause, “…And now I sound like some kind of creepy Spirit Medium or something. Great.” Starwish felt a tiny giggle, born more out of stress than actual humor, escape her lips.</p>
<p>Cocking her helm at the darkness, her exhaustion slowly forgotten in favor of the newfound mystery visitor, Starwish asked shyly, “So … assuming you’re not a coma hallucination or stasis lock flux or whatever the term is … who are you?”</p>
<p>There was a faint ripple in the darkness around her and Starwish watched with surprised interest as a shadowy Praxian silhouette sat down across from her, mirroring her posture of sitting on her knees with a straight back. The only visible feature of the femme aside from her outline was her two glinting lavender optics shining from a hidden faceplate, “Me? I’m Rising Dawn.”</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. To the Rescue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz stared silently at the city-come-fortress stretched out below him, his visor gathering data in accompaniment to his optics. Kaon looked just like it had when he’d left it several cycles ago, only busier. From his position flat on his stomach plating in a particularly tall and intricate pile of rubble, he was practically invisible. He had exchanged his normally silver armor colors for a special matte black that shifted subtly into different shades of black or grey when the light hit it at certain angles, making it even harder to spot than normal black paint.</p>
<p>Behind him, in a small divot in the ground sheltered by the wreckage of some long destroyed construction equipment, his rescue team huddled quietly, checking their gear one last time before beginning their near-suicidal mission. Launching a rescue mission into Kaon mere cycles after the capture of an Autobot was unheard of. No matter how fast a bot wanted to rescue someone, it was simply impossible to plan, strategize, and prepare for every outcome with the kind of speed that enabled mobilization within cycles. Not when you had to break into a fortress like Kaon.</p>
<p>Of course, that was why Prime had contacted the Wreckers to act as backup, because Jazz didn’t have a fully calculated plan and he had made it very clear that he wasn’t going to wait. A normal Autobot, although it pained him to even think about it, could theoretically withstand the extended duration of time required for a normal operation. But the two captured bots they were setting off to rescue were far from normal. They had never gone through anti-torture or interrogation training for one thing. For another, they were a femling and a recently upgraded adult. They didn’t have time to wait.</p>
<p>Jazz felt a faint hitch in his vents as he forced himself to admit that it might already be too late even now. Twelve cycles had passed since their capture. Counting on three to four cycles for a dropship to fly to Kaon, that left up to nine cycles for the Decepticons to do whatever they wanted with them. <em>Star…</em></p>
<p>Using a special frequency, he had contacted Buffer, explaining the situation and ordering him to get back into Kaon immediately to find out where Starwish and Hardwire were being held. Setting out as soon as possible, Jazz and his small team had met up with the Wreckers at the rendezvous point and together the two teams had made their way stealthily but swiftly to the outskirts of Kaon where Buffer had met them and told them the general location in Kaon in which Starwish and Hardwire were being held.</p>
<p>The Wreckers were aware of their side of the plan, even appeared eager to go through with it despite the heavy fatality risks, and Jazz’s team was ready. All that was left was to give Buffer enough time to get into place and start the operation. Closing his optics briefly, Jazz thought pleadingly, <em>Let us all make it through this…</em> His internal chronometer counted endlessly down, the Wreckers were already in place several kilometers away, no doubt getting restless if their first impressions were in any way correct.</p>
<p>Reaching into his subspace, Jazz fingered his Viral Daggers. They had been with him through more missions than he cared to count, so many that they had almost become something of a good luck charm. Ten kliks left until the starting time. His processor silently brought up the image of Ultra Magnus watching their dropship take off, focusing on the longing, desolate look that had been displayed on his faceplates for just a moment as the SiC stood loyally next to Optimus. <em>I won’t let you down if I possibly can, Magnus. I owe a Guardian that much.</em></p>
<p>Seven kliks left, his team were starting to crawl into positions on either side of him, ready and waiting. Glancing to his right, he nodded faintly to Whitestrike, who nodded back absently as he silently tested the transformation seams on his arm by sliding his signature white-tinted blade halfway out of its sheath.</p>
<p>Four kliks remaining. Jazz cast a glance to his left, he couldn’t see Mirage but he knew that the spy was somewhere on that side of him, waiting patiently for the signal to begin. The closest mech in sight wasn’t a member of the Special Ops, it was Cliffjumper. Said mech met his visored gaze and flashed a wild smile.</p>
<p>His internal chronometer beeped faintly in his helm, heralding the sudden explosion that launched into the sky like a smokey red fountain from a Kaon city block several kilometers away from their real target. <em>Huh, never thought the Wreckers were ones for scrupulous timing.</em> ::Tha’s our signal, team. Let’s roll.::</p>
<p>Fluidly, Jazz slid out of his hidden spot of rubble and began sprinting toward the wall defending the main city blocks of Kaon, his team following on his heel struts. Jazz didn’t slow when he spotted a guard standing near the grate in the wall that was their chosen entry point, gawking at the explosion that was the Wrecker’s distraction. One Viral Dagger slid easily out of his subspace and into his servo, fitting neatly into his palm as he ducked low and slashed upward as he swept past the guard.</p>
<p>The Decepticon didn’t even manage a cry of shock as the lethal virus imbedded in the blade’s circuity spread through his systems, locking down his vocalizer, comlink, and motor functions before finishing him off within the space of kliks. Whitestrike, having anticipated his leader’s actions, caught the guard as he fell lifelessly limp, halting his fall and the noisy impact with the ground before dragging the sparkless frame to the shadows of the wall where it would be harder to see.</p>
<p>Cliffjumper crouched next to Jazz, watching their surroundings as the saboteur hacked the lock to the chemical waste grate with skilled ease. With a faint snick, the grate unlocked and Jazz coaxed it to one side with only the barest of rusty screeches. Slithering through the opening and into the Kaon central, Jazz glanced around swiftly. As he had hoped, all of the Decepticons were currently diverting their attention to the diversion the Wreckers had set up.</p>
<p>Even as his team slid through the opening and into Kaon behind him, none of the ‘cons passing on the other side of the square so much as glanced their way. They were too focused on the chance to spill Wrecker energon to notice the small, darkly painted group that joined the crowd for roughly two blocks before darting off down a side alley. Jazz led the way toward the backdoor to Shockwave’s lab that Buffer had discovered, “Hurry,” Jazz hissed softly over his shoulder, “Sounders won’t be busy watching tha fight forever. We need ta get in an’ out ‘fore he notices.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s blasters hummed softly as he checked each alley entrance on their left, “Cheer up, Jazz. So far we’re clear.” <em>That’s what’s worrying me.</em> Jazz didn’t answer the front-liner’s comment as his visor scanned constantly for the required door or any enemies that might stand between them and their goals.</p>
<p>Shockwave’s facility was a large network of buildings both above and below ground that connected to Darkmount itself. There were very few entrances aside from its own hangar and the route through Darkmount, both heavily guarded. However, there were a few smaller entrances into the building that could serve as escape routes should something happen within the laboratory that required evacuation. Even Shockwave knew better than to assume he could control all of his monsters.</p>
<p>It was for one of those smaller entrances they were searching. Once they found it, Buffer would open it from the inside and the search and rescue would commence.</p>
<p>Whitestrike gave a low, wordless click with his vocalizer as he suddenly disappeared from his scouting position on the right and headed down a different alley. Jazz and the others instantly scattered for cover, taking care to avoid the security camera in the alley ahead of them while Whitestrike investigated something that had caught his optic. Jazz’s keen audio receptors heard the faint, wet-sounding slither of a blade sliding through armor and internals and tensed silently, waiting to see if it was Whitestrike living up to his designation or if he had just lost the first of his team.</p>
<p>A moment later, Whitestrike reappeared, his optics glinting with muted emotion as he nodded to Jazz soundlessly, one guard had been taken care of. Jazz returned the nod and upon a signal from Mirage, who had temporarily disabled the camera, they continued on their way. In the distance, the sounds of battle and shouting rose and fell intermittently, signaling that the diversion was still going strong. But in the section of the city they were darting through, everything was strangely deserted.</p>
<p><em>It’s too quiet, where is everybody? They can’t have all arrived at the Wrecker’s distraction already.</em> Rounding a corner, Jazz suddenly found himself locking surprised gazes with a Decepticon scout. <em>Oh, there they are.</em> The scout snarled as he backpedaled away from Jazz and back toward the sizable Decepticon group behind him, “Who are you? What are you-?” His shouts were halted by one of Jazz’s Viral Daggers piercing his forehelm plating, destroying his processor instantaneously while the rest of Jazz’s team fell upon the startled Decepticons.</p>
<p><em>Gotta take them down fast before they signal the others!</em> Jazz became a blur of motion as he dived into the surprise skirmish, his left servo interchanging for his acid pellet gun while his right twirled one of his signature daggers. Cliffjumper was perched on top of the shoulders of a bellowing brute, whooping crazily as he focused his blaster fire on one section of the brute’s helm, wearing the armor down through repetitive close range firing.</p>
<p>Jazz was aware of Whitestrike fighting nearby, his twin wrist blades flashing lethally as he danced around his opponents with the skill of the Cyber-Ninja Corps, never letting them land a hit while he wore them down with expertly placed slashes to their exposed lines.</p>
<p>Jazz himself was weaving between two snarling Decepticon soldiers, his acid pellets causing extreme pain as he fired swiftly at them. One of them reeled back, screaming as several rounds hit him in the faceplate, his servos clawing at the damage and serving only to make it worse. The other hissed in pained rage as his right arm was hit, the acid eating away at the thicker armor stubbornly, but only causing minimal damage.</p>
<p>With a yell, the mech dived at him, Neutron Assault rifle blazing crazily as he sought to close the already short distance between them. Jazz fell back a few steps, the light rounds peppering his armor ineffectively but painfully as he concentrated on watching his rapidly closing enemy. At the last possible moment, Jazz dived underneath the blaster-wielding arm of the Decepticon, twisting around to slap an adhesive-coated grenade to the mech’s back armor as he darted past.</p>
<p>The Decepticon spun around to follow, then stopped in surprise when he heard an incessant beeping coming from behind him. The ‘Con started to turn again when the grenade went off, ripping open his back plating and extinguishing his spark instantly. Jazz didn’t bother to wait and see the effects of his grenade, he was already diving into the fight to aid Clockwise, who was currently pinned down under a hail of fire.</p>
<p>For the next several kliks, the area of the scuffle was a roaring jumble of blaster fire, shouting, and servo to servo combat. Jazz didn’t even have time to fully process a thought of one action before his frame had already completed it and launched into another in order to remain online. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over.</p>
<p>Stepping over the Decepticon he had just offlined, Jazz looked around sharply, mentally counting off his other team members as he hissed, “Any injuries?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper shook his helm while Whitestrike just grunted as he yanked his blade out of the chest plates of a Deception, “Nothing but dents and scratches, sir.” The other members of his small team muttered agreement to Whitestrike’s assessment as they hastily checked their weaponry and ran self-diagnostics.</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Okay then. Let’s get a move on. If tha ‘Cons didn’t know we were here before, they sure as pit do now. Move it, mechs, low an’ fast.”</p>
<p>They set off again with a sense of urgency, knowing that even with the Wreckers raising a commotion, it wouldn’t be long before half of Kaon came to shoot at them. <em>Buffer’s info better be good. Or we aren’t going to be online to look anywhere else.</em></p>
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<p>Springer smoothly decapitated a cursing Decepticon as he ran past, not even flinching at the carnage happening all around him. Skidding to a stop behind a building corner, Springer called to Wheeljack, “How you doing, Jackie?”</p>
<p>Wheeljack’s optics twinkled over the top of his battle mask as he pulled the pin of a grenade and threw it into a particularly thick group of Decepticons, causing ruined frames to fly as it went off loudly moments later, “Who me? Having the time of my spark, boss!”</p>
<p>Springer felt a grin light up his own faceplates behind his mask, too deep in the rush of battle to care how crazy the act was. Around him, the other Wreckers were making their way slowly toward Darkmount itself, happily raising pit and wreaking havoc the entire way there. It wasn’t exactly the distraction that the mech Jazz had planned, but it wasn’t in the nature of the Wreckers to let such a perfect opportunity to blow up Megatron’s front door go to waste.</p>
<p>Overhelm, a small pack of Seekers cut through the smoke, banking sharply to the right as they flew away, screeching in outrage and terror as Whirl followed them, cackling the entire way as his random acrobatics successfully ruined their attempts to either shoot him down or escape. Springer unsubspaced his blaster and fired around the corner, content to let Whirl have his way in the air as long as he didn’t accidentally shoot his fellow aerial Rotorstorm.</p>
<p>Taking a swift vent, Springer caught Wheeljack’s optic and nodded to him before running around the corner and into the thick of the fight once more. Behind him, Wheeljack gave a roaring battle cry as he too reentered the main battle. Springer fired point-blank into the faceplate of a startled Decepticon, not even pausing as he leapt over the falling frame to tackle an inattentive vehicon shooting at Roadbuster’s back plating.</p>
<p>All around were the noises of battle. Screaming, weapons fire, the crash of metal against metal. It filled Springer’s senses and threatened to send him tumbling into the heady battle rage that marked the Wreckers’ fighting style. Almost reluctantly, Springer mentally controlled the urge to let the battle take him fully, he was the leader now and he had to remain in control of his senses should something go wrong.</p>
<p><em>Wrong. Ha! Like anything can possibly go wrong while randomly storming Kaon itself as a diversion!</em> A loud explosion shook the ground as Pyro set off one of his explosives, sending lifeless frames and debris flying into the air effortlessly. Springer’s sensors pinged him suddenly with the arrival of more seekers and eradicons and Springer looked up with a feral growl. Beside him, Twintwist seemed to sense his indecision and shouted, “We got it covered down here, Boss! Just make sure they don’t paste us from the air!”</p>
<p>Springer paused long enough to nod his acknowledgement to Twintwist before launching himself into the air and transforming into his airborne mode. Rising upward swiftly, Springer rotated in midair as a flight of three eradicons surged overhelm in a strafing run. As they shot past him, Springer swiftly turned and began to follow on their tailpipes, taking full advantage of his alt mode’s greater maneuverability to open fire on them just as they were pulling out of the strafing run.</p>
<p>Springer’s shots shredded the metal wing of the unprepared middle eradicon, sending him spiraling out of control to the ground below. The other two immediately broke formation to dodge to either side, circling around in a long loop to try to avenge their fallen wingmech. Springer backpedaled in the air, his rotors thumping confidently as he waited for the other two eradicons to close on him. As the two rounded on him from either side and opened fire, Springer weaved minutely in the air, only swerving the barest minimum to avoid taking damage to his rotors of other more vulnerable parts.</p>
<p>At the last moment, Springer suddenly shot up in the air, cutting off their intended route to avoid a midair collision. The eradicon on his left, startled by the sudden motion, dived sharply to avoid hitting the helicopter. Unfortunately, his companion had already been doing the same act and they collided in a spectacularly fatal explosion. Laughing internally, Springer swung away from the ball of fire and smoke, searching for his fellow helicopter Rotorstorm within the aerial firefight.</p>
<p>Several more eradicons tried to bring him down during his search, causing Springer to break off his intended flight path each time to deal with the amateur dogfighters. Like the grounded vehicons, eradicons were only given minimal combat training, relying mostly on preprogrammed attack patterns and sheer numbers to overpower their enemies. Against an agile and experienced flyer such as Springer, they stood almost no chance of survival.</p>
<p>After a few kliks of intense swerving and dogfighting, Springer finished off the latest eradicon wave with a sudden mid-air loop-de-loop, making the eradicon on his tail speed past him unchecked. Righting himself, Springer opened fire on the surprised eradicon’s exposed turbines, the powerful rounds of his underslung plasma chain gun shredding the turbines’ internal systems and causing them to explode, leaving the eradicon with no means of correcting his sudden spiraling dive. <em>Glitches.</em></p>
<p>Spinning in a smooth, hovering circle, Springer took stock of the situation. For breaking into Megatron’s capital city, they were doing remarkably well. The ground forces of the Decepticons were steadily falling back under the crazed onslaught of the Wreckers while the most of the decepticon aerial forces were too preoccupied with the madly howling Whirl and Springer himself to strafe the ground fight.</p>
<p>A sudden realization hit him and Springer increased the intensity of his search, <em>where’s Rotorstorm?</em> His brief anxiety eased when he spotted the witty-natured fellow helicopter cut his way through a cloud of smoke and begin flying over to him, “Springer!” The mech called across the noisy distance between them rather than attempt to use a comlink, Soundwave would no doubt be monitoring their frequency by now.</p>
<p>Springer dipped his nose in recognition as they fell into an easy formation and began fighting together, “Rotorstorm! What’s your status?”</p>
<p>Rotorstorm scoffed as he rotated to the right slightly and shot off a missile at a passing seeker who had briefly escaped the crazy chase for Whirl, “Me? I’m brilliant, Springer! Haven’t had this much of fun in a row since the Battle for Jagged Peak! How ‘bout you?”</p>
<p>Springer pulled up sharply to avoid a retaliatory missile aimed sloppily at them both, “I’m fine! That’s what worries me!”</p>
<p>Their conversation was briefly dropped as they initiated a dogfight with a pair of surprisingly competent seekers. The seekers were obviously well trained, as they used their superior speed to perform speedy strafing flybys past the two helicopters, who were saved from being shot down only by the gift of their heightened maneuverability. Springer cursed angrily as he snapped off a quick round of shots with his chain gun at the cackling yellow seeker as he whipped past in another strafing run, <em>this is going nowhere fast!</em></p>
<p>Rotorstorm suddenly dived with the shout of, “Follow me! I have an idea, wot!”</p>
<p>Springer didn’t hesitate to dive down after the more experienced flyer. Rotorstorm had always been good at aerial strategies, it was probably the only reason he could still fly after being on the battlefield with Whirl so many times. The seekers, thrilled with the hunt, followed their prey blindly, pulling into a tight, spinning formation that was far more showy than efficient in Springer’s opinion.</p>
<p>Following close to Rotorstorm’s tail, Springer knew he would have smiled broadly if he could when Rotorstorm led him in a sharp turn that took the two into an alley just wide enough for them to fly through. The two seekers pulled up and hovered, hesitating for for split klik before giving chase. Springer laughed as he finally realized Rotorstorm’s plan. If the open air was such an advantage to the seekers, than how much of a disadvantage would flying through the spiky, tightly packed buildings of Kaon be?</p>
<p>The answer was “really big”. As the two Wreckers spontaneously took off down different roads, one seeker immediately veered to follow Springer. The other, in a key moment of hesitation, crashed into the building ahead of him and exploded. Springer snorted in contempt at the foolish jet as he ducked around another corner and pulled up sharply, hovering expectantly just behind the building.</p>
<p>His pursuer swerved around the same corner and gave a shout of horror when he realized it was a dead end. The seeker went sharply vertical in an attempt to escape the same fate as his wingmech. For a klik, the seeker seemed to be suspended in the air, his frame serving as the perfect target for Springer to open fire upon.</p>
<p>His underslung gun purred smoothly as it fired off rapidly, turning the seeker in front and slightly below him into a hunk of shredded, lifeless metal within nano-kliks. Springer swiftly rose out of the alley and took off in the direction in which Rotorstorm had gone, not bothering to watch the descent of his lifeless enemy to the street below.</p>
<p>Springer felt a proud flash ripple through his spark as he heard the triumphant war cry of the grounded Wreckers below. They had taken the street and could now press on toward their impromptu target of Darkmount itself. Circling away from the cloud of smoke and fire that was a recently defeated enemy, Rotorstorm began flying to meet him, “I say, Springer! Don’t you think this is a bit on the easy side? You would think that the ‘Cons in Kaon would be of tougher stuff than the outpost mechs! Not the other way arou-!”</p>
<p>Springer felt his spark seize in surprise and fear for his friend as a loud boom heralded a seeker shooting past Rotorstorm. The rupture of the sound barrier sending Rotorstorm spinning wildly out of control with waves of powerful turbulence. Springer hastily backpedaled in order to avoid being caught in the turbulence himself. <em>What the-?</em> His audios registered a faint “pop” sound on his right just before he was suddenly tackled by someone who cackled loudly in his audio receptors as clawed servos raked the sides of his alt mode.</p>
<p>Instinctively, Springer reverted to his mech mode, yelling in pain as his weight and that of his attacker sent him crashing into a building. Springer’s helm cracked painfully against the wall of the building and he fell, stunned, onto a narrow ledge just below the area of his impact, trying to understand what had happened.</p>
<p>The thing that had tackled him suddenly vanished with a mocking laugh and another faint “pop” just as Springer managed to reset his optics and look around. The pop noise sounded again and Springer grunted in pained surprise as something landed heavily on his back, pinning him to the ground. The laughter sounded again and a voice hissed in Springer’s audio receptor, “Your pal said that the fight was easy. Is it so easy <b>now</b>, Autoscum?”</p>
<p>Springer struggled under the weight of his opponent, snarling angrily as he reached up with one servo to try to grab the mech standing on top of him and throw him off. He gave a bellow of pain as one of his own rotors was yanked out of its holder and used to pin his servo to the wall with a crunch of metal and circuitry. Springer’s other servo was trapped underneath him and now he was in too awkward a position to twist around and free it.</p>
<p>His processor raced desperately to think through the pain for a plan of escape as his systems worked to power down the pain receptors in his right servo. The voice cackled cheerfully in his audio again, “Ah-ah-ah! I wasn’t done bragging yet! Don’t you know not to interrupt one of the Elite Trine? Especially me, Skywarp! Master of pranks and awesome sneak attacks!” <em>Wait, what?</em></p>
<p>The seeker on top of him shifted slightly and seemed to be suddenly distracted with his own declaration, “Ugh. Now I sound like Screamer. Oh well, bragging rights is bragging rights, right Autoscum?”</p>
<p>Springer grunted angrily as a purple servo reached down to pat his cheek-plating condescendingly. Reacting with a ferocious speed born of anger and pain, Springer twisted his helm around and bit down hard on the extended servo. He felt a flash of sadistic satisfaction as his action elicited a shrieking curse from his attacker and ground his denta as hard as he could on the appendage clenched between his teeth.</p>
<p>The shriek rose in shrill intensity and Springer suddenly felt an electric tingle run through his frame wildly in accompaniment to the sensation of unexpected free falling. With a smack, he hit the ground again, the impact causing his jaws to snap tighter together than he could consciously make them before snapping open to cough out the mouthful of energon and metal the action gave him.</p>
<p>Battle-honed instincts had him rolling to his pedes despite his dizziness and pain. Looking to his left side, he saw the seeker that had attacked him, lying curled up on the rooftop they had somehow arrived at, shrieking angrily as he clutched at his severely damaged servo. Springer gave the howling seeker and snarl of woozy contempt as he pulled his rotor out of his own damaged servo, “What’s the matter, ‘Con? Can’t take what you give?”</p>
<p>Skywarp stopped howling in pain and glared angrily at Springer, his red optics alight with murderous intent as he snarled back, “That. Fragging. Hurt! I’m gonna-” Skywarp’s sentence was cut off as his optics dimmed briefly before brightening again with a growl of, “You’re lucky I got other places to be right now, Wrecker. But mark my words, we’re going to have this out later!”</p>
<p>With that last threat he vanished with a sudden distortion of the air and the pop noise Springer had heard earlier and Springer’s processor finally made the connection between the sound and the reports he had heard floating around, <em>Skywarp. He’s one of the seekers in Starscream’s Elite Trine along with a mech named Thundercracker. He’s equipped with some kind of experimental teleportation device.</em> Springer ducked underneath a low flying seeker who didn’t even pause to snap off a shot at him as he fled from Whirl.</p>
<p>Shaking his helm, Springer mused darkly, <em>Well, there goes Rotorstorm’s assessment of this battle being easy.</em> He glanced down briefly at his damaged servo before sliding his energon-stained rotor back into its holster and moving to the edge of the building to look at the fight below, <em>this fight just got raised to an entirely new level of interesting. Still, I’d better go find Rotorstorm before joining it.</em></p>
<p>With his course of action decided, Springer unsubspaced his favorite rifle and took a running leap to the next building over, performing a combat roll that bled off his speed as he started looking around for any sign of the wayward helicopter. He had a bad feeling that whatever had called Skywarp away from their one on one fight, it wasn’t going to be anything good for the Wreckers. <em>Jazz and his team had better hurry up with that rescue.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. To the Rescue Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz ducked swiftly behind a corner, cursing the existence of whoever had thought to equip all Brutes with energy shields as well as heavy armor. Clockwise flinched from his position next to Jazz as the Brute slammed his hammer into the ground, generating a powerful EMP pulse that was barely deflected by the wall they were hiding behind, “We’re running out of time, Jazz! The Wreckers won’t be able to hold the line for much longer if the ‘Con com chatter is to be believed!”</p>
<p>Jazz bit back the urge to snarl at Clockwise for stating something he was already well aware of as they performed yet another circuit of the so far endless circling around a section of hallway, always staying just on the opposite side of the barrier of the snarling Brute, <em>gotta hurry this up before his buddies show!</em> “Raj!” There was no answering call and for one spark-stopping moment, Jazz wondered if Mirage had been killed in the crossfire of one of their many skirmishes with his cloaking field preventing Jazz from ever knowing until it was too late.</p>
<p>Then, there was a crack of a blaster going off and the Brute arched his back struts, roaring in agony as the sensitive section of his back sparked dangerously from the hit. With a confused snarl, the Brute whirled to face his attacker, pausing when he saw only the empty corridor. His turn and pause was all the opportunity Jazz and his team needed. With vicious efficiency, they opened fire with every ranged piece of weaponry at their disposal, targeting the Brute’s one weak spot.</p>
<p>With a bellow, the Brute’s frame overheated and he dropped to the corridor floor, lifeless as the pent-up heat in his frame caused his spark chamber and processor to overload and offline him. Cliffjumper gave a smug whoop at the demise of the mech who had severely dented him with a well-timed, but fortunately glancing, blow from his war hammer. Jazz heaved a little bit, his own frame working to cool down from the exertion, “Alright. Keep moving, everybot, we’re almost there.”</p>
<p>With weary nods, the team turned and resumed their sprint down the halls of Shockwave’s facility. Less than a joor had passed since the start of their rescue operation, but already Jazz felt like they were taking far too long. In combat, breems were like cycles and kliks could be as important as any number of joors.</p>
<p>The resistance they were meeting was becoming increasingly difficult to defeat or circumvent and Jazz knew that even mechs as combat-loving as the Wreckers wouldn’t last indefinitely against the might of Kaon itself. If they didn’t reach their destination soon and get out of there, they were all going to offline.</p>
<p>Jazz shoved those thoughts away, concentrating on his work of hacking yet another thick blast door that had been lowered to slow their incursion into Shockwave’s sparkless sanctuary. With a beep, the blast door rolled back up into its housing and Jazz signaled that they could proceed. As they ran, a thought pressed back to the forefront of Jazz’s processor once again, <em>this is too easy. Too normal.</em></p>
<p>Rounding a corner, they were met with group of five startled vehicons. The vehicons barely managed to snap off a shot or two before Jazz and his mechs had offlined them and kept going. Again, the notion that everything was too easy struck him and Jazz almost hissed in nervous frustration, <em>where’s Soundwave’s interference? There are no signs of Soundwave’s counter-hacking in anything I touch, no transmission jamming, nothing that I would expect from him! Why?</em></p>
<p>An uneasy feeling flickered through him as he hacked yet another door without resistance while his team kept another batch of vehicons at bay, <em>this has to be a trap. A trap that I’m running right into with my team. But what else can I do?</em> There was of course, other things he could do, such as call off the rescue mission and escape while he still could. But while he could physically do such an act, in his spark, he never even considered it.</p>
<p>The ability to do something and it being a <b>choice</b> were two very different things in his processor and despite the other potential options, in his processor, he had only one choice. To keep going.</p>
<p>The door slid open and Jazz ushered his mechs through before letting the door slide shut behind them, cutting off the vehicons from following for at least a short time. They were in the very center of Shockwave’s laboratory facility now, and Jazz felt his spark keen angrily when he saw row upon row of prison cells, most of them empty but a few still housing what was left of mechs who had been interned into Shockwave’s “care”.</p>
<p>There was a weak whine and the static-laced cry of, “Wait,” from one of the cells and Jazz’s spark lurched when he realized that the half disemboweled mech inside was wearing an Autobot insignia. Without hesitation, Jazz hacked open the mech’s cell door to the sounds of his team’s murmured outrage and disgust at Shockwave’s atrocious acts. The energy barrier that served as an entrance to the cell flickered and offlined and Jazz let Cliffjumper and Clockwise rush inside to kneel by the mech.</p>
<p>Cliffjumper was trying to figure out whether it was at all safe to lift the mech from his position on the floor as he murmured gently, “Hey, hey, hey. Relax mech, we’re Autobots here to break you out, understand?”</p>
<p>The mech shook his helm weakly and continued to try to push them away, “…no… lea- me. No- worth … it…”</p>
<p>Clockwise glanced up at Jazz and shook his helm subtly. The mech was right, he would never survive being moved from his cell, let alone all the way back to Iacon. Cliffjumper didn’t notice the helm shake or how Clockwise silently stopped trying to lift the mech and instead tried to ease his pain. Cliffjumper was talking hastily, shakily, to the mech, “Stow that talk, mech. I’m sure you’ve been through worse than this before … okay, so maybe not. But that doesn’t mean it’s over for you. Just let us help, we’ll get you to a brilliant medic, his name’s Ratchet, he’ll repair you in no time.”</p>
<p>Again the mech twitched his helm in a negative, it appeared to be getting harder and harder for him to move as he rasped, “No … save- young … younglings…”</p>
<p>Jazz stiffened at his words and, after a momentary hesitation, stepped inside the cell. With a nudge, he signaled Cliffjumper to move aside and crouched in the vacated space by the mech’s side, “Younglings, soldier? Were they a femling an’ a recently upgraded mech?”</p>
<p>The mech gave a tiny nod, his vents wheezing feebly as they tried to cool his broken frame, “Yes… younglings… yes…” His optics flickered rapidly on and off and Jazz thought for a klik that the mech would offline before Jazz could get more information from him. There was a loud buzz from the mech’s vocalizer as he powered his optics back on to look up at Jazz and finish his message, “Mechling … went melt- meltdown. Tried to … offline Megatron when he visited … Shockwave. The guards stol- my parts to … fix him. That’s … how I know…”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded intently, fighting down the sick feeling in his tanks at how detached the mech sounded at being cannibalized for parts and left to offline slowly, “Where are the younglings now? Do you know? Are they still online?”</p>
<p>The mech’s vents rattled as he lay there for several kliks, seemingly thinking. Finally, Jazz was rewarded with a tiny nod, “Online … femling … something’s wrong … with the femling. Guards said … she didn’t have long … You need t- to hurry. Down the hall … take a…” his vocalizer trailed off with a burst of static and his optics dimmed into blackness, the light spilling from his cracked chest plates starting to slowly fade away.</p>
<p>Jazz dipped his helm silently, trying not to yell in frustration at yet another unavoidable casualty of war. He started to stand up, optics averted behind his visor. Cliffjumper gave a sudden yell of surprise and Clockwise jerked back in shock when a dented servo suddenly grabbed Jazz’s wrist with surprising strength. Jazz looked back at the faceplates of the mech in shock, his spark fluttering in confusion when he saw that the mech’s optics were shining with an unhealthy brightness and the glow in his chest plates had magnified to a similarly unnerving strength of color.</p>
<p>The mech looked at him with a pained, desperate look and Jazz suddenly realized that the mech was forcing himself to stay online through sheer force of will for just a few more kliks as he choked out, “Take a left … security code is 55-65-26. Saw a guard … use it as they … dragged me off. Mechling in the first cell … femling is-” again his vocalizer sputtered and again the mech somehow forced past the malfunction to hiss, “Back … of … lab.”</p>
<p>Blue optics searched Jazz’s visor for something as he whispered weakly, “Don’t let them … suffer … my fate. Please.” With that last plea, the mech’s optics rolled upward and dimmed, his servo going slack and falling away from Jazz’s wrist as the light in the mech’s chest plates vanished. All was quiet for a klik except for the soft clink of the lifeless servo hitting the floor. Jazz dipped his helm silently, his own servo shakily pushing the mech’s fractured chest plates closed to offer at least some privacy for the now empty spark chamber.</p>
<p>Jazz said nothing as he brushed the mech’s ruined armor with a servo, stood up, and left the cell. Looking around at his grim team, Jazz knew they were all thinking the same thing, <em>thank you. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for holding on to the pain just to make sure someone else would have a chance to avoid the same fate. Thank you for fighting in a war you had no right to be in. Thank you for still believing in your fellow Autobots even after being captured and seemingly left to offline alone in the clutches of the enemy.</em></p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “You heard him team, let’s get them out of here.” <em>and pray that he was right about everything except Starwish being close to offlining.</em> The only sound as they ran down the first hallway on their left was that of their own pedes hitting the floor as they ran. The mech hadn’t specified which door down the left hallway the security code went to, but Jazz had a good idea of which one it might be. After all, where else to keep two important “test subjects” than behind the only door made of reinforced cybertronium down that hall?</p>
<p>Running up to the door, Jazz punched in the security code, hoping fervently that it hadn’t been changed since the now offline mech had seen it. There was a spark-stopping pause as the door lock processed the input numbers and Jazz waited for the mysteriously silent alarms to start blaring wildly and bring Decepticon reinforcements down on their helms. Then, the light above the lock flashed a bright green and the door slid open with barely a sound. The mech’s information had been accurate.</p>
<p>As soon as the door slid open, Jazz’s scanners were sweeping the area on the other side. Glancing briefly at Getaway, he said, “Stay out here with Cliffjumper, keep our escape route clear.”</p>
<p>Getaway nodded silently and began calmly pulling out escape tools out of his subspace just in case Soundwave decided to strike at last. With one last sensor sweep of the other side of the door, Jazz rushed in, acid blaster out of his subspace and ready. Behind the door was a laboratory with two holding cells situated on the left side. Jazz darted up to the first cell and looked inside, <em>Hardwire…</em></p>
<p>Hardwire was lying on a berth several sizes too small to be comfortable, his optics dimmed but not completely out, his systems whirring just a fraction too loud to be healthy. Long scratches decorated his green painted frame and the unpainted appearance of his abdominal plating testified that it had been replaced altogether. Whitestrike leaned close to the cell barrier as Jazz rushed to unlock the cell, “Hardwire! Hey! Mechling!”</p>
<p>Red optics powered on slowly and Hardwire’s helm was disturbingly sluggish in its movement. For a long moment, Hardwire didn’t say anything, he barely seemed to recognize that they were there. Finally, his optics brightened a little more and he whispered, “Whitestrike?”</p>
<p>Whitestrike smiled reassuringly as Jazz carefully cracked another layer of encryption on the lock, <em>there’s more code on this lock than there was for Shockwave’s laboratory entrance! What the frag is with that?</em> Whitestrike was speaking soothingly to Hardwire, trying to prompt more responses out of the mech in order to determine his functionality, “It’s me, Hardwire. Jazz, myself, Cliffjumper, Buffer, we’re here to rescue you and Starwish.”</p>
<p>At the sound of his adoptive sister’s designation, Hardwire suddenly tried to sit up, his vents gasping in pain as he did so, “Star! Shockwave! <em>He used the Cortical Psychic Patch on her</em>!”</p>
<p>Jazz could have smacked his subordinate if he hadn’t been busy hacking the decidedly complicated lock code, sending Hardwire spiraling into speaking his own strange language was definitely not a good idea. Whitestrike winced, obviously realizing his mistake as he tried to undo the unintentional damage, “Whoa, whoa! Calm down, Hardwire! We’re going to get her out as well, I promise! Just calm down and try to speak Cyber-Standard!”</p>
<p>Hardwire twisted around, falling off of his berth with a painful sounding clang, and slowly staggering to his pedes with the help of the cell wall. Jazz’s sensitive audio receptors picked up the sound of dripping energon and he glared at Hardwire even as he worked on cracking the last code line, “Watch it, mech! We’ll help you get out o’ there, jus’ don’t break any o’ those welds!” <em>No telling what internal damage those fraggers have given him. Especially if he tried to attack Megatron. Ratchet’s gonna make it rain wrenches when he finds out about that!</em></p>
<p>Finally, the cell barrier fizzled away and Jazz hissed, “Clockwise, help him out of the cell, Whitestrike, Buffer, stay with them. Raj, you’re with me.”</p>
<p>Whirling, Jazz ran across the expanse of the scrupulously clean and organized laboratory. As he brushed past a console, he mused that under normal circumstances, he would have been eagerly hacking the console for any sensitive intel. As it was, Jazz simply ran to the extra door on the other side of the lab. The mech had said they were keeping Starwish there, Jazz hoped that the mech was right, because just as he reached the door and began cracking open the lock, he heard the distinctive report of Cliffjumper’s favorite Scatter Blaster going off.</p>
<p>The door swished open as Jazz broke open the code with a urgent savagery reserved only for the most desperate of situations and he looked up sharply, intending to scan for booby traps and hidden guards. Instead, the sight his optics found made every other thought vanish like smoke, <em>Starwish.</em></p>
<p>Starwish was lying utterly still on a medical berth, medical monitors Jazz had become far too knowledgeable on for not being a medic beeping placid tones of life as they registered data fed through the many small wires attached to her frame. Her chest plates were rising and falling in the steady, rhythmic pattern of a frame that was in deep stasis lock and her optics were hidden from the world by their protective optic shutters.</p>
<p>Jazz stepped cautiously into the room, only his strict training and vorns of experience keeping him from simply dashing across the short distance between them, “Star? Star, can ya hear me?” There was no response from the femling on the berth and, forgoing extra caution, Jazz ran to her side, “Starwish!”</p>
<p>Weaving past the monitors and their wires, Jazz carefully ran a scan of his own over her frame. She was being intravenously fueled and every system appeared to be functional … he couldn’t tell what was wrong. Mirage’s voice cut the air crisply for probably the first time in the mission, “Jazz, look at this.”</p>
<p>Tearing his gaze reluctantly away from Starwish’s unresponsive form, Jazz looked up at the now visible Mirage. Mirage pointed silently to a still-active small console in the corner of the room. There appeared to be an encrypted video recording displayed upon its screen and Jazz’s training forced him to be curious. Turning away from the sight of the console, Jazz ordered curtly, “Get tha video, it might tell us what they’ve done ta her an’ Wire. Then help me unplug her an’ get her out o’ here.”</p>
<p>Jazz carefully started unhooking the various monitors attached to her frame, his scans and uncomfortably substantial experience in such situations indicating that she was not currently life support. <em>Fragging cons.</em> The lack of life support, of course, brought up the question of why was she was in stasis lock without any signs of severe frame damage or low fuel reserves. But even without any physical signs of injury, or perhaps especially so, she should have been on life support to prevent her stasis lock from deepening any further.</p>
<p><em>Perhaps they wanted her to offline like this, slow and helpless.</em> Pushing that thought and the life support question aside, Jazz carefully detached the wire magnetized to her helm, his servo brushing part of her delicate looking white helm plating as he did so.</p>
<p>The faint brush caused her helm to flop loosely to one side and Jazz felt like his processors were about to stall from horror. Like an ugly black puncture wound, her processor interface port lay open to the world at large, the fractured weld marks testifying to the persistence of the hacker who had no doubt desecrated one of the most private areas of a Cybertronian.</p>
<p>His fingers traced the port gingerly, the tactile sensors stored in their tips automatically collecting data that might tell him when the hack had taken place and how long it had been in effect. Not that it mattered now. What mattered was that Jazz suddenly had a very good idea of why Starwish was in stasis lock. Grimly, he picked her up, ignoring Mirage’s horrified look when he too caught sight of the exposed port. If Jazz was right and Starwish had spent any substantial amount of time without life support before his arrival, than the Autobot who now lay offline in his cell down the halls had been correct. Starwish did not have much longer to live. Not without <b>immediate</b> medical help.</p>
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<p>Wheeljack’s swords came up and deflected the impending blow with a sharp clang that was lost amid the cacophony of noise surrounding him. Smirking from behind his mask, Wheeljack snarled, “That the best you got ‘Con? ‘Cause you gotta try a lot harder than that to ruin my cycle.”</p>
<p>The opposing mech danced back, pedes moving lightly across the ground in a showy manner no doubt meant to distract Wheeljack’s attention. Wheeljack just growled contemptuously and lunged, catching the supposed swordsmech off guard with a well-timed slice of his right sword.</p>
<p>His opponent fell back with a surprised yelp, his left arm now leaking energon through the slash in his armor and lines. Wheeljack pressed his advantage, laying blow upon blow on his enemy’s guard, breaking it down through the sheer speed of his attacks. With a final twirl, Wheeljack cheerfully threw his sword up into the air. The mech in front of him made the fatal mistake of following the flight of the sword with his optics, leaving him completely unprepared for Wheeljack’s blaster shot to the helm.</p>
<p>Wheeljack didn’t have time to be satisfied with his work, he barely had enough time to catch his sword and whirl to face his next opponent. The fight was getting out of servo, not that the Wreckers were ever really in control of it to start with, but at the rate the fight was going, even Wheeljack had to admit that retreat was becoming a viable option. Whatever had kept the forces of Kaon from paying full attention to them before, it seemed to have stopped and now the small group of admittedly stubborn mechs were having … a little bit of trouble.</p>
<p>Wheeljack fought off another opponent and couldn’t help but feel a tiny wave of relief when his proximity sensors alerted him to Seaspray’s nearby presence. “Yo, Spray!”</p>
<p>Seaspray whistled shrilly in response as the fellow Wrecker blasted a nearby Decepticon and pressed his back struts against Wheeljack’s, “Not exactly like the Battle of Hydriax Plateau is it, Jackie?”</p>
<p>Wheeljack cycled his vents contemptuously as the two continued to fight off Decepticons while talking, “You call that a battle? They were running away before we even hit the main plateau!”</p>
<p>Seaspray laughed as they turned tight circles, their sensors raised to the maximum to detect anything unfriendly that might come too close. Wheeljack called over his shoulder seriously, “How much longer? A ‘Con jammer knocked out my chronometer!”</p>
<p>Seaspray opened fire on a bolder-than-most vehicon as he bellowed out an answer, “About … two breems more! Then we move it!”</p>
<p>Wheeljack growled in his engine, <em>hope that saboteur and his team move their afts, cause even we’re gonna have to leave at this rate.</em> Suddenly, the roar of powerful engines overhelm cut through the noise of the fighting and all members of the ground battle paused to look up. Wheeljack started to curse when he spotted the two identical alt modes of Dreadwing and Skyquake roaring past. The two aerial commanders were no doubt there to turn the tide of the battle.</p>
<p>Wheeljack’s curses trailed off in confusion when Seekers and eradicons suddenly peeled away from the fight to follow the two commanders off in a different direction. After a brief pause, the sounds of transformation all around caught Wheeljack’s attention and he looked back down to the ground battle to see several of their combatants driving away with all speed after the flyers. <em>What the frag?</em> His confusion was hastily pushed aside when the remaining, and still sizable, number of Decepticons launched themselves at the Wrecker’s once more.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>I hope that wasn’t what I thought it was. Cause if it was, Jazz is gonna be scrapped.</em>
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<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prowl stood tall and still in the Command Center, listening to the low murmur of mechs at their work. Everyone worked as silently as possible, unwilling to be the one to break the subdued, anticipating mood of the Command Center. Prowl’s processor automatically processed any data brought to his attention with efficiency and speed, giving no sign as to whether or not he felt the tense atmosphere surrounding his colleagues and subordinates.</p>
<p>Prowl was, in fact, acutely aware of the mood. He was suffering from it internally even as he did his work. Jazz and his team had been gone for several cycles and during that time, complete com silence had been upheld on the end of the stealth team. They couldn’t risk any chance of Soundwave getting word of their plans and ruining their already slender chances.</p>
<p>But this cycle was supposed to be the one when that silence was to be broken. If anything went according to Jazz’s plan, which Prowl had predicted a 87% chance it wouldn’t, then the team would be calling in to either report a successful escape. If things did go to pit, which Prowl strongly suspected it would, com silence would be broken in order to request aid. Off to his right, Blaster fidgeted subtly at the com station, waiting eagerly for any news from the team, servo close to the channel selection switch in preparation.</p>
<p>To anyone on the outside, Prowl would have seemed like an emotionless drone in the midst of the organized chaos. Focused, calm, and unshakable as he went about his duties. On the inside, the only thing that kept him from being just as fidgety as Blaster was his rigid training and the resolve to continue his tasks. There was nothing he could do in Iacon to help Jazz except wait for the First Lieutenant’s signal, so idling around worrying was illogical.</p>
<p>Prowl glanced down at the datapad in his right servo, optics skimming lightly over the data presented there as his doorwings constantly updated him about his surroundings, “Flash Fire, is this report from Sector E confirmed?”</p>
<p>Flash Fire straightened up and saluted as he replied, “Yes sir, it is.”</p>
<p>Prowl nodded briefly as he subspaced the datapad, “Very good. Resume your duties.”</p>
<p>Flash Fire saluted again swiftly before turning and trotting out of the room to fetch more reports from the official Communications Center. Prowl looked up silently and watched Iacon rush by outside the single Command Center window, his logic center forcing his thoughts into rational, orderly streams, effectively burying his worry under his many tasks.</p>
<p>Suddenly, an alarm went up from Blaster’s com station and the mech sat up straight in excited surprise, “Message from Decepticon territory, sir!”</p>
<p>Prowl turned his helm to watch Blaster, but forced himself not to approach the com station, getting closer to the beeping console would not help anything, “Can you confirm the frequency?”</p>
<p>Blaster’s fingers were rapidly inputting commands into the console even as he answered Prowl, “Yes, sir! I just need to isolate the pulse … got it! It’s them! It’s Buffer!”</p>
<p>Prowl tilted his helm to one side, his logic centers spinning to focus on the unfolding situation, “What does the message contain?”</p>
<p>Blaster fingers, if possible, seemed to speed up, “Decrypting now … it’s the Alpha code! They need a groundbridge immediately!”</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings subconsciously flicked higher on his back in alertness, “Inform the bridge crews and have Ratchet prepare the medbay.”</p>
<p>Blaster’s faceplates were set in a grim position as he nodded, “Already on it, sir. The bridge crews are attempting to lock onto the transmitted coordinates now.” Without waiting to be told, Blaster flicked a switch and the main view screen in the Command Center powered on and displayed a map showing the given coordinates from Buffer’s transmission.</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings shifted upward a little more as he analyzed the map data. The coordinates were just outside of Kaon’s shielded perimeter, as close to the intended escape route as possible. Prowl kept his optics focused on the map, trying not to think about anything other than facts, trying not to let his logic center formulate a thousand theories of what had gone wrong or was even now going incorrectly on Jazz’s end to warrant a groundbridge so close to Kaon.</p>
<p>Worrying would do nothing but give him a helm-ache and make him unavailable should his skill set be needed. <em>Jazz knows what he is doing and his team is competent. They can handle the situation themselves, with or without my worrying.</em></p>
<p>Much to Prowl’s internal irritation, his mental reasoning did not stop him from worrying anyway.</p>
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<p>Hardwire stumbled, cursing painfully as his blunder nearly took the two mechs helping him run down with him. He simply couldn’t get his legs to work the way he wanted them to. Ahead of him, other Autobots were firing away at the Decepticons trying to stop their retreat from Kaon, slowly getting closer to freedom. Painfully slowly. Next to him, Jazz gave a low hiss as he shifted his hold on Starwish’s limp form in order to fire his acid pellet gun at the enemy. Hardwire felt pain stab through his spark as he saw Starwish’s unresponsive frame draped over Jazz’s left shoulder. He hadn’t been able to protect her. All of that training, that pit-blasted berserker program locked in his helm, and he still hadn’t been able to protect her from Shockwave.</p>
<p>He had tried, oh how he had tried. Hardwire even dimly remembered activating his program, but even that hadn’t been enough. Instead, he had woken up in a reinforced cell, with his entire body feeling like someone had beaten him to a pulp. The condition of his frame lent credence to the theory that someone had finally beaten him while he was in his Bāsākā rage and had also served to make him a burden in the retreat out of Shockwave’s laboratory and Kaon itself.</p>
<p>Gritting his denta, Hardwire struggled to make his frame move faster, all the while wishing he could access his weapons. A well aimed blast from his back-mounted cannon would have helped their escape immensely at the moment, but someone had disabled his subspace pockets and none of the other Autobots currently had the time to enable them again.</p>
<p>As if sensing Hardwire’s growing frustration and exhaustion, Cliffjumper hiked Hardwire’s arm a little bit higher on his shoulders and said, “Just keep moving, Wire. We’re almost to the emergency extraction point!”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t respond, he simply didn’t have the energy to do so. All of his energy was focused toward moving forward as fast as he could conceivably limp. Almost bitterly, he mused, <em>if I were Jazz’s size, then Cliffjumper could simply carry me and have done with it.</em> Their desperate group rounded the corner, stepping over the frames of fallen Decepticons as they hurried down the street toward the outer wall of Kaon and, hopefully, freedom. <em>Just a little farther. Just keep moving five more steps, then you can pass out. Five more steps.</em></p>
<p>Painstakingly, Hardwire mentally counted off five staggered steps and started his count again, always focusing on going just five more steps, trusting in the others to fight off the opposition without him. It wasn’t as if he was in any condition to help anyway. His mental count was interrupted when Whitestrike hissed a warning and Hardwire was dragged to cover by Cliffjumper and a mech named Getaway.</p>
<p>Wearily, Hardwire craned his helm upward, trying to see what they were hiding from. The scream of jet engines overhelm told him everything he needed to know and Hardwire bowed his helm again, shutting his optics tiredly. <em>I begin to wonder why combat shows are so fragging popular on Earth. Maybe because they never show just how slagged up and exhausting war really is?</em></p>
<p>A message reverberated in Hardwire’s helm, but he couldn’t work up the energy to be surprised by Cliffjumper’s voice, ::Don’t move. Mirage managed to knock out the security sensors in this sector, so now the ‘Cons have to search for us manually. If we keep really still, those Seekers will pass us by.::</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t bother responding, he simply obeyed the command to not move. He was so tired, it was a welcome reprieve to rest in the shadowed alcove of a building, no matter the reasons why. After a moment, the sounds of the jet engines faded noticeably and Hardwire opened his optics again, dreading the need to get moving again. As he started to shift in preparation to stand, Cliffjumper’s servo on his shoulder made him go still again, ::Not yet, Wire! They’re going to come back for a second pass.::</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted his gaze to stare at Cliffjumper questioningly, trying to ask how Cliffjumper was so certain of that fact without working his vocalizer. Cliffjumper caught his gaze and seemed to interpret it correctly, ::Standard protocol. Double passes over the same area to detect movement.::</p>
<p><em>So … to flush us out, they double back. Make’s sense I guess.</em> Hardwire sensed the others stiffening when there was no sounds of jet engines coming back. Instead, they all heard the low growl of car engines as ground-based Decepticons shot down the street past them, not even pausing to run scans. Hardwire, his optics closed to prevent their light giving his position away, idly wondered where the Decepticons were going in such a hurry and why they hadn’t bothered to search for the Autobots.</p>
<p>Once the Decepticons had passed, there was a long silence during which none of them moved. Finally, Cliffjumper and Getaway began pulling Hardwire’s arms, quietly urging him to get back on his pedes. Hardwire groaned miserably as they resumed their desperate scamper for freedom. With a stubborn determination that Hardwire had never been aware he possessed, his mind resumed the grim count. <em>Just five more steps, Hardwire. Five more slagging steps.</em></p>
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<p>Soundwave was no longer in control. Her spark pounded anxiously in her chest plates as she struggled to set aside her personal feelings and simply become the emotionless, unfathomable Communications Officer that everyone else believed she was. Emotions wouldn’t help the already intolerable situation. Her fingers flew across the console, pressing buttons, keying commands, monitoring areas … <em>Megatron. My Love…</em></p>
<p>Shaking herself mentally, Soundwave tried to concentrate on her work of driving the Wrecker’s out of Kaon and hunting down the mysterious team of Autobots who were currently hiding somewhere in Kaon. As yet another section of her security grid went dead, she cursed the Autobots from behind her sound-deleting mask.</p>
<p>How she had missed their presence for so long was a frustrating mystery to her. It didn’t help that the power grid keeping her external security systems online kept fluctuating incorrectly and causing blackouts in randomized areas. Ravage commented from his watchful position crouched by the door to Darkmount’s Command Center, <em>“It must be those glitchy vehicons who run maintenance. Knockout reported earlier that there were signs of degrading in their motor relays and lower processor functions.”</em></p>
<p>Whatever it was, it was making Soundwave’s job nearly impossible. The reason she was known as being all-seeing was because she could tap into almost any visual, audial, or non-sentient sensory system on Cybertron if she was within a certain radius from it. But that ability was useless if there was no visual, audial, or sensory system functioning to tap into.</p>
<p>Already, she had had to divert a sizable portion of both Kaon’s aerial and ground forces to patrolling Darkmount’s medical/science wing in order to protect her mate and master. The sensor grid had gone down in that entire sector and Soundwave refused to take the chance that there might be an assassination team, either Autobot, Neutral, or Decepticon, trying to infiltrate and offline her mate while he lay injured on Knockout’s medical berth.</p>
<p>She had assigned Dreadwing, Skyquake, and Blackout, three of the most loyal Decepticons in the entire army, to stand guard inside the medbay itself while forces picked specifically by those three mechs patrolled the halls and perimeter of the medical wing. It wasn’t as good as being there herself, but it would have to do.</p>
<p>Her concentration on running damage control for the surprise attack was nearly shattered when Starscream’s voice screeched over the comlink, ::Soundwave! Why have you recalled so many of our forces? We almost have these insolent Autoscum crushed beneath our heel struts! Send in the rest of Kaon’s might to crush them! That is an order!::</p>
<p><em>And leave Megatron with only Knockout and Breakdown to guard him? When Unicron resurrects and bows to Primus maybe.</em> Instead of voicing any of her thoughts out loud, Soundwave simply pinged a negative to Starscream’s request and cut his access to her comlink. If Starscream could not manage the offlining of a few Autobots with roughly half of Kaon’s forces at his disposal, then he truly was criminally incompetent.</p>
<p>Laserbeak asked quietly over their bond, <em>“Are you sure you don’t want me out there monitoring the battlefield? With Skyquake, Dreadwing, Breakdown, Blackout, and Knockout in the room, I’m fairly certain Megatron is safe.”</em></p>
<p>Soundwave’s processor agreed with Laserbeak, it would be more logical to have the agile cassette out scouting the areas of sensory blackout, searching for the Autobot insurgence team. Her spark reached out and brushed against the wall shielding her from Megatron’s pain and his spark from any comfort she might have been able to give. Her spark tightened a little bit as she withdrew from probing their bond, <em>“No, Laserbeak. Remain where you are.”</em></p>
<p>Her fingers continued to input commands as she attempted to restart the deadened parts of the security grid, not needing to use her servos to feel and remember the mark hidden under her chest plating. The one that marred the smooth surface of her spark chamber with a permanent, lightning shaped scar. <em>No one is ever truly safe. I won’t take the chance of false appearances. I won’t make the mistake of believing in safety ever again. Safety only comes with knowing … and even that has its dangers.</em></p>
<p>On either side of her, working the consoles with a diligence and skill that would have surprised anyone but Soundwave, Rumble and Frenzy worked two other consoles, trying to isolate the problem that had appeared in the security software and was not helping the random blackouts at all.</p>
<p>The Decepticon com chatter suddenly exploded with surprised declarations and eager war cries, ::They’re retreating! The Wreckers are retreating! Let’s get them!::</p>
<p>Over a hundred other voices rose in agreement, howling for the spilled energon of the mechs who had dared to assault Kaon. Cutting through the noise of the energon-lust, Thundercracker’s deep, unreadable tones spoke directly to Soundwave’s com, ::Commander Soundwave. I just spotted a groundbridge opening outside of Kaon. Sending coordinates now. Orders?::</p>
<p>Soundwave stiffened as she received the coordinates, <em>the insurgence team. They’re escaping!</em> Soundwave pinged Thundercracker back immediately, using the text only function of the com that so few except herself used, ::I.n.t.e.r.c.e.p.t. a.n.d. d.e.s.t.r.o.y.::</p>
<p>Thundercracker pinged his acknowledgement and Soundwave listened in as he ordered his trine mate Skywarp to break off his current attack and follow him. Internally, Soundwave scowled when Starscream’s obnoxious voice interrupted Thundercracker’s message to Skywarp, demanding to know where they were going without <b>Starscream’s</b> permission. The mech cut off Thundercracker before the blue seeker could even formulate an answer and Soundwave felt her temper wear dangerously thin.</p>
<p>Commandingly, Soundwave pinged Starscream’s com, sending him the coordinates of the Autobot groundbridge. Starscream completely missed her point, ::So the Wreckers think to escape through a groundbridge? Pah! We will cut them off! Decepticons! Surround the Wreckers, do not let them escape!::</p>
<p>Overhearing, Rumble snarled darkly, “Why is that glitch still online? Let alone our SiC?”</p>
<p>Soundwave was inclined to agree with her bad-tempered mini-con. With anger that never appeared in the message itself, Soundwave tried to redirect Starscream’s efforts to the groundbridge and the Autobot insurgence team no doubt nearing escape with every passing klik.</p>
<p>The effort was futile. By the time she had convinced Starscream to let the Wreckers go, the Autobot groundbridge just outside of Kaon’s shielding was already closing. Of course, Starscream had obeyed her urgings just soon enough to ensure that most of the Decepticons were arriving at the groundbridge’s location just as it closed, making it impossible to turn around and eradicate the Wreckers instead.</p>
<p>The Autobots had launched a surprise attack on Kaon and gotten away unscathed. Completely, utterly, unscathed. None of the Decepticon reports now flowing into the Command Center indicated that any Autobots had been offlined by the Decepticon countermeasures. Skywarp proudly reported destroying the servo of one of the Wreckers, but in Soundwave’s opinion, the act hardly warranted attention. Certainly not celebration.</p>
<p>Shaking internally, Soundwave ordered all other Decepticons out of the Command Center. Once everyone except her cassettes had left and she had both locked the door and rerouted the Command Center security cameras to only report to her, Soundwave allowed her rage to show physically.</p>
<p>Viciously, Soundwave slammed her fist against the wall, adding to the collection of dents that had formed over the vorns from similar incidents of uncontrollable passion. Slowly, Soundwave removed her servo from the wall and turned back to isolating the problems in the security grid. One punch. It was all she could afford to allow herself.</p>
<p>Behind her, Ravage yowled and slashed at a chair, ripping it apart with his claws while Rumble and Frenzy cursed with the fervor and skill of gladiators five times their age, expressing Soundwave’s rage for her since she no longer could. Only Laserbeak joined Soundwave in stoic silence, obediently watching as Knockout labored painstakingly over repairing Megatron’s injuries and pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room.</p>
<p>Soundwave brushed against the block keeping her spark from reaching out to Megatron’s, trying to offer silent assurances to her unconscious sparkmate through it. She had failed to destroy the Autobots, but he was safe. That, at the very least, was a victory worth savoring.</p>
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<p>Breakdown watched as Knockout painstakingly realigned Megatron’s right shoulder strut, silently handing his small red companion the tools that the medic did not currently have in his subspace as required. Even though he was outwardly stoic and ignorant of anything outside the medbay, internally, he was cheering.</p>
<p>Reports flowed over the comlink, allowing him to piece together enough of the battle to know one, elating fact. The Autobots had gotten away with what they came for. Shockwave’s two newest prisoners were gone, taken by the “insolent Autobot scrap”.</p>
<p>Breakdown’s gaze shifted briefly to a side door behind which he knew Shockwave was currently lying on a berth in deep stasis lock so that his processor could successfully self repair from whatever malfunction had effected the Cortical Psychic Patch. The prisoners were gone, out of Shockwave’s reach, beyond the fate Breakdown had suffered. <em>Never again. No matter what.</em></p>
<p>As Knockout turned to take a welder from Breakdown’s outstretched servo, a report came in from some of the other Decepticons, complaining about the damage caused by the Wreckers’ surprise attack. Knockout’s red optics briefly met Breakdown’s yellow gaze and Knockout flashed the tiniest smirk, <em>“told you it would work,”</em> his optics said confidently.</p>
<p>Breakdown dipped his helm fractionally in acknowledgement, of course it had. Knockout’s plans almost always did. Especially when they utilized the vehicons’ propensity for mistakes to make the security grid go down in key places at key times during the Autobot rescue mission. With their knowledge of how vehicons made mistakes and how to manipulate that, even Soundwave would never know what had truly happened. Breakdown smirked back, <em>“never doubted you,”</em> his optics replied.</p>
<p>Knockout turned back to his work while Breakdown continued to listen to reports about the havoc the Wreckers had wrought, his spark surging with brief pride before his processor was stabbed with pain for the out-of-bounds thoughts. Rebelliously, Breakdown thought the words again anyway, relishing in their mental sound and all they meant despite the pain, <em>Wreck and Rule, mechs. Wreck and Rule.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Miracles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arcee listened to the muffled sounds of shouting going on outside of her private room in the medbay, trying to puzzle out what was going on just from the distorted sound. Dimly, Arcee could hear Ratchet’s voice rising over the others with rich curses. Whatever was happening clearly displeased the medic.</p>
<p>Arcee growled quietly in frustration, agitated that she couldn’t see what was going on because one of the medics had locked the door to her room. Because of her injuries, the medics had insisted she remain in the medbay under observation. Specifically, she had to stay in the private room she was currently contained in. <em>At least they didn’t restrain me.</em> Darker memories taunted her briefly and Arcee shuddered as she pushed them away again.</p>
<p>Refocusing on the commotion going on outside of her room, Arcee thought she could barely make out the words “stasis lock”, “fraggers”, and “Cogwheel”. Arcee tried not to panic at the mere mention of the Arachnicon. It wasn’t the surgeon’s fault that Arcee couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the other femme, but at least no one blamed Arcee for it.</p>
<p><em>I’m getting off topic again. Scrap these stupid meds, making it so hard for my processor to focus.</em> Arcee slowly, cautiously, began sitting up on the berth, determined to know more of what was going on.</p>
<p>The shouting was getting closer, so if she could just get to the door, she might be able to hear beyond it. Her leg struts protested as she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the berth. Her medical monitors beeped loudly in protest as she began moving, their wireless nature allowing them to track her vital signs even as she staggered off of the berth and woozily made her way to the door.</p>
<p>Pressing her left audio receptor against the door, Arcee slid down into a sitting position with a grunt, <em>Glitchy sedatives.</em> Pushing aside the urge to mentally complain about the medication that was alternately making her life less painful and making it harder to achieve her goals, Arcee turned up the sensitivity of her left audio, focusing on what she could hear through the door.</p>
<p>The sounds were directly outside now and, with her increased audio receptor sensitivity, Arcee could finally make out more than unintelligible babble with the occasional coherent word.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s voice was the main one, he was alternately cursing and giving orders to whoever else was with him, “Of all the crazed, sadistic, meltdown things to- Hardwire, no! Stay awake, mechling! Just a little while longer, then you can rest, I promise. Jolt! Get the intravenous tubes and the medical high-grade, his systems are almost dry here! First Aid, get Starwish on L.S. <b>now</b> and start monitoring her condition. Primus knows what we’ll find … Hoist! Arcee’s off her berth again, get in there and deal with it!”</p>
<p><em>Scrap! </em>Arcee jerked away from the door and crawled backwards just in time to avoid being stepped on by a harried looking Hoist as he darted into her room. Taking advantage of the open door, Arcee looked past Hoist into the hallway. Her spark nearly skipped a beat in its chamber at the sight of a strange, battered green mech being carried carefully on a hover-gurney through the open door of the room across from hers.</p>
<p>Her spark fluttered and she almost felt like she was sitting on the edge of a large chasm instead of on the floor, wishing desperately to jump across the expanse to where the mech lay weakly on the hover-gurney, a mech on either side of the much-too-small piece of equipment to make sure he didn’t fall off. As if sensing her gaze, the green mech slowly raised his helm and tried to turn it to look at her, barely meeting her gaze through the corner of his optic before the door to her room slid shut and block her view.</p>
<p>Hoist crouched by her side, careful not to crowd her, “Arcee? Arcee, what are you doing on the floor? You’re supposed to be recharging. With your injuries…”</p>
<p>Arcee glared up at him irritably as Hoist slowly picked her up and carried her back to the berth, “Wha’s … goin’ on out there?” <em>The sedatives are effecting my speech too. Frag.</em></p>
<p>Hoist hushed her gently like he would a sparkling as he set her on the berth and began scanning her for broken welds or damages. Arcee glared stubbornly at him, “Wha’s. Goin’. On?”</p>
<p>Hoist answered carefully, “A rescue team just returned from Kaon and we’re working on the new patients now.”</p>
<p>Arcee stiffened, “Rescue? New patien’s? Who?”</p>
<p>Hoist pulled out an energon cube and held it out to her pointedly. Reluctantly, Arcee took the cube and began to sip it in exchange for more information. Hoist answered, “I don’t know either of them personally yet. But Jazz insisted on launching an emergency rescue mission directly after they were captured during the Algol battle. One of them is an apprentice of Ratchet, actually. The other … well, he’s complicated.”</p>
<p>Arcee thought back to her glimpse of the battered green mech, her tanks churning a little bit in memory of his wounds and obvious pain, “Who … who did tha’ t’ them?”</p>
<p>Hoist paused for several kliks, during which Arcee had to fight off her rising recharge protocols. Finally, Hoist murmured softly, “I don’t know yet for sure but … I think it was Shockwave.”</p>
<p>Arcee winced sluggishly, her sympathy for the two fellow Autobots rising even more at the name. Shockwave wouldn’t have been as intentionally sadistic as some … other ‘Cons she could think of, but he probably made up for it in sheer lack of caring for what they felt while he took whatever he wanted from their frames and processors.</p>
<p>Hoist took Arcee’s partially drained cube from her slackening servos gently, “Look, don’t worry about it, alright? We’re going to take good care of them, just like you.”</p>
<p>Arcee didn’t respond as Hoist left and her recharge protocols fought against her stubborn desire to remain awake. As the new sedatives hidden in the energon she had drunk entered her systems and carried her away from reality, Arcee was suddenly struck by the distinct impression that she had known that mech. That he had done something very, very important for her … but she couldn’t remember what.</p>
<p><em>Eh, I’ll ask when I next get the chance … thank him for whatever it was if he doesn’t … offline.</em> The feeling of remembrance and knowing didn’t leave Arcee even as she initiated recharge. It plagued her with holographic fluxes of blue painted skies and strange haunting cries of her name for the next two joors before she was finally able to settle into a more peaceful rest.</p>
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<p>Starwish sat in her own personal darkness, trying to figure out whether she should be scared, bored, or try to entertain herself. Rising Dawn, the mysterious voice in her mind, had left abruptly some time ago, leaving Starwish to wonder what was happening outside of her inadvertent prison and how she was going to get out.</p>
<p>She had no way of knowing how long she had been in stasis lock, no way of telling where she was anymore. With a shudder, Starwish curled in on herself a little bit, <em>still in Shockwave’s lab no doubt … maybe it’s better that I can’t wake myself up.</em> A soft sound, like a whisper, yet … deeper, closer somehow then she would have ever expected, made her sit up straight in surprise.</p>
<p>Starwish cocked her helm to one side, fear rising in her spark as she tried to identify the sound as it repeated, “Hello? I-is anyone out there?”</p>
<p>The whispering grew more insistent and the “ground” underneath her shook slightly. Starwish recoiled in terror from the sound and shaking, trying to block it out somehow, “Go away! Whoever you are! Whatever you are! Leave me alone!”</p>
<p>To her surprise, the shaking sensation and whispering sound stopped instantaneously, as if the darkness had become a wall that blocked it out. Starwish vented wildly, trying not to panic, <em>what was that? Is Shockwave coming back? Is someone else trying to use the Cortical Psychic Patch?</em> Starwish shivered uncontrollably for a few moments, trying to understand what was happening.</p>
<p>Somehow, even though she was alone and everything was silent again, she knew somehow that the whispering was still there, growing steadily into a demanding call that she could sense but not hear. Fearfully, Starwish tried to curl up even tighter, “Please … don’t hurt me…” <em>I’m so scared…</em></p>
<p>The sense of someone shouting just outside of her fortress of blackness suddenly cut off and Starwish couldn’t stop herself from looking up in surprise. Of course, she didn’t see any change in her surroundings, yet, just as the sense that the whisper had remained and grown to a shout had been undeniable, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was alone again … and that it was a very bad thing. <em>Oh no, what if that was Rising Dawn coming back?</em></p>
<p>Cautiously, Starwish called out into the darkness, “…Hello? Whoever was out there … what do you want with me? Dawn? Dawn was that you? Please, if that was you, come back! Please, tell me what’s going on…”</p>
<p>Starwish felt a tear roll down her face when there was no response. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so conflicted before, especially about a mystery. Normally she either didn’t want any part of it, or wanted to figure it out. Never could she remember feeling both at the same time. Looking around at the darkness again, Starwish called again, “Hello…?”</p>
<p>No response met her call and Starwish sniffled, wondering what to do. On one servo, she could try to go looking for the whisper, which could prove dangerous, or on the other servo, she could continue to sit here and be frightened. Considering the fact that “here” was technically the darkest, deepest, most hard to reach part of her own processor only made things even more complicated. She still wasn’t sure how she could “sit” in her own mind, let alone cry, walk, stand, or do anything else of that nature. A random thought occurred to her and she shook her helm, <em>if this is what meditating is supposed to be like, I am never taking it up.</em></p>
<p>Her random line of musing was interrupted when she thought she heard whispering again. Looking up sharply, Starwish strained to see, no matter how pointless the idea was, as she listened intently. Her audio amplifiers twitched agitatedly as she tried to identify and understand what she was hearing. It was … a sound. A part of her felt that it was a familiar sound, yet the rest of her felt like it was foreign.</p>
<p>Cocking her helm to one side and trying to quiet her vents, she listened to the faint sound. It rose and fell gently, gaining in strength and volume or fading until it was inaudible. Strangely, no matter how loud it got, it never rose above a whisper. <em>It’s far away,</em> she realized with a jolt, <em>that’s why it’s so quiet. Because it’s very far away. How can something in my mind be far away? Shouldn’t it be right here next to me? My mind can’t be that large…</em></p>
<p>Staring down at her “body”, she mused, <em>of course, I never thought that I could be trapped in my mind or that my subconscious could look like a black nothingness either. </em>Looking up at the darkness all around, Starwish listened to the whisper float from somewhere off to her right, drifting across her audios like a dream she couldn’t quite remember having. There, yet unreachable. <em>So if it is in a far away part of my mind, where would that be? Why would I be hearing it now?</em></p>
<p>Curiosity and the desperate desire to distract herself from her predicament made Starwish slowly stand up, helm tilting this way and that in order to help her audio amplifiers determine the direction of the sound. Slowly, hesitantly, Starwish started walking in what she believed was the rough direction of the sound, <em>I hope I don’t regret this.</em></p>
<p>She walked, but it was hard to tell if she was actually going anywhere. Her little circle of light moved with her and the blackness all around never changed, so it was actually impossible to tell whether or not she was moving or simply walking the mental version of a treadmill without knowing it. The only hope that kept her walking was that after an undeterminable amount of time, she became aware that the mysterious sound was getting ever so slightly louder.</p>
<p>Her audio amplifiers strained to decipher the vaguely louder noise as she walked on. <em>Is that … a voice?</em> It almost sounded like it. If she closed her optics, stopped walking, and simply concentrated, she could almost make out the tones of a living voice making the sound, rising and falling in a steady pattern that was strangely pleasing and rhythmic.</p>
<p>Straightening up, Starwish vented nervously, <em>it is a voice. A </em><b><em>singing</em></b><em> voice!</em> Instinctively, Starwish tried to remember where she might have heard the voice before and winced as she ended up morphing the darkness into a mottled collection of music-orientated memories, drowning out the voice. <em>No! I want to hear the voice!</em> Concentrating on the voice, Starwish managed to banish the crowding memories and continue walking.</p>
<p>Starwish continued on, walking for what seemed like forever in the unchanging darkness. There were frequent times when the voice would go silent and Starwish would be afraid that she had lost it somehow, but it always came back and, eventually, she managed to figure out another detail of the mysterious singing she was following. The singer was male … and the voice was very, very sad. The tone sounded so lonely, so desperate, it was spark-breaking.</p>
<p>The desperation only seemed to increase the longer time went on and Starwish increased her walk to a jog for fear that if she didn’t find the voice soon, it would go silent and leave her trapped in the dark silence forever.</p>
<p>Her fears suddenly became reality when the singing stopped again, forcing Starwish to come to a halt. Starwish waited patiently for it to return as it always had, to resume guiding her to … somewhere. Time ticked by, with the only way she had to measure it being the habitual tapping of her pede in the manner her music teacher had showed her. Starwish realized with a sudden stab of fear that it was taking twice as many taps of her pede as normal to resume. Shaking, Starwish bit her bottom lip, praying that the singing would start up again, that whoever the voice was would come back.</p>
<p>Starwish felt panic begin to set in as she realized that perhaps the voice wasn’t going to come back this time. That thought, instead of making her feel better because it meant no potential hacker was running around in her helm, made her feel terrified.</p>
<p>She hadn’t wanted Shockwave in her mind and had shoved him away by force. The mysterious femme Rising Dawn she had tolerated because she was gentle and funny, making her feel less bitter and alone in the brief time they had conversed. But the voice, the voice was different.</p>
<p>Not quite a presence in her mind, yet seemingly not anywhere else, it, he, was important. Sometime in the endless walking and jogging to search for him, Starwish had come to believe that she needed the voice somehow. She was sure somehow that if the voice didn’t come back to guide her, she would never wake up. After being trapped so long in the darkness, Starwish wanted desperately to wake up, no matter what awaited her on the other side of wakefulness.</p>
<p>Frantically, Starwish called, “Come back! Please! Sing for me again! I promise I’m listening! Just please, help me get out of here!”</p>
<p>From just behind her and to her left, a soft voice said, “He’s giving up.”</p>
<p>Starwish whirled with a squeak and blinked at the sad lavender optics watching at her, “Dawn?”</p>
<p>The lavender optics bobbed as if nodding, “Yes, it’s me. I came back when I realized you hadn’t woken up yet. Good news is, I have permission to talk to you now.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt an uneasy curling in her tanks, “What’s the bad news?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn’s optics somehow conveyed their deadly sincerity even without facial features or body posture to back them up, “We are only allowed to interfere if the person we’re told to talk to is dying.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics went round in terror and she squeaked, “I-I’m <b>dying</b>?”</p>
<p>Again, the optics bobbed as Rising Dawn’s praxian silhouette slowly formed from the shadows, “Sorta. You’re frame is trapped in an indefinite stasis lock that the medics can’t get you out of. Ratchet tried earlier, but you somehow blocked him out before slipping into an even deeper stasis.”</p>
<p>The silhouette looked uncomfortably to the side as she continued, “If you don’t wake up soon, you’ll probably be declared officially offline. Ratchet can fight it and Prime certainly wouldn’t willingly order it, but they can’t keep you on life support forever. Sooner or later a desperate patient needing the equipment will come in with better percentages of survival and…”</p>
<p>Starwish whispered the conclusion fearfully, “Ratchet will have to offline me to save someone else.” Starwish’s vents started to work heavily as her old human instincts kicked in and she began to hyperventilate, “W-what am I going to do? W-what can I do? I don’t know how to wake up! I don’t want to … to…”</p>
<p>A shadowy servo reached out as if to clasp her shoulder, but then retracted as if thinking better of it, “Easy there! That’s why I’m here. To help you wake up. Look, there’s a way to snap out of this, but only you can do it. Ultra Magnus has been trying to reach you through your Guardian-Ward bond and drag you back, but it hasn’t developed enough to reach into your processor this deeply.”</p>
<p>Starwish tried her best not to panic even as she stammered in confusion “I-is that w-what I’ve been hearing? M-my o-opi calling?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn shook her helm, “No. You’ve been hearing … someone else. I can’t say who just now. But I can say that you’ve been going about answering him incorrectly, that’s why you can’t ever seem to catch up to the voice.”</p>
<p>Starwish slowly crumbled to her knees, “What am I doing wrong? I-I don’t understand…” Tears pricked at her optics, <em>I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, please, I don’t want to die!</em></p>
<p>“Hey! Snap out of it!” Rising Dawn’s form leaned closer, so close that for the first time Starwish could hear a strange static-like sound hovering just around Dawn’s form, “Listen to me! You can still get out of here! You just need to use your spark!”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up into Dawn’s lavender optics with confusion, a thousand questions bouncing around wordlessly, making it hard to concentrate, “M-my spark? H-how?”</p>
<p>The lavender gaze softened, “By doing what you do best. He, the voice, is going to start singing one last time, okay? It’s going to start soon. When it does, you need to not only follow it, you need to answer it. Can you do that?”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned in tearful frustration, “I-I-I d-don’t understand w-what you m-mean! H-how do I answer? It, he, can’t hear me!”</p>
<p>“Not when you talk. But you should know better than anyone on Cybertron that talking isn’t the only way to communicate. Think, Star, what is the one thing that speaks to everyone? What is the one constant of Earth culture?” Rising Dawn was crouched in front of Starwish, her glowing gaze intense and focused, “What are <b>you</b>?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up, mouth ready to shout that she didn’t know anymore thanks to whoever Rising Dawn worked for, but the words never formed. At that moment, the voice started up again, singing sadly, pleadingly. Singing for Starwish’s one last chance. Automatically, Starwish turned to look in the direction of the voice, spark hammering wildly. By the time she had glanced back at where Rising Dawn had been crouched, the mysterious femme was no longer there.</p>
<p>Scrambling desperately to her pedes, Starwish started running toward the voice, hoping, praying, pleading that she would get there in time to wake up, that she wouldn’t die. She ran and ran, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. There was no change in the darkness no indication that the voice heard her shouts and pleas to keep singing. <em>What am I going to do? What am I supposed to do? Wake me up! Someone wake me up!</em></p>
<p>Dawn’s voice seemed to echo all around, the darkness rippling in memory, <em>“-There’s a way to snap out of this, but only you can do it.”</em> Starwish gritted her denta and tried to run faster, <em>how? How do I do it?</em> The darkness rippled again, the voice was following the now familiar pattern of rising and falling and Starwish knew that if she didn’t hurry and reach it soon the song would be over and she would be done for. <em>“You just need to use your spark!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish tried to reach out with her spark, like she did when she wanted to contact Ultra Magnus, but nothing happened. The song was rolling ever closer to its end. To her end. <em>“You should know better than anyone on Cybertron that talking isn’t the only way to communicate. Think, Star, what is the one thing that speaks to everyone?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish’s mind raced and with it, her memories danced like an ever-changing landscape all around her. She thought of art, geography, family, friends, a host of ideas flooding around her like waves. Each idea thought of was rejected immediately as despair and desperation warred with equal fervor in her soul. There simply were no universal traits that she could think of. Not things that would fit in this situation, not things that would save her. <em>Speaks to everyone. Speaks to everyone. Think, Starwish, what is it?</em></p>
<p>Rising Dawn’s voice broke through the host of other memories again to shout desperately at her, <em>“What are </em><b><em>you</em></b><em>?” </em>The cry seemed to shake Starwish to her spark as the song so unfathomably beyond her grasp climbed toward a crescendo. <em>Me? What am-</em> Starwish’s optics widened and she slid to a stop as certainty hit her, <em>Melody.</em></p>
<p>She was a melody. It was her first name, it was her passion, it was her happiness, it was found all over the Earth no matter what culture or location, it was what was calling to her <b>right now</b>. Her life had always thrived to the beat of music and now, it was a melody that marked her second chance. For a moment, all of her memories of music flared to life around her before fading away to leave only the current song.</p>
<p>Shaking, Melody Starwish Travers closed her optics and took a deep vent, spark hammering as she forced herself to forget about what was at stake, to forget about where she was, to focus solely on the song. The notes flowed to her, pleading and coaxing, forming, now that she knew what she was listening for, words. Words of hope, words of calling. The words told her to come back. To come home.</p>
<p>Letting the vent out slowly, Starwish tilted her helm back, allowing the song to wash over her, fill her. Then, she started to hum. Her hum was soft at first, tentatively harmonizing with the notes she could hear, feeling out where her voice could fit in the melody. Her timidity soon dropped away and her humming rose confidentially to join the song as her pedes moved of their own accord, sweeping her away to the sound of her second chance.</p>
<p>Her arms lifted, sweeping over her helm in a well-practiced motion as her pedes skipped lightly over the ground, following the steps laid out within the song. Her humming didn’t stop, her dancing didn’t falter, she was suddenly oblivious to anything except the song and the many emotions it held. <em>“Come back to me.”</em> The voice sang,<em> “Hear me, little Star. Hear my voice and follow it home.”</em> The voice sang the words over and over, and Starwish obeyed the call and danced on.</p>
<p>Even as she heeded the song, she unconsciously began to answer it in her own special way. Carefully, her pedes began moving differently, breaking off here and there from the sad song as her humming rose with the offer of hope whenever the song faded with grief. <em>“I am here!”</em> Her humming declared, <em>“I am listening!”</em> Her dancing proclaimed.</p>
<p>Slowly, achingly slowly, the song began to change to match her. It rose with tentative hope, flowed with barely allowed anticipation, could there really be a duet partner hidden within the darkness? The voice did not seem sure. Starwish kept dancing as her mouth suddenly opened to sing without words instead of simply mimic notes in the back of her throat tubing. Her answer to the song expressing her emotions without the need of poetry or lyric.</p>
<p>The song began to speed up, the tone changing as she kept up with it, matching each note with one of her own. The desperation was still there, but now accompanying it was hope and encouragement instead of sadness and despair.</p>
<p>Starwish pirouetted across the landscape of her own mind, moving steadily closer to the song, spark thrumming with the will to dance, the will to sing. The will to <b>live</b>.</p>
<p>Without warning, another voice entered the song, clumsy and confused, but wild determination forcing it to sing along. Starwish opened her optics, her gaze latching onto a sudden strand of light weaving through the darkness toward her as she danced and bowed. Altering her course, Starwish skipped and swayed to the strand of light, allowing it to wrap around her wrist without comment, knowing that it was not there to hurt her but, perhaps, to help.</p>
<p>With an insistent tug, the strand stopped clumsily singing and instead pulled her after it, herding her in the direction it wanted to go. As she followed it further toward it’s origin, the song she had been following began to fade and disappear. Surprised, Starwish paused, trying to listen for the song, to determine where it had gone. The light strand wrapped around her waist, tugging firmly in the direction from which it had come and for the first time, Starwish heard words come from the strand, <em>“Starwish? My Little One! Come back! Come back to me!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish blinked, trying to think past the memory of the hypnotizing song. She knew that voice, she knew it from somewhere. Somewhere important. Somewhere she wanted to go back to. <em>But what about the song? </em>The strand tugged again, <em>“Little One! Keep fighting! Please!”</em> Starwish looked around, she could feel almost like she was fading out of the light strand’s grasp again, <em>“No! Fight, Starwish! Keep fighting!”</em></p>
<p><em>But … I wasn’t fighting. I was … I was …</em> From far away, she thought she heard someone yell, “Do it again! Keep singing!” But before she could fully process that statement, the song was back and Starwish was swept up within it’s embrace once again. Starwish followed the melody, the strand of light following her the entire way, steadily thickening until it was like a physical being, helping her to dance out of the darkness and back to the light of life and song.</p>
<p>The song reached its climax and suddenly, Starwish was rushing upwards, back towards reality. For a moment, she thought she sensed Rising Dawn running along side her, her lavender optics flashing with joy at Starwish’s success, but then all thoughts of her mysterious friend and helper were swept away by the blinding light that pierced her optics mercilessly and the disorientating shouting going on all around.</p>
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<p>Starwish winced as she came back online with a start to the sounds of joyful shouts and a gruff voice yelling orders. <em>What…?</em> Her optics opened but then swiftly snapped shut to try to block out the sudden blinding light. It was as if she had been in the dark for a very, very long time and she was no longer used to illumination. Strong arms swept her off of whatever it was she was lying on and held her close, joy flooding her spark from a different source as a voice murmured brokenly in her audio, “My Little One, my Little Starwish,” over and over again.</p>
<p>Slowly the sounds began right themselves and her optics became able to adjust to the lighting. Opening her optics again, Starwish looked up in confusion as she saw that she was being cradled possessively in Ultra Magnus’s arms, his faceplates leaning close to hers, tears trickling unashamedly down his faceplates. Blinking, she reached up shakily to touch the tears and make sure they were real, “Opi? Why … are you crying?”</p>
<p>She looked around dazedly, feeling very confused and tired, as if she had just run a thousand miles without pause in her old human body, “Jazz? You’re crying too … why?”</p>
<p>Below her perch, Jazz was shaking, a brilliant smile on his faceplates even as tears rolled down from behind his visor, “Because I’ve just seen a miracle, Star. We’ve all just seen a miracle.”</p>
<p>Looking around a little more, Starwish realized that Ratchet, Hardwire, Optimus Prime, Elita-1, her roommates, and a femme she didn’t recognize were all standing in the room, looks of joy and disbelief on their faces. The only ones not crying were Ratchet, Optimus, and the strange femme, but they looked surprisingly close to tears as well.</p>
<p>Blinking again, Starwish looked back up at Ultra Magnus and whispered hoarsely, “I don’t … understand? What miracle?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stared down at her, his gaze mixed with love, awe, and several other emotions Starwish couldn’t understand, “You, Starwish. You are the miracle.”</p>
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<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Miracles Part 2</h2></a>
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    <p>Hardwire felt tears run unchecked down his faceplates as Ultra Magnus possessively cuddled Hardwire’s sister. His alive, functioning, sister. <em>I can’t believe it…</em> Shakily, Hardwire stumbled across the private medbay room to touch Starwish’s dangling right servo, laughing a little bit at her sleepy confusion over everyone’s reactions, “You came back,” he whispered softly.</p>
<p>Starwish turned her helm to stare at him in bafflement, “Did I … go somewhere?”</p>
<p>Before any of them could answer, Ratchet snapped out of his dazed awe and bustled in, trying and failing to add his customary gruff edge to his voice, “Ep-ep-ep-ep! Stand back and let me scan her! Hardwire, get out of my way! Ultra Magnus-” Ratchet took a hesitant step back when Magnus actually growled his engine at Ratchet, a possessive light in his optics.</p>
<p>Venting heavily, Ratchet made a soothing motion with his servos, “Just sit down on the berth and hold her so I can see her clearly.” With a curt nod, Ultra Magnus carefully sat down on the berth Starwish had previously been lying on and allowed Ratchet to scan Starwish, the medic muttering in confusion the entire time. As Ratchet barked out orders to the femme medic Flashpoint, Hardwire’s mind raced back over the past three metacycles.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Flashback:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire had been confined to rest in the medbay from the very first metacycle, not even allowed to leave his room because of the processor damage inflicted by Shockwave’s hack. The hack had damaged some of his motor-function coding, making it hard for him to move or balance properly. The sloppy patch job on his frame given after his Bāsākā fit during captivity hadn’t helped matters either.</p>
<p>Ratchet had realigned parts, fixed up his frame, and carefully started his coding on the road to repair before confining him to a private room in the Iacon Medical Wing. During his confinement, Hardwire had pestered ceaselessly to know what had happened to Starwish, only to be devastated to learn that Starwish was in a deep stasis lock and showing little-to-no processor activity.</p>
<p>Ratchet had tried everything he knew to get her back online, but whatever had happened when Shockwave had entered her processor via the Cortical Psychic Patch prevented him from making any progress. Starwish was trapped in a endless, near-death state. There was a slim chance that she might pull out of it by herself, but if even Ultra Magnus could not reach her over their spark bond, that chance was practically non-existent.</p>
<p>In denial over Starwish’s condition and desperate to see her, Hardwire had escaped his private room and gone limping down the hall to where Flashpoint had mentioned Starwish was being monitored. As Hardwire limped to the door, hoping against hope that it was unlocked so that he could sneak in and visit her, he paused when sound faintly drifted through the door to his audios.</p>
<p>It was music. A kind Hardwire couldn’t remember hearing before, although it sounded vaguely similar to some clips of Trance or Synth he had heard over the years when he was human. Cautiously, Hardwire continued to approach the door, hesitating when the music suddenly stopped. Fidgeting faintly, Hardwire hastily looked around, Ratchet and the other medics were busy tending to other patients at the moment, which was the only reason he had yet to be caught and herded back to his room.</p>
<p>With a faint hiss, the door in front of Hardwire slid open and he stumbled back a little bit, cursing when his pedes nearly slipped out from under him. Silver servos with claw-like fingers carefully grabbed his right wrist and helped him balance again, “Easy there, Wire.”</p>
<p>Looking down, Hardwire frowned, “Jazz? What were you doing in there?”</p>
<p>Jazz glanced over his shoulder strut at the room he had just slipped out of, “Ah … Ah was…”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s gave Jazz a sympathetic look, “You too?”</p>
<p>Jazz sighed and nodded, “Ah’ve been visitin’ ever since we got back from Kaon. Ah … Ah keep hoping that Ratch’ is wrong an’ thah Ah’ll walk in there to see Star sitting up an wondering where everybot is.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his spark flutter with dread, “Is she really as bad as … as Ratchet says?”</p>
<p>Jazz glanced up and down the hall before beckoning the bigger mech into the room, “Ah’ll show yah.” Slowly, Hardwire shuffled into the indicated room after Jazz, allowing the saboteur to carefully lock the door behind them.</p>
<p>Hardwire felt like someone had just punched him in the tanks when he saw Starwish’s small frame lying on a berth, special tubes attached to various parts of her frame, monitoring her condition and helping her systems function without a processor to manage them. Jazz didn’t say anything as Hardwire shakily stumbled over to Starwish’s berth and took her limp servo in his own, “Star? Star wake up, it’s me.”</p>
<p>Hardwire bit his bottom lip for a moment before whispering in english, “Melody? Melody, if you can hear me, please wake up. Or squeeze my hand. Anything to let me know you’re still in there somewhere. Please.”</p>
<p>Jazz moved to stand on Starwish’s other side, his expression clearly somber, “Ah’ve … ah’ve been playing music for her whenever Ah visit, hoping she’ll react but…”</p>
<p>Hardwire desperately remembered stories of human coma patients, “No. No, I think you had the right idea. Reel-” his vocalizer seemed to choke just saying her name, “a-a friend o-of mine once said she k-knew a mech who had been trapped in a similar state to this. He woke up eventually and … and when he did, he said he could remember hearing things, people talking.”</p>
<p>Jazz looked down at Starwish’s still faceplates, not commenting on Hardwire’s story or his faltering delivery of it. Instead, Jazz slowly unsubspaced a pair of hip-mounted speakers and began to play music again. Hardwire listened to the sad synth tones for a while, watching Starwish intently for any sign that she could hear them. Finally, Hardwire looked up, a desperate thought occurring to him, “Let’s try something else.”</p>
<p>Jazz stopped playing the music and looked at Hardwire inquisitively. Hardwire struggled to put his idea into coherent sentences, “Starwish … she doesn’t know that music. It sounds nice sure, but … maybe something more familiar would help.”</p>
<p>Jazz cocked his helm to one side slightly, “Like what?”</p>
<p>Hardwire stroked Starwish’s servo gently, trying not to cry at how still and lifeless she looked to his optics, “Singing. She loves singing. If anything can reach her in there … that would be it.”</p>
<p>Jazz looked down at Starwish again and pointed out dejectedly, “Ah don’t know how.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm, “It’s easy, you just … you just make music with your voice. It’s … it’s like humming, only with words.” Deciding to show what he meant instead of trying to explain it, Hardwire searched his memory for a song he might be able to sing.</p>
<p>He had never been much for singing even though he’d been told that he was good at it, it had simply never been his passion. After trying to think of a song and only being able to think of one to which he still remembered the words, Hardwire finally cycled his vents nervously and started, wincing internally as his vocalizer cracked a few times with static at the unfamiliar usage,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When you were standing in,</p>
<p>The wake of devastation.</p>
<p>When you were waiting on,</p>
<p>the edge of the unknown…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sang it entirely in english, perhaps from the stress, perhaps because he thought that Starwish’s native language might be more effective in reaching her. Stumbling over some parts as his now nearly flawless Cybertronian memory pulled up the words to the song that Starwish had been obsessed with for weeks after seeing the third Transformers movie, Hardwire sang the song once through by himself before hesitantly teaching Jazz how to sing it as well.</p>
<p>When Jazz asked the meaning of the words, Hardwire had been unable to formulate a proper answer as there were too many allegories and references that only a person from Earth could have understood. In the end, Hardwire had simply told Jazz that it was a song telling of hope and second chances in the face of devastation.</p>
<p>Jazz had accepted that answer and learned the song eagerly, proving himself very proficient in learning the correct pronunciation of foreign words, even if he didn’t understand their exact meaning. Neither mech had the spark to sing the end of the song with it’s normal fervor and triumph, instead they sang it as a gentle ballad with the same tempo and tone at the end of the song as at the beginning.</p>
<p>Ratchet had found them a joor into their singing and promptly shooed Hardwire back to his own room, not willing to listen to any protests from the bigger green mech. Not that Hardwire gave any, one glance at the tired, infinitely <b>old</b> look in Ratchet’s optics had been enough to convince Hardwire that the medic had too much to deal with without Hardwire putting up a fuss.</p>
<p>Luckily, after explaining his desperate need to see Starwish during Ratchet’s next visit and promising to rest before and after visiting her, Hardwire had been allowed to visit every cycle. Over the course of the cycles, Hardwire had learned that Jazz had taken to visiting Starwish every cycle and singing the song Hardwire had taught him a few times before falling silent and wordlessly leaving.</p>
<p>Despite Ratchet’s efforts to coax her frame into rebooting her processor, Ultra Magnus’s tireless attempts to reach her over their bond, and Jazz’s accented singing and talking to her during his visits, Starwish did not get any better. Her processor still registered minimal-to-no processor activity, too minimal to tell whether it meant that she was awake somewhere inside her own mind, or if was simply her lower automatic processor functions attempting to manage her frame without the aid of her unresponsive higher functions.</p>
<p>They were losing her. Hardwire once overheard Ratchet confiding in Optimus that it was very likely they had already lost what made Starwish, Starwish even before Jazz and his team had broken into Kaon and rescued Hardwire and his sister. Hardwire had explained the Cortical Psychic Patch to the best of his ability, explaining his knowledge of its name and function by saying that Shockwave had seen fit to talk aloud about his activities all the time, thus alerting the restrained mech to the name and nature of the operation he had performed upon Starwish.</p>
<p>Ratchet had been furious when he learned of the Cortical Psychic Patch’s purpose. Such an invasion of the mind was considered one of the highest offenses in Cybertronian culture and was thought to be impossible for any non-telepath until Hardwire had delivered news of the device.</p>
<p>The Cortical Psychic Patch did more than access the coding of the victim’s processor or even rip memories from the processor drives, it connected two minds and temporarily forced two consciousnesses to share the same space. Such a breach into the processor could, and in this instance had, cause a short-out in the higher cortexes of the processor. In short, Shockwave had sentenced Starwish to a life without thought, consciousness, or dreams for as long as her spark beat … and there was nothing Ratchet could do.</p>
<p>All of those close to Starwish despaired. Moonracer and Flareup visited occasionally, but mostly buried themselves in whatever work they could find. Elita-1 did not need to seek out work to bury her grief in, but even with her busy schedule, the leader of the femmes had made time to come see Starwish along with her sparkmate Optimus, the later of whom tried futilely to comfort Hardwire.</p>
<p>Many of the Iaconian mechs clearly didn’t understand the sour mood of their Algol counterparts, but sympathized with them all the same. Ironhide and Chromia had practically claimed one of the firing ranges as their own, working off their pent-up frustration and planning on how they were going to get revenge on the Decepticons instead of drifting aimlessly about like poor Bumblebee was prone to doing.</p>
<p>The twinlings had not been told the full gravity of her condition yet, fearing that the news might traumatize them beyond repair. But even though Hardwire only told them that Starwish was in a coma, something the twinlings were sure she would wake up from, the desolate mood of their guardians had effected them and made them sullen and prone to crying at a moment’s notice.</p>
<p>On the whole, Iacon was a dreary, sad place without Starwish’s smile. Hardwire mused grimly once that he didn’t think anyone in Algol had realized just how much they had grown attached Starwish until she was snatched away from them. Probably forever.</p>
<p>It was three metacycles later that several of them gathered in Starwish’s room to talk about the motionless femme lying on the berth and try to decide whether to take her off of life support or not. Hardwire’s first instinct was to be adamantly against it, to take her off of life support would surely kill her and end whatever chance she had of coming back. But to leave her that way, unable to move, or think, or sing, it broke Hardwire’s spark to think of imprisoning her that way. He knew how much she hated being alone and now she was as alone as anyone could get.</p>
<p>Undecided, Hardwire glanced at Ultra Magnus. One look at Ultra Magnus’s stone-set faceplates told him that the mech was already preparing for her to be taken offline and for the budding Guardian-Ward bond to be shattered. Whatever had happened in the mech’s long past to make him so stiff to others, it had also robbed him of his ability to hope in this kind of circumstance.</p>
<p>Optimus was shaking his helm, unwilling to essentially kill a femme under the protection of his sparkmate and himself. Elita-1 was clearly thinking hard, but Hardwire couldn’t tell what her decision would be. Flareup was cursing at Flashpoint, the one who had suggested simply letting Starwish pass on to the Well of AllSparks. <em>Can she even join that? We aren’t Cybertronian in origin. What will happen to her if her spark goes out?</em> Hardwire had never thought of it before. Moonracer was crying and shaking her helm, clearly against the proposal before them.</p>
<p>Ratchet said nothing, simply watching the others with a look of weariness on his faceplates. As CMO, he had the authority to override the vote if it went against his wishes, but at that point, Hardwire wasn’t sure if Ratchet would do so. Trying not to either yell in frustrated rage or cry in anguish, Hardwire glanced at Jazz. The short mech had yet to say anything, he was simply staring at Starwish, helm cocked to one side expressionlessly.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Jazz’s voice broke through the arguments, “It sounds different.”</p>
<p>Everyone jerked their helms to look at him and Ratchet snarled, “What?”</p>
<p>Jazz sounded cautious, but sure of his own words as he repeated, “Her processor monitor. It sounds different. It’s lower than it usually is when Ah visit her.”</p>
<p>Ratchet blinked and hurried over to the monitor in question, “That’s … not possible. Jazz are you sure?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Yes. Ah only noticed it just now, but when Ah see her, the monitor sounds higher pitched.”</p>
<p>Hardwire saw Ratchet’s incredulous expression and asked slowly, “If Jazz is right … what would that mean?”</p>
<p>Ratchet was muttering to himself, shaking his helm and fiddling with the monitor, ignoring the world around him. Flashpoint carefully extricated herself from the corner Flareup had herded her into and answered, “Unlike most monitor tones, processor monitors are programed to climb the frequency scale in accordance to the activity registered in the patient’s processor. An average amount of activity for example would cause the monitor to rise to-”</p>
<p>Flareup snarled savagely, “Speak Cyber-Standard, femme.”</p>
<p>Flashpoint paused briefly before stating bluntly, “The more activity there is within the processor, the higher, faster, and louder the sound of the monitor’s ‘beep’.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt hope stirring in his spark, “So that means, if Jazz is right … Starwish is still in there?”</p>
<p>Flashpoint looked skeptical, “Perhaps, but I don’t see why her processor activity would theoretically go up only when Jazz is visiting. None of the other medics reported any change in her condition…”</p>
<p>Jazz rounded on her, sounding briefly angered at her disbelief, “Ah got specialized audios, femme! Ah never mishear a sound! Her monitor sounded higher last time Ah visited an’ the time before thah too!”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked up, a desperate light that Hardwire was sure was in all of their optics glittering there, “Jazz, is there any unusual stimuli when that happens? Any electrical pulses? Do you tamper with her intravenous tubes and put liquified energon goodies inside them like I’ve told you not to? Anything unusual at all?”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned and tapped a finger against his chin, “Nothing like thah Ratchet. Ah can’t think of any strange pulses an Ah ain’t messed with the tubes. Frag, it’s kinda a surprise Ah heard her monitor go up at all over mah…” he stiffened and looked suddenly at Hardwire, his accent abruptly dropping away, “over my singing…”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his spark lunge in its chamber again, “She really <b>can</b> hear you…”</p>
<p>Everyone else looked confused as Ratchet sputtered, “Impossible! Her audio receptors are offline! Even if they were online, there’s nothing in her processor left to filter and analyze the sound data!”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus dipped his helm down toward his chest plates, a look of deep concentration on his faceplates as Jazz argued with Ratchet over his statement, “I’m telling you, that’s the only unusual ‘stimuli’ that happens when I’m visiting her! I sing! That’s got to be the trigger!”</p>
<p>Flashpoint snorted through her vents and Hardwire resisted the urge to strangle the femme, “What in the name of Cybertron could make <b>singing</b> the trigger? Carriers use singing to soothe sparklings and lull them into recharge, how could that increase her processor activity?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus looked up sharply, his voice stern and hard, “Starwish’s singing is … not the usual kind. I take it, Jazz, that it is Starwish’s method to which you are referring?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded desperately, “Yes! Hardwire taught me a song in that language they’re always reverting to! I’ve been singing it every time I come see her!”</p>
<p>Optimus rumbled, unintentionally cutting off what Hardwire was about to say, “Try it now, Jazz. Ratchet, monitor her processor levels, let us see if Jazz’s assumption is correct.” Looking over the group, he commanded sternly, “No one else is to make a sound. Am I clear?”</p>
<p>Everyone nodded and Hardwire watched with barely contained anticipation, hope, and dread as Jazz stepped past Ratchet and carefully took Starwish’s left servo. Leaning down, Jazz whispered something softly into Starwish’s audio receptor that Hardwire couldn’t catch. Straightening up again, Jazz slowly began to sing Iridescent, the song Hardwire had clumsily taught him three metacycles before.</p>
<p>Despite the desperate nature of the situation, Hardwire couldn’t help but be awed by the sound of Jazz’s voice. The mech had smoothed out any unconscious mistakes Hardwire had made in the teaching, his accented tenor flowing smoothly, passionately, into the melody of the song. Despite his accent in speaking english words, Jazz’s voice was a crystalline clear, mid-range tenor, able to flow easily out of the lower keys and into higher ones without hesitation or disruption in the song.</p>
<p>He could have easily put a multitude of “professional” singers on Earth to shame with his voice. Not only because of it’s clear quality, but because of the sheer emotion he was able to place into the words. The sad sincerity of every line, every note, was spark-stopping.</p>
<p>Everyone in the room went completely still, even Ratchet didn’t move anything other than his optics as he read the display for the processor monitor. Hardwire didn’t dare vent, if he still needed to breathe, he knew somewhere in the back of his processor that he would have been holding it. Three lines of the song went by without any change in Starwish’s monitors. Then, at the start of the fourth verse, the monitor gave a brief, higher pitched beep before resuming its normal tones.</p>
<p>Nothing else moved. The song continued and Hardwire felt devastated despair beginning to creep up on him, had Jazz been wrong? <em>Please, Star. Please wake up, please!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz felt the world drop away as he sang. He was still aware of his surroundings, but they had simply ceased to matter as he concentrated on landing every note, rolling every strange word just the right way. As he did, he felt his spark thrum passionately with the words and, since he had no idea what the words meant exactly, Jazz focused on pouring his own meaning into them. <em>Wake up, Starwish. Come back to us. Come back to me. Hear me, little Star. Hear my voice and follow it home. Please… Starwish.</em></p>
<p>To his right, his audio receptors suddenly picked up the sound of the monitor giving off higher pitched beeps. Just a few interspersed with the normal tone at first, then, unbelievably, growing in frequency and pitch until Ratchet whispered fervently, “I can’t believe it. It’s working…”</p>
<p>Jazz closed his optics behind his visor, willing himself to ignore the rest of the world, forcing himself to hear only the music, to match it with his spark and fill it with meaning. In the back of his processor, Jazz could hear the monitor beeping more and more loudly, signaling increased amounts of processor activity. Jazz felt hope fill him and he poured that into his voice instead of sadness, unconsciously beginning to alter the tempo in response to some secret impulse of his spark. <em>Keeping coming, Star! Keep listening, follow my voice!</em> Ultra Magnus’s voice cut through his concentration accidentally, “I can feel her. I can feel her again!”</p>
<p>Jazz looked up sharply, his mouth clicking shut as Ratchet whirled on Ultra Magnus, “Contact her Ultra Magnus! Give her an anchor back to reality! Reach out to her!”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus closed his optics, servos balling into fists as he clearly concentrated, “I can feel her … she’s coming closer…” He suddenly frowned, his armor flaring agitatedly as the monitor began, horrifyingly, dropping in octaves, heralding Starwish’s slide back into stasis lock. Ultra Magnus suddenly opened his optics and whispered brokenly, “I’m losing her, she won’t follow me!”</p>
<p>Jazz felt panic set in, why was she fading? Starwish had been doing so well! Now that Ultra Magnus could reach her through their bond, she should have been waking up already, not slipping back into a fate worse than offlining!</p>
<p>Hardwire suddenly shouted, “Do it again! Keep singing!”</p>
<p>With a jolt, Jazz realized that Hardwire had the right idea. Somehow, his singing was reaching her when nothing else was. Closing his optics again, Jazz resumed singing, pouring his hope and fears into every note as the song changed and warped without his control into something different altogether from what Hardwire had taught him.</p>
<p>The beeping climbed again, but Jazz barely heard it, he was too wrapped up in the song as for one elating moment, it wasn’t Jazz’s voice singing anymore. It was his very spark calling out in a way he’d never known was possible. Most elating of all, Jazz could hear, clear as any other sound in the room before he had started to sing, another spark singing along. <b>Starwish’s </b>spark singing in perfect harmony with his own. The song rose to a climax and suddenly the euphoric moment was past, replaced by the sound of Starwish’s vents suddenly activating and her vocalizer giving a startled cry.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus snatched her up instant, ripping her clear of the life support and holding her close to his chassis, murmuring brokenly in her audio. Jazz felt tears roll free of his optics in joy and he didn’t try to stop them. He was simply too busy staring up at Starwish’s huddled form in Ultra Magnus’s arms to care. Trying to mentally convince himself that she was indeed online.</p>
<p>Slowly, one of Starwish’s servos reached up and touched Ultra Magnus’s faceplates, “Opi? Why … are you crying?” Slowly, she looked down, her red and blue optics seeming to pierce through his visor with their innocent, confused, yet wonderfully online gaze, “Jazz? You’re crying too … why?”</p>
<p>Jazz felt a thousand things leap to his glossa, chief among them a declaration of what his spark had just realized. Instead, Jazz smiled broadly at her and said, “Because I’ve just seen a miracle, Star. We’ve all just seen a miracle.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>End of Flashback</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, Jazz stood to one side, watching Ratchet and Flashpoint fuss over Starwish’s medical condition while everyone else just fussed over the fact that she had come back to them from literally the brink of the Well. Starwish looked confused over the entire thing, clearly having no clue that she had been in stasis lock or any of the events that had happened during her unreachable state.</p>
<p>Jazz watched her carefully from his newly claimed corner of the room, his memory files looping over and over again, focusing on that one moment when he had clearly felt another spark singing in harmony with his own. He had never felt anything like it and he knew somehow that there was no other Cybertronian in existence who could make him feel it again.</p>
<p>With a smile, Jazz carefully raised his servo and placed it over where his spark lay, hidden under thick armor. How ironic that it was in someone’s near offlining that Jazz had discovered the greatest secret of his spark. Looking over at Starwish, he caught her gaze, raised his visor, and winked at her gently, silently urging her to relax.</p>
<p>With a weak return smile, Starwish relaxed into Ultra Magnus’s arms and turned her attention to answering Ratchet’s questions as best she could. Jazz felt his spark flutter at her smile, no doubts lingering in his processor. Starwish was his One, his future sparkmate, the only spark that his own would ever allow to merge with it. The only spark his would ever pine for, long to comfort, fight to protect above all others from then until the end of time. Jazz almost felt like laughing at the irony.</p>
<p>Who knew that he would fall in love while fighting away death? Who knew he would fall in love with a little wishing star?</p>
<p><em>No,</em> he suddenly corrected himself, <em>not a star. A melody.</em> His spark thumped happily in its chamber as he remembered something Hardwire had said about the song that had called Starwish back.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>A melody of second chances.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Repercussions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Starwish!” The shrill voices turned her name into a joyous war cry as Starwish was mobbed by two little jabbering bundles of youngling energy.</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t stop herself from shrieking back happily as she wrapped her arms around them in a tight hug, “Twinlings!” Zipline and Fast Track cuddled close to her, chattering so rapidly that it was as incomprehensible as their twin speak. With a tiny laugh, Starwish tilted their helms back and scolded playfully, “Slower, Twinlings! I can’t make out a word you’re saying!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe translated cheerfully from his position a few steps away, “Basically? They’re really happy to see that you’re alright and out of the medbay. We all are, actually.”</p>
<p>Starwish shot Sideswipe a smile as she crouched there in the hallway, content to let Zipline and Fast Track cuddle her wildly for the moment, “I’m just glad my family made it through.” Shifting her attention down to the twinlings, she mock whispered, “Have Sideswipe and Sunstreaker been taking good care of you two?”</p>
<p>Zipline nodded his helm from where he was determinedly clinging to her, “Yeah! Dad’s been teaching Fast Track to paint and Daddy’s been teaching me all kinds of cool sneaking tricks.” He paused, his faceplates alight with smiles, “But the sneaking tricks are supposed to be a secret, so don’t tell anyone, okay?”</p>
<p>Starwish raised an optic ridge in Sideswipe’s and Sunstreaker’s direction, noting how Sideswipe looked distinctly unashamed, “Uh … sure, Zipline.” <em>Dad and Daddy? When did that happen? </em>“As long as you’re happy.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker was leaning most of his weight onto his wheeled left pede, an unreadable expression on his faceplates as Sideswipe carefully coaxed the twinlings away from their self-appointed task of cuddling Starwish for eternity. As Sideswipe entertained them by lifting them onto his shoulders to stare out of a nearby window, Sunstreaker suddenly growled softly, “You thought we wouldn’t take care of them?”</p>
<p>Starwish jerked a little bit in surprise at the anger she could hear underlying his words, “Of course I knew you’d take care of them! I just … it’s a habit to ask is all. I used to do it all the time … back home. Whenever I got back from school, I’d ask how their cycle went, if their teachers took good care of them, that kind of thing.” She hesitated, “I’m sorry if I insulted you with my question.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker grunted wordlessly, but he didn’t appear to be borderline angry at her anymore. After a moment, he said again, “You had them worried. They wouldn’t stop crying for you to come sing or tell them a story every lunar-cycle. They had bad holographic fluxes too. Even after you woke up.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt a stab of guilt even though she knew that it wasn’t technically her fault. According to Ratchet, it was a miracle she’d awoken from stasis lock at all, “I figured. I’m … I’m sorry I had them so worried. It isn’t like I meant for any of that to happen.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker shot her a glare, “You disobeyed Ultra Magnus’s direct orders to get to safety. Granted, the Bunker was compromised moments later so it wasn’t safe anyway. But you willingly threw yourself into battle without any kind of escort. You practically walked up to Megatron himself and said ‘shoot me’!”</p>
<p>Starwish flinched a little bit at the savage bite to his tone, her optics refusing to meet his gaze, “I-I know. I know it was stupid and dangerous. But I couldn’t help it.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker hissed, his tone conveying all of his pent-up rage without raising his tone or attracting the twinlings attention, “You couldn’t <b>help it</b>? That’s Sideswipe’s line, femme. Not yours. Anyone who has control over their own frame can ‘help it’. Would it have been all that hard to simply follow your Guardian’s orders instead of running off and getting captured?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her temper surge to the surface, temporarily washing away her timidity as she locked gazes with him, “I didn’t have control over my frame, Sunstreaker. I have a little thing called a medical program forcibly installed in my processor that dictates whatever I do once it activates. Or do I really look like the foolish hero type?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s optics widened in surprise and it occurred to Starwish belatedly that he wouldn’t have been aware of her medical program. Ratchet had made it a point to keep it a little known fact after all. Starwish looked away, anger and stress from her time on the battlefield and in captivity raging inside her like a bottled hurricane.</p>
<p>Several kliks passed with Sunstreaker holding complete silence and Starwish allowed her attention to be reclaimed by the eager twinlings and the awe-inspiring sights of Iacon. If she had thought Algol was impressive, Iacon was legendary. Tall spires and rounded domes spread out as far as she could see, each of them connected by intricate lines of speedways and platforms. From where she currently stood, if she looked down through the window, she couldn’t make out the ground, she was simply that high up.</p>
<p>What she could see, however, was mech alt forms rushing back and forth between the buildings of Iacon. Up, down, across the horizon, it seemed that everywhere she looked there was always someone going to or leaving each of the many buildings. All in all, it was a dizzying, heady experience to see so much mechanical life in one place.</p>
<p>The twinlings had apparently made a game of trying to spot fliers of certain colors cutting their way between the speedways and through the open air. Each color got a certain amount of points, something which Sideswipe cheerfully called out whenever Zipline or Fast Track spotted a desired color scheme.</p>
<p>Starwish helped in the game upon the twinlings urgings, timidly calling out when she spotted a sleek purple and blue seeker winging past. Her impromptu participation in the game was abruptly cut short when Sunstreaker lightly touched her arm in a silent signal that he wanted to talk.</p>
<p>Starwish glanced at him coolly, still angry at his lecture, but quietly told the twinlings to behave for Sideswipe before letting Sunstreaker lead her a short distance away. Sunstreaker stared intently into her optics for a few kliks, making her distinctly uncomfortable before he murmured, “You really have a medical program that controls you?”</p>
<p>Starwish forced herself to meet his gaze as she answered, “Yes. I do. I … when I see someone too injured for my normal experience level, it activates and guides me through the process of repairing them. But out on the field … I couldn’t stop. I just had to keep finding patients and helping them, even when I got orders to retreat.”</p>
<p>She shifted nervously, it was hard to talk about that cycle, “The program … it removes all of my emotions for a short time, makes the welfare of a patient paramount to anything else. So when two seekers showed up trying to capture me and Bumblebee was injured trying to protect me…”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker pulled away from her slightly as he whispered, “The program made you give yourself up willingly to keep him safe. Frag.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded shakily, feeling the trauma of the memories beginning to press in on her. Once the program had shut down, all of the terror she should have felt had poured in on her without anyway to stop it. She had been so confused and terrified and <b>alone</b> … a servo on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts, “Hey, I’m … sorry … I brought it up. I know that … it’s hard.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up curiously into Sunstreaker’s optics, briefly wondering when the aloof golden mech had become so willing to offer comfort, even if it was clumsy. Slowly, she offered a weak, mostly fake, smile, “It’s okay… I just need time to process it all I suppose.” Shifting, she looked away uncomfortably, “Can we change the subject?” She asked weakly, “I don’t really…”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker nodded in an almost understanding manner, “It’s fine.” For a moment the two stood there in an uncomfortable silence, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, Sunstreaker asked, “What do those words mean? The one’s the twinlings have taken to calling us? I know from their emotions over the bond that it’s some kind of endearment, but I’d like to know what they mean exactly.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s smile was real this time, “You mean <em>dad</em> and <em>daddy</em>? They mean … well, I suppose closest thing they would translate to is ‘beloved mech creator’. They’re words most commonly used by younglings, but adults sometimes use them as well when they’re especially close to their mech creator.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker stared at her incredulously, “But, we’re not their creators…”</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged, “They never knew their original creators and they weren’t particularly close to the bonded pair that took us all in so … you’re the closest they have to the meaning of those words.” She looked at Sunstreaker seriously, “You should be honored that they love you enough to call you that, Sunstreaker. It means they see you and Sideswipe as their parents now. They’ll never see anyone else that way.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker dipped his helm, considering her words. Finally, he nodded curtly and turned wordlessly back toward where Sideswipe and the twinlings were playing and chatting. Glancing over his shoulder, Sunstreaker said, “Thank you for telling me and … welcome back.”</p>
<p>Starwish watched him walk over to the twinlings and his brother, observing how his expression gentled as he carefully picked Fast Track off of Sideswipe’s shoulder and placed the youngling on his own. With a tiny sigh, Starwish turned away and resumed her trek down the long, surprisingly empty, hallway toward her destination.</p>
<p>A short distance away, Jazz leaned against a wall, no doubt watching the entire exchange from behind his visor. Starwish suppressed another sigh as the silver mech fell easily in step with her as she went past, Ratchet had released her from the medbay just that cycle but apparently that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have an escort everywhere for a while.</p>
<p>The only reason Ultra Magnus wasn’t there to walk with her down the halls of Iacon personally was because he had a meeting to attend with Optimus. That didn’t stop her Guardian from constantly checking on her through their bond, though. Not that she minded the attention or company, it was just that she always felt frustrated when she thought of her time in stasis lock. Ratchet said that she had exhibited almost no processor activity, yet somehow she couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had happened during her stasis. Something very, very important that she couldn’t remember no matter how hard she tried.</p>
<p>It also only made everyone’s wild happiness over her “return” all the more confusing. She didn’t feel like she had gone anywhere. One moment she had been in Shockwave’s lab, panicking, the next, Ultra Magnus had been cuddling her possessively and crying. She dimly remembered something happening in between, a fight within her own mind and angry shouting, but mostly all she could remember was Shockwave’s laboratory. Her frame shivered as her thoughts inadvertently wandered to Shockwave and her captivity.</p>
<p>A gentle touch on her arm snapped her out of her contemplation and made her look up. Jazz was looking down at her in concern, “Yah okay, Star?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded hastily and looked away, “Y-yeah. Just … thinking.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s servo brushed her arm again, “Don’t even try it, Star. Yah just went through tha pit an’ we both know it. Yah don’t have to try ta hide it or lock it away. Ah’d even advise against thah action.” His expression and manner was completely serious as he said, “Yah don’t have ta talk ta me if yah don’t wanna, but if yah ever need someone ta just listen … well, we spies have tha best audios around and tha most tightly locked vocalizers.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave Jazz a tentative smile at his offer as a strange feeling of warmth blossomed within her spark, “Thank’s Jazz … I’ll remember that.”</p>
<p>Jazz appeared satisfied with her answer and, much to Starwish’s relief, changed the subject, “So, where was it yah were goin’?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked and looked around, realizing that she had somehow wandered away from the carefully mapped course Ratchet had given her and was now lost, “Um … I <b>was</b> going to meet with the femmes in … a lounge, I think? Lounge number five. But I think I just took a wrong turn.” <em>Why does a military base even have lounges?</em></p>
<p>Jazz chuckled softly, the sound seeming to purr from within his chassis as he carefully begin steering Starwish in a different direction from the one she’d been going, “Yah took one or two o’ those, actually. Come on, Ah’ll show yah the way there. Ah’m on the way ta a meeting in thah direction anyway.”</p>
<p>Starwish obediently followed Jazz along their new route as she asked curiously, “Another one? Ratchet said that he’s already gone to several over the past few metacycles.”</p>
<p>Jazz gave a lazy shrug in response, “Ah’m on the Command Staff, meeting’s are part o’ the job description. Prowler’s the only one who seems ta like thah part though. Heh, sometimes it seems like Prowler refuels on tactical data an’ not energon.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a tiny giggle at Jazz’s opinion, then squeaked in surprise when Prowl’s voice cut in coolly, “That is a completely illogical statement to make, Jazz. Tactical data cannot be broken down into the nutrients and fuels necessary to sustain Cybertronian life. Also, my name Prowl, not Prowler. As I have told you repeatedly.” <em>Bots are getting way too good at sneaking up on me.</em></p>
<p>The words popped out of Starwish’s mouth before she could stop them, “Don’t scare me like that!” Both mechs looked startled at her outburst and Starwish immediately hugged herself defensively, “S-sorry, I … I just…”</p>
<p>Prowl’s gaze seemed to soften fractionally as he dipped his helm and doorwings in apology, “My apologies, Starwish. I did not mean to startle or cause you distress in any way. I was merely correcting Jazz upon a point of conversation and was unaware that you had not been alerted to my presence.”</p>
<p>Starwish vented a few times, trying to quell the illogical panic welling inside her as well as keep her Guardian from sensing her distress. Starwish tried to tell Prowl that he was forgiven and that she had simply been startled, but her voice didn’t seem to want to work. Jazz hovered on her left side while Prowl moved to her right and said something Starwish didn’t catch. Several mechs were coming from the opposite direction down the hall, chatting with each other obliviously.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics widened as she suddenly saw stark, bare halls and three seekers stalking toward her, a guard looming on either side of her to prevent her from trying to escape. Starscream’s voice rasped in her audios, “Such a delicate little thing. A pity that Lord Megatron gave you to <b>Shockwave</b>. I would have found much better purposes for an Autobot of your … unique build.”</p>
<p>Starwish jerked away, her voice coming out as a choked whisper, “No. No, no, no, no!” The guard on her left grabbed her arm and Starwish twisted desperately, trying to escape his grasp and run away, “Let me go!”</p>
<p>The guard on the right grabbed her shoulders, restraining her from twisted away from his companion, his voice sounding clinical and cold even though it was too far away to make out the words. Wildly, Starwish flung herself to the side, wrenching free of the two before running and stumbling down the hall away from the seekers. <em>No, no, no, no, no, no-!</em> The guards were shouting her name and chasing her. Starwish’s spark leapt into her mouth as she pelted away from them, they were trying to take her to Shockwave again!</p>
<p>Something flooded her with warmth and the impression of safety, <em>“Little One? Little One, calm down! You won’t be harmed, just stop running!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish latched onto the feeling of her Guardian, <em>“Opi! Shockwave! The-they’re taking m-me to S-shockwave! Please! Help!”</em></p>
<p>More soothing emotions surged over her as Ultra Magnus called mentally, <em>“Starwish, stop! You’re in Iacon now! No one is going to take you to Shockwave, you need to calm down!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish slowed in confusion, her optics blinking rapidly as she first saw the stark empty corridors leading to Shockwave’s lab, then saw crowded, well-lit hallways with mechs crowding around in obvious concern, “W-what?”</p>
<p>The images switched back and forth several times, making Starwish slide into a huddled position against the wall, too dizzy to run anymore as she tried to make sense of everything. At some point in the rapid shifting of scenery, Jazz appeared in front of her, his voice speaking soothingly while Prowl towered over them both and shooed away the terrifying press of mechs.</p>
<p>Slowly, images of Shockwave’s lab faded and Starwish’s gaze cleared of imaginary terrors, only to be clouded with confusion, “J-Jazz? Wh-what happened?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s shoulders slumped as he sighed softly, “Oh, thank Primus,” tilting his helm at her, Jazz shuffled forwards a little bit, “it’s okay, Star. Yah had a memory loop is all. Everything’s jus’ fine, understand? You’re safe.”</p>
<p>Slowly, Starwish raised her helm and looked around, she was in a Iacon hallway, huddled up against the wall, but she couldn’t really remember how she’d gotten there. Frowning, she tried to remember, “H-how did I-? I was talking with you when-”</p>
<p>Jazz held up a servo in the universal signal to stop, “No. Don’t try ta remember, Star. It ain’t worth risking triggering tha memory-loop again. Look, let’s just get yah ta Elita an’ her femmes. Would yah like thah?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded slowly, shakily uncurling and allowing Jazz to help her up. Her processor felt strangely fuzzy and her frame oddly tired as Jazz began coaxing her down the halls, always keeping his voice low and his motions slow and obvious, as if he was afraid she would snap or something. <em>Maybe I did … I remember feeling nervous and then… wait.</em> “Jazz?”</p>
<p>Jazz gently rubbed the back of her servo with his thumb as he replied, “Yeah, Star?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked at him curiously, “Did I have a … a panic attack?”</p>
<p>Jazz cocked his helm to one side as he continued to guide her down the halls, Prowl stalking silently ahead of them, clearing a path with his mere presence alone, “Yah had a bad memory-loop, Star. Something made yah start reliving a traumatic memory file. It happens ta us all at some point or other. Jus’ don’t try ta remember tha loop, ‘kay? Or yah might re-trigger it. Ah need yah ta just focus on meh.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded numbly, wondering the entire time if she had really just had a panic attack. She didn’t feel like she had particularly. She just felt strangely detached and tired, not panicky as she thought she would be after having just had a “bad memory-loop” as Jazz put it. Slowly, with Jazz saying gentle things to keep her distracted and Ultra Magnus nearly drowning her in waves of worry and comfort over their bond, they made it to where Elita-1 and the other femmes presumably were.</p>
<p>Starwish looked up at the door and felt something in the back of her processor tingle. The door was a perfectly normal one, yet somehow she kept expecting to blink and see a reinforced lab door instead. Jazz’s arms wrapped around her in a hug and he whispered in her audio, “Hey, hey, easy there Star. Just focus on meh. There’s no need ta panic.”</p>
<p>Starwish took a shaky vent, the tingle receding as she focused on Jazz’s hug, “Did I do it again?” <em>Is it really that easy to have a panic attack?</em></p>
<p>Jazz’s hug tightened a little bit, “Nah, but yah were coming close ta. It’s okay, jus’ relax and remember thah you’re safe here, Star.”</p>
<p>The door slid open and Starwish turned slightly in Jazz’s arms to see Elita-1 standing in the doorway, Chromia and her roommates all crowding behind Elita-1 to eye Starwish worriedly. Elita-1 gently reached out and tugged Starwish free of Jazz’s gentle yet strong grip, “Thank you, Jazz. We will take it from here. Can you walk, Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded in bafflement as she reluctantly allowed herself to be led away from Jazz’s hug. Who knew the mech could give such a comforting hug? Shaking herself mentally, Starwish answered Elita’s question, “Yes, I can walk. S-sorry to cause so much trouble…”</p>
<p>Elita-1 smiled warmly at her as she led Starwish into the room and the door slid shut behind them, “It is no trouble at all, Starwish. You are one of my femmes, I am happy to help in any way I can.”</p>
<p>Flareup punched Starwish on her shoulder plate, but the punch was so light it was more of a nudge with her fist, “So are we. Now, let’s get you introduced to some of the others in the Femme Contingent, shall we?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked past the femmes she knew and saw a group of other femmes she didn’t recognize sitting on chairs and a long curved sofa that ringed a small table. On the table were several cubes of energon and plate of energon goodies. Starwish glanced over her shoulder, suddenly shy and wondering if Jazz might feel up to rescuing her again.</p>
<p>Shaking her helm to banish the cowardly thought, Starwish turned her attention back to the other femmes and smiled weakly, “Um … hi?”</p>
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<p>Jazz and Prowl stepped into the conference room side by side, Prowl’s normally impassive expression still holding hint of sympathy for the femling they had just escorted to Elita-1’s care. At the head of the conference table, Optimus asked, “Is she well?”</p>
<p>Prowl nodded curtly, “As well as can be expected, Prime. Her memory-loop was surprisingly short and she was calmed with relative ease. Elita-1 and her femmes are taking care of her as we speak.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus actually fidgeted in place, his expression clearly conveying his distinct lack of desire to be present at the meeting instead of with Starwish. Compassionately, Optimus turned to Magnus and said, “If you believe your charge has need of you, you are free to leave, Ultra Magnus.”</p>
<p>It was a testament to Ultra Magnus’s willpower and dedication to his Prime that he politely turned down the offer, “Thank you, Prime. However, I am certain that Elita-1 and her contingent will keep my charge perfectly safe.” With a tiny nod of acknowledgement, Optimus turned away from his SiC and motioned for everyone to sit down at the table.</p>
<p>Ratchet glowered from his spot on Ironhide’s left, who in turn was seated to the left of Optimus because of the black mech’s status as the bodyguard of the Prime. Prowl quietly moved to sit to the right of Ultra Magnus while Jazz took a seat on Prowl’s right and pulled out a datachip from his subspace.</p>
<p>To the left of Ratchet, Inferno sat rather nervously in his chair, acting as a trusted stand-in for the still convalescent Red Alert. Inferno, despite his penchant for being on the front lines, had recently been promoted to Second in Command of the Autobot Security Division. Traditionally, it was unheard of to promote a frontliner to such an important rank, but as he had proven himself trustworthy and a calm thinker under pressure, Optimus had held no reservations of allowing the promotion. That, and Inferno was the only one Red Alert trusted enough to act as his temporary substitute in the meeting, so they really had no choice about it.</p>
<p>Once everyone was seated, Jazz held up the datachip gravely, “As yah all know, we recently broke into Kaon ta rescue Starwish and Hardwire. During thah rescue, Mirage discovered a computer thah was still powered on during the break in and, under mah orders, stole as much data from it as he could ta help us figure out what Shockwave did ta Star and Wire.”</p>
<p>“This is tha data stolen from tha computer. It was heavily encrypted an’ since we were pressed for time when we found it, Mirage did what we call a ‘bulk download’. Tha simple explanation of thah term is he ripped tha original set of data from the computer, encryption and all. It’s a messy process an’ it’s taken myself and mah team this long just ta crack tha encryption codes on tha data.”</p>
<p>Leaning forward, Jazz carefully slotted the datachip into a holo-emitter set in the center of the conference table, “Now, mah team an’ Ah haven’t seen this data yet, so Ah have no idea if it’s going ta be useful or not. Normally, Ah’d review tha data before a briefing and edit out the unessential parts, but some of us,” he shot a look at Ratchet, “didn’t wanna wait and thought thah something Ah thought inconsequential might be useful from a medical perspective. So here goes.”</p>
<p>The holo-emitter powered on with a soft hum and soon a large square area above the table was enveloped in black. Jazz felt his spark twist uneasily in it’s chamber, wondering why the image was black. Was the data defunct? They had completely decrypted it, it shouldn’t be completely black.</p>
<p>His thoughts were cut off as the blackness finally resolved into an image of Starwish sitting up and looking around. There was a small circle of light around her, but Jazz noticed keenly that it didn’t seem to force back the thick blackness all around her. It looked like she was in some kind of circular black prison. <em>What the-?</em></p>
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<p>Rising Dawn leaned against the wall in the corner, frowning as Optimus Prime and his closest Command Staff minus Elita-1 watched the recording of what had occurred during the Cortical Psychic Patch connection between Shockwave and Starwish. As her frown deepened, the wall she was leaning on rippled faintly and she hastily stepped away from it so as not to phase through it and land on her doorwings.</p>
<p>Another figure moved to stand next to her, his blue visor hiding his thoughts as he pointed out calmly, “They had to find out eventually. It could not be kept a secret forever.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn shot a hooded look at her unexpected company, “As if that stiff-chevroned medic will believe the footage. He’s more likely to lock her up in his medbay until he figures out what’s ‘wrong’ with her.”</p>
<p>Agent 77095 interjected quietly, “You don’t know that.”</p>
<p>A loud exclamation of, “That’s fragging impossible!” From said medic had Rising Dawn giving her friend a pointed look.</p>
<p>He shrugged fractionally, “Anyone would say the same. That doesn’t mean he’ll do anything harsh. For one, her Guardian won’t let him. For another, neither will Optimus or Ratchet’s own conscience. He knows about her near panic attack in the medbay because it looks like a lab and her latest one just walking down the halls.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn, still frowning, turned back to watching the oblivious mechs in the room. She knew that Agent 77095 was probably right, but that didn’t remove the small kernel of doubt nagging at her persistently as the stolen data feed continued to show Starwish’s unexpected and amazing display of mental strength. Her doorwings flitted agitatedly, “What do you think they’ll do to her, Seven?”</p>
<p>The mech nicknamed Seven cocked his helm to one side, “I am unsure. But we have no say in the matter either way.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn’s armor bristled, the special red crest on her helm fanning out like an elaborate helm dress aggressively, “How can you tolerate just standing around watching? The Matron put her here, the least she could do is let us help!”</p>
<p>Seven laid a servo on her right arm firmly, “Dawn! Mind your training.”</p>
<p>Dawn stopped and looked around, startled, before taking a deep vent and forcing herself to settle down, “…Sorry, Seven. I just … Opi was always a bot of action and I hate standing around when I could be doing something to help.”</p>
<p>Seven did not raise his voice at all as he asked quietly, “And what, exactly, would you do to help in this situation?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn started to answer, but no words came out. Finally, she huffed and crossed her arms, shaking Seven’s servo off of her arm in the process, “I don’t know. But I’d do something. I don’t like seeing Starwish getting hurt or traumatized.”</p>
<p>Seven folded his servos placidly behind his back, content to watch the explosion of theories, questions, and discussion that erupted after the end of the video-feed Mirage had stolen from the Decepticons. His tenor held no condemnation as he pointed out, “You did not have to come here. I’m sure Andromeda would love some company on her mission. Or, better yet, you could actually attend some more of Matron Prehnite’s lessons. You could use them.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn stuck out her glossa in mock disgust, “No way. I appreciate her teachings and all, but enough is enough. If I have to do one more exercise on harnessing my ‘inner spark’, I’m going to go ballistic.”</p>
<p>Seven sighed indulgently at his younger friend and fellow agent, “Spending time with Agent 3853 I see.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn shrugged, “He’s a fun person to hang out with. Now hush, if we have to stand around and watch like glitching security cameras, at least let me listen in.”</p>
<p>Seven fell obediently silent as the flurry of discussion and confusion reached a tipping point. It was chaotic in the conference room as everyone tried to understand what they had seen, yet loudly refused to accept the most obvious answer there. Well, almost everyone.</p>
<p>Rising Dawn found her attention resting upon the only bot in the room not shouting. The one simply sitting there, his face twisted into a frown of concentration. <em>What are you going to do?</em> She mused wordlessly, <em>what are you going to do?</em> The mech she was watching suddenly stood up and left the conference room, not bothering to announce where he was going. Dawn started to follow him, when Seven trotted past her and phased through the door.</p>
<p>Dawn grumbled faintly as she settled back again to watch how the other mechs in the conference room would take to Jazz’s sudden departure. At least she could record Ratchet’s slack-jawed expression for the other Agents to laugh about later. Entertainment was surprisingly hard to come by in their line of work after all. <em>That and showing off the recording will give me an excuse not to go back to Prehnite for more lessons right away. Brr.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. Repercussions Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwire eased himself to the ground and leaned against the wall with a sigh. <em>So much for not getting lost. Oh well, at least it’s an interesting view.</em> It was indeed an interesting view for Hardwire. Having gotten turned around in the hallways while on his way to meet with Bulkhead in a training room, Hardwire had stumbled upon a hallway that led to an open air platform overlooking a good portion of Iacon.</p>
<p>Sunlight glinted palely off of the metal of the buildings, giving golden auras to the rounded corners and sloping tops of the many structures. Hardwire sat there on the narrow platform, watching as the alien city continued to function busily, oblivious to his observation. An aerial Autobot shot past, causing a gust of wind to caress his armor in a manner that vaguely reminded him of the breezes of Earth.</p>
<p>It was pleasant, sitting on the platform in the open, just drinking in the sights. It was almost pleasant enough to chase away the nightmares. <em>Not that I’m sure if I can technically have nightmares anymore,</em> he thought with a touch of bitterness. <em>Just one of the advantages of being turned into a living robot. Every bad “dream” I’ve had so far is actually a period of forcibly reliving something that actually happened. As if nightmares weren’t traumatizing enough…</em></p>
<p>Ever since being rescued and repaired, Hardwire had been plagued both when he was awake and when he was in recharge by memories of his captivity. True, he didn’t remember much of it clearly, but sometimes that only made it worse.</p>
<p>During the sunlit cycles it was easier, all he had to do was ignore the random shiver in his frame, the terrifying impression of something cold and violating pushing into the back of his helm anytime someone approached him from behind. He could focus on the sweet flavor of his clean energon ration instead of remembering the horrid sensation of another mech’s fluids rushing into his mouth, the energon from the punctured lines diluted and bitter as nutrients were steadily syphoned from the fuel pulsing through the other mech’s frame.</p>
<p>He internalized all of those things as much as he could, fighting off panic and revulsion whenever he was in the medbay that looked so unbearably like a lab, hiding his flinches whenever a medic scanned or monitored him. He had even managed to not completely break down in terror when Ratchet had connected to his processor in order to correct his motor function coding. Of course, it had helped at the time that Hardwire had been so pumped full of sedatives he was barely aware of anything.</p>
<p>But during the joors when he was supposed to be recharging, things got so much worse. His rest was almost constantly plagued by distorted images of Shockwave looming over him and coldly droning away, of drones piling down on top of him even as he tried to fight them off and escape the impending horror. Worse than the nightmares of being dragged down and imprisoned by drones while Shockwave watched impassively, was the one where he was fighting a single opponent.</p>
<p>That “dream” was always the haziest and yet, it was that haziness that made it so much more terrifying. Because while he couldn’t see images clearly, all of his other senses remembered in far too much detail. In his recharge, Hardwire could feel his servos fisting and slamming against his larger opponent, smell energon and lubricants as he tore apart any piece of the mech he could reach.</p>
<p>In his recharge, he could feel rage that could only be described as animalistic pulse through his spark as he bit, punched, clawed, and kicked. Each and every blow received or given felt with a feral sort of thrill instead of pain or fear. He could hear every ragged vent, every roar of hatred or shriek of tearing metal with a clarity that made Hardwire wish he was deaf instead.</p>
<p>His armor tingled in remembrance of being similarly clawed at by a mech bellowing just as angrily as Hardwire as the two clashed with equal-yet-unmatched ferocity. Hardwire’s recharge often ended abruptly with him screaming into wakefulness, the sensation of someone ripping open his middle and tearing out the sensitive parts inside, heedless of the agony it caused Hardwire, so well remembered he would believe it happening all over again for a terrifying klik.</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t know when the battle of his nightmares had happened, only that it occurred sometime after seeing Shockwave sedate Starwish and declare his plans to use the Cortical Psychic Patch on her, but before he had powered on to the sound of Whitestrike trying to get his attention through the cell barrier.</p>
<p>He couldn’t narrow down the timeframe any more than that. He also had immense trouble pulling up the entire memory file during the light of day as well. It seemed that his processor would only open the file when he was trying to get some rest. Which, naturally, didn’t help his skittishness at all.</p>
<p>Ratchet and the medical staff had patiently put up with his screams and sudden wariness of them, Ratchet had even allowed Hardwire out of the medbay early in understanding of his fear of anything that even vaguely looked like a lab. Hardwire was under strict orders to rest as much as possible, refuel regularly, and only participate in very light exercise for another metacycle in order for his replaced parts to fully integrate. After that, he would be on light duty for an undetermined length of time.</p>
<p>Still, anything was better than having the nightmares <b>and</b> waking up in a room that looked suspiciously like a laboratory.</p>
<p>The dark musings Hardwire had unconsciously fallen into while watching Iacon flow by was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a jet. Hardwire jerked and hissed in surprise, a blaster dropping out of subspace and humming dangerously as the jet transformed and landed on the opposite end of the platform with a flourish.</p>
<p>The figure gave a high pitched squeak of, “Whoa! Don’t shoot!” Hardwire blinked, his vents heaving as he leaned as far away from the surprise arrival as he could. <em>Femme.</em> The seemingly random word made Hardwire pause and study the intruder to his privacy again.</p>
<p>The data his optics were feeding his processor finally sunk in and sheepishly, Hardwire subspaced his blaster, “Sorry about that. You startled me.”</p>
<p>The femme slowly lowered her arms from their defensive position over her faceplates and blinked at him shyly for a moment as she replied, “Yeah, I kind of guessed that. Sorry, I should have given you a warning that I was incoming, but I thought you heard my engine. I mean, I’m jet, not a stealth fighter, so I am fairly loud when I fly.”</p>
<p>Hardwire quirked a weak smile at her rambling and watched as the femme stood there nervously, “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings that much, so it was my fault for being startled. My designation is Hardwire … uh, is this your perch?”</p>
<p>Hardwire was internally startled as, in an instant, all signs of shyness in the femme vanished. Walking a step or two closer, she plopped down into a sitting position next to him, her pastel blue wings flicking up and down expressively, “Hi! My designation is Moon Glow, nice to meet you! This isn’t technically <b>my</b> perch, per say, but I do like to come and sit here a lot when I’m off duty. I was flying by on my way to meet Elita-1 and the other femmes when I spotted you sitting here looking really sad. So, I thought I’d come over and ask if you needed anything?”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his smile become a little more real at her cheerful tone. The femme was so friendly, even to a complete stranger such as himself. Hardwire took in her appearance thoughtfully. She was small looking, the biggest parts of her being the two upswept wings on her back and the thrusters that served as heels for her pedes.</p>
<p>She was brightly painted in a blue that hung on the thin line between being ice blue and pastel, with pastel purple speed lines tracing up the length of her arms, shoulders, and the outside of her legs from the hips down to her ankles. The lines were unique in that they faded and blended into her main blue color on either end of the line. Starting out a faded, blue/purple with the purple gradually gaining color dominance further down the highlight before fading away to a delicate mixture of colors again. She had a two identical light purple lines running across her helm, starting from the center of her forehelm and stopping when it reached just past the top of her helm.</p>
<p>All in all, her paint job seemed to match her light-sparked demeanor. His musings over her appearance were interrupted when she suddenly said, “Well, do you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire jerked a little bit, cursing inwardly as he realized that he’d been staring, <em>now she’ll think I’m an idiot ogling her frame!</em> “Sorry, do I what?”</p>
<p>Moon Glow rolled her blue optics, which somehow matched the color of her frame, expressively, “Do you need help, of course. Silly mech. That’s why I landed here in the first place!”</p>
<p>Hardwire tried not to blush, “Sorry. No, I don’t really need help…” his HUD pinged and he remembered Bulkhead. Now he really did blush as he added, “Unless you happen to know the route to the training rooms from here? I … got lost.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow made a faint “oh” noise, “So that’s why a grounder is sitting up here. You mechs usually do all of your sightseeing from either the observatory or the streets down there.”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced at said streets and had to fight off a wave of nausea when he realized just how far away he was from the ground. Seeing his look, Moon Glow giggled, “That’s why nobody but Seekers and Aerials look straight down around here. It’s just too dangerous.”</p>
<p>Hardwire sat back, trying not to shake as his newly-realized altitude made him dizzy, “I’ll remember that … oh boy.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow’s left wing brushed his shoulder plating lightly as it bobbed in curiosity, “What’s that word mean?”</p>
<p>Hardwire searched his memory for a word that would be foreign to Moon Glow before remembering that the word “boy” did not exist in the Cybertronian language. There was just mechling, mech, or youngling. Sighing, Hardwire answered, “It can mean a lot of things. In this instance it means that I’m … a touch daunted by how high up I am.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow cocked her smoothly round helm to one side, her rather heart-shaped faceplates shining with inquiry, “Really? What are some other things that it means?”</p>
<p>Hardwire got the sudden and distinct impression that the femme sitting next to him would get along royally with the twinlings as he struggled to answer, “Well … depending on the context it could refer to a mechling, a mech acting like a mechling, something startling, or something interesting … it’s complicated.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow stared at him incredulously, “You’re joking. One word can mean all of those things simply because of different <b>context</b>?”</p>
<p>Feeling briefly humorous, Hardwire added, “As well as the emotional tone it is spoken with, yes. It can also be used as an insult if combined with the correct body posture and vocal tone.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow shook her helm, “You’re making this up…”</p>
<p>This time Hardwire shook his helm, “Nope. Someone else did and everyone else just ended up adopting the usage is all. The language that word comes from is highly adaptive and even known to freely incorporate words from other languages as it evolves.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow rested her chin on her folded servos in interest, her optics glowing with excitement, “Really? What language is that word from? It sounds like a fun one! Hard to learn, but fun!”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his mood suddenly fall flat, <em>it’s my home language. The language of my original species.</em> “It’s … well … my Guardians taught it to me…” He looked away and gritted his denta, trying not to become emotional over a simple, innocently meant question.</p>
<p>A slender servo rested gently on his upper arm, “I brought up a sour topic, didn’t I? Sorry about that. My squadron commander is always telling me I’m too inquisitive. Always asking questions about how stuff works or why we do things a certain way instead of just accepting how things are done. He says I should just learn to follow orders.”</p>
<p>Maybe it was because of how quiet and depressed she sounded when she said the last sentence, maybe it was because she reminded him so much of the twinlings, either way, Hardwire found himself looking into her optics and grabbing one of her shoulders firmly, “Hey. Don’t ever stop asking questions, even if it’s just to yourself. Asking questions like that means you’re smart and want to learn more about the world around you. That’s a good thing.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow looked puzzled and surprised, “But, I hurt your feelings…”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm, “No, it wasn’t your fault. I just … miss my home a lot and remembering the intricacies of my native language brings back a lot of memories. Like I said, it wasn’t your fault.” He offered a tiny smile, “As for your commander, he’s probably just a sour aft that doesn’t get the right amount of recharge.”</p>
<p>His statement was rewarded with a bright laugh and flashing grin from Moon Glow, “You sound like you know him!”</p>
<p>Hardwire let go of her shoulder and slowly stood up, “I know the type. Now, unless you’re on duty or something, I don’t suppose you would mind giving a lost acrophobic mech a map to the training rooms? My roommate is probably trying to organize a search party to find my sorry frame by now.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow was giggling cheerfully as she grabbed his servo and led him inside, “No problem! I’d be happy to show you the way, actually. I’m bad at transmitting maps for some reason and I need to pass the training rooms if I want to take a shortcut to meet Elita-1 and the others anyway. Just one thing, what’s <em>acroph- aco-</em> that other word you just said mean?”</p>
<p>Hardwire rolled his optics heavenward, “Promise not to tell anyone else?”</p>
<p>Moon Glow cocked her helm to one side in consideration, “Is it a bad word?”</p>
<p>Hardwire stubbornly refused to look at her as she led him down the hallways, attracting several surprised stares and even knowing chuckles, “Uh, no…”</p>
<p>Moon Glow flashed him a blinding smile that he saw out of the corner of his optic, “Can’t promise anything then! I love sharing new stuff with the others and I’d probably talk about it by accident even if I did promise not to tell!”</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked at the open honesty, “Well, thank’s for the warning then.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow shrugged, “It’s just a well known fact around here. The only time I can keep a secret is when I’m planning a prank, and Air Raid says that’s only because I’m too busy ‘giggling evilly’ to actually say anything.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a smile cross his face, <em>yep. She would get along with the twinlings </em><b><em>so</em></b><em> well.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <b>Two Metacycles Previous</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Location: Darkmount, Megatron’s personal fortress in Kaon.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Megatron snapped online with a speed known only to the Gladiators who had survived Kaon’s lunar-cycles. If you survived the Pits, you learned very quickly that the only way to ensure survival up until the next fight was to recharge lightly and use battle speed boot-up programs every time.</p>
<p>Red optics scanned what he could see of the room without turning his helm while his sensors spread out in an effort to gather extra data on his surroundings. When he finally had enough data to conclude that he was in Knockout’s medbay, he allowed himself to relax fractionally. Taking a deep vent, Megatron inhaled the all-too-familiar smells of cleaning solvent, energon, metal shavings and, as if in testimony to the unique personality of the main doctor working there, the sharp tang of polish.</p>
<p>His self-diagnostics came up clean, revealing that he was functioning, if now with new parts in several key areas, and Megatron sat up in order to fully look around. His optical sweep of the surrounding area revealed Dreadwing and Skyquake, two of his most trusted seekers, standing on either side of the door, both in light recharge and, if the telltale tingle against his own sensors was any indication, with their sensor grids spread out and set to their highest sensitivity.</p>
<p>The moment Megatron went to move off of the berth, both seekers came back online with simultaneous whines of their gears and stared at their master. Megatron paused in his actions long enough to give Laserbeak and the no doubt watching Soundwave an acknowledging nod before standing up and facing his two soldiers, “Dreadwing, Skyquake. Report. What has happened during my power down?”</p>
<p>Dreadwing, as per usual for the two, took up the task of speaking, “Lord Megatron, during your power down, Kaon was assaulted by the Wreckers and an unknown Autobot insurgence team. They were successfully driven out of the city before they could reach this medbay. However, they caused severe damage to the outer sectors of Kaon before being repulsed.”</p>
<p>Megatron stiffened, feeling his rage surge dangerously close to the surface, “The Autobots launched a strike against Kaon during the exact moment of my perceived vulnerability, did they? Tell me, Dreadwing, did the Autobots take anything during their attack? Or was their foolish attempt solely to assassinate me?” <em>In which case we have a leak in security. One I will enjoy dealing with personally.</em></p>
<p>Dreadwing and Skyquake dipped their helms respectfully to Megatron as he strode out of the private medbay room and into the main bay, “The Autobots somehow managed to sabotage Kaon’s security grid during the attack, so the full extent of their invasion is as yet undetermined, Lord Megatron. However, Soundwave received reports from Shockwave’s prison guards that an Autobot team separate from the Wreckers broke into the laboratory and made off with Shockwave’s two latest subjects.”</p>
<p>Megatron came to a stop and whirled to face Dreadwing, ignoring the simpering red medic who had rushed over to check his condition, “<b>What</b>?”</p>
<p>It was a testament to the willpower of the seekers that they did not outwardly flinch away from Megatron’s snarl. The only sign that they were intimidated was that they shrunk the circumference of their sensor grid. Dreadwing subtly lowered his wings in a sign of submission as he answered, “The two Autobots delivered to Shockwave’s laboratory are gone, Lord Megatron.”</p>
<p>Megatron felt his lip plating curl in fury as he fought off the urge to strike the nearest mech, namely Dreadwing, “So. The Autobots reclaimed the resource Shockwave was to make our own, have they? Is there any data left in the lab?”</p>
<p>Dreadwing’s wings shifted fractionally lower, “Technicians are still attempting to determine the extent of any hacking or sabotage, Lord Megatron. However, it would appear that aside from footage recorded during Shockwave’s use of the Cortical Psychic Patch, all data has been left untampered with.”</p>
<p>Megatron vented slowly and brushed Knockout aside without hesitation as he strode out of the medbay and made for the Command Center, <em>well played, Optimus. Well played. You only wanted your precious soldier and femling back, knowing that any preliminary data gained by Shockwave would be near useless without further study.</em> Megatron couldn't help but sneer to himself, <em>not that that fact mattered to you. All you ever care for is saving your precious pet soldiers.</em></p>
<p>A soft chitter and the flap of wings drew Megatron’s attention to the fact that Laserbeak was following him even more closely than Dreadwing and Skyquake. Pushing aside his current anger or the sore, pulsing feeling of his new parts integrating, Megatron reached within himself and opened the normally closed-off bond between himself and his sparkmate, <em>“I am fine, Soundwave. There is no need to hover.”</em></p>
<p>The reply was a rush of worry, affection, and relief, all accompanying a silky alto voice that had been silenced to the real world’s audios for many long vorns, <em>“You should rest a little more, let your new parts integrate more fully without the strain of being used. Besides, I am your mate and chief spy, I have every right to ‘hover’ as you put it.”</em></p>
<p>Megatron kept his faceplates utterly blank as he turned the corner and stepped into a turbo lift, <em>“You know I cannot afford to lounge, not when Starscream has been in charge during my absence … and not while you have been forgoing recharge for the past several cycles.”</em></p>
<p>There was a pause, then a wave of acceptance. Soundwave always accepted Megatron’s judgement, even though she made it clear that she did not like ceding the point in this instance. Megatron stepped off of the lift smoothly as he carefully sent a brief wave of appreciation for her concern.</p>
<p>He was about to send her a pulse of love, something he rarely dared to do, when Starscream rounded the corner and Megatron instinctively slammed their bond shut so as to not let her feel his revulsion and mistake it for having anything to do with her. Megatron didn’t bother stopping his voice from gaining a murderous tone as he addressed the seeker who had interrupted what precious little time he had with his mate over their bond, “Starscream.”</p>
<p>Starscream’s fake smile faltered and his wings dipped fearfully when he heard the obviously dangerous tone in Megatron’s voice and saw Dreadwing and Skyquake bristle accordingly, “L-lord Megatron! I was j-just coming t-to congratulate you on your … marvelously rapid recovery! Surely there is no one else who could face down a dreaded Bāsākā mech and come out so utterly victorious!”</p>
<p>Megatron gave a low huff of contempt, “Indeed, Starscream? How very loyal of you. However, instead of offering congratulations to me, I would be far more interested in hearing about the surprise Autobot assault on Kaon that you failed to repulse.”</p>
<p>Starscream’s wings flattened a little more and his smile became more of a silent plea for mercy than anything else, not that Megatron was going to acknowledge that plea, “Ah, that. Well you see, Lord Megatron, t-the Autobot Wreckers t-took our forces by surprise, damaging the security grid as they did so. B-But they were repulsed! They fled from the city in total disarray!”</p>
<p>Megatron nodded mockingly, pretending to be impressed, “Total disarray? Tell me Starscream, how many of these Autobots insurgents were still alive to flee as you claim?”</p>
<p>Starscream’s red optics flicked from side to side, his armor slowly beginning to clamp further down on his frame in growing trepidation, “Well, it was hard to determine their exact numbers but-”</p>
<p>Megatron cut him off, “Surely you received reports on the number of Autobot frames recovered for repurposing?”</p>
<p>Starscream’s armor was audibly shaking as he backed away, shoulders hunched in a submissive bow, “The … frame count? Well…”</p>
<p>Megatron grew rapidly tired of listening to Starscream try to stammer out an excuse, “Don’t even bother Starscream, I am fully aware of your failure to snuff out the insurgent Autobots.” He shot the seeker a dangerous look as he snarled, “I am also aware that during their ‘disarrayed retreat’, the Autobots made off with the femme prisoner and the Bāsākā mech I so painstakingly subdued for further study.”</p>
<p>As Megatron swept into the Command Center, he was fully aware of every optic lifting from their owners’ appointed tasks to stare at his entrance. He was also aware when their collective gazes shifted to stare at Starscream as the mech began his usual spiel of excuses and pleas for mercy, “I am aware that the counter attack against the Autobots was … not entirely successful, Lord Megatron and the loss of the Bāsākā mech is a … woeful indignity. However, I believe if you observe the facts of the matter you will clearly see with your discerning optic that I am not to blame for the assault on Shockwave’s laboratory!”</p>
<p>Megatron noted that Soundwave had paused in her work to listen to Starscream’s rambling, his keen optic picking up the near non-existent tensing of her shoulder armor that signaled hidden anger. The reason for her anger became apparent when Starscream finished his next sentence, “If I had had more data on the situation when it was required and if all of Kaon’s forces had been under my command as they should have been, there is no doubt the Autobots would have been eradicated! However, my hold on the situation was severely compromised when Soundwave not only failed to report the infiltration, but called away almost half of the Decepticon forces in the middle of the battle!”</p>
<p>Megatron’s rage surged like a flood and he didn’t wait for Starscream to finish outlining his defense. Whirling away from the large holomap in the center of the room to face Starscream, Megatron bellowed, “<b>Enough</b>! Do not attempt to displace the blame for your incompetency, Starscream! Especially upon Soundwave!”</p>
<p>The two seekers who had appeared on either side of Starscream sometime during the walk to the Command Center now took hesitant steps back. They were loyal to Starscream as the Decepticon SiC, but they knew better than to try to defend the cowardly mech from Megatron’s wrath.</p>
<p>Taking a heavy step forward, Megatron loomed over Starscream, struggling internally to stave off the urge to rip off the seeker’s helm from his shoulders with his bare servos, “Am I <b>clear</b>, Starscream?”</p>
<p>Starscream immediately dropped to one knee in a low bow, wings shaking as he stammered, “O-Of course, Lord Megatron! I-it shall never happen again!”</p>
<p>Megatron sneered, “Somehow, I doubt that. Now get out my sight, Starscream, while I repair your blunderings.” Turning away, Megatron ignored the sounds of Starscream fleeing the Command Center with his two seeker escorts, the clatter of his pedes the only sound in the room other than the steady whirr of machinery and computers. Suppressing his anger and storing it away to be unleashed in combat at a later time, Megatron began barking out orders, demanding status updates, and generally controlling his army with a practiced and unyielding servo.</p>
<p>As a temporary silence fell over the Command Center in accompaniment to everyone hastily going about their ordered tasks, Soundwave silently moved to stand on his right and slightly behind, a position of subservience required of an officer, but also a covert way to get closer to him and request his attention.</p>
<p>Megatron glanced at Soundwave briefly before opening a private com channel, ::Yes, Soundwave?::</p>
<p>Words typed out across his vision rapidly, even in a private com, Soundwave would not risk speaking, ::M.e.g.a.t.r.o.n’s s.t.a.t.u.s: ??::</p>
<p>Megatron knew what she was really asking, she wanted to know how he was handling both his anger at Starscream and how he was feeling after his … encounter with the Autobot Bāsākā mech, ::I am fine, Soundwave. Return to your duties.::</p>
<p>Soundwave nodded briefly and strode away without a sound, her body posture neutral even to his optics. Megatron felt a pang of longing briefly enter his spark as he kept his outward focus on the map in front of him, how he wanted to open their bond and speak with her freely, learn how she was doing, to tell her just how much he…</p>
<p>Megatron vented sharply, forcing away his current line of thought. It was for the best. Soundwave wouldn’t have been able to help in the battle as much as she had if she had been burdened with his pain or been made sluggish by his recharge. It was safer if there was as little connecting between them shown as possible. Safer for him, safer for Soundwave. But that logic didn’t help his anger dissipate or make the long-present pain in his spark go away.</p>
<p>As he watched the Command Center with sharp optics, he felt a faint spasm of discomfort in his newly replaced parts as he shifted his weight unconsciously. Not even deigning to wince at the pain, Megatron couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering to the reason he had new internal wiring or parts in certain areas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> Flashback</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had been coming down to the laboratory to check on Shockwave after Soundwave had reported the scientist’s mysterious fall into stasis lock. The moment he had gotten inside the laboratory wing, however, all thoughts of mystery had been shoved aside in favor of dropping into a combat-ready stance as something sent the shredded remains of a guard flying into the wall of the hallway junction farther ahead.</p>
<p>During the same instant that the sparkless frame slid down the wall and to the floor with a clang, Soundwave sent him a frantic report detailing that the Bāsākā mech had broken out of his restraints and was now rampaging through the facility.</p>
<p>Megatron had seen confirmation of the report with his own optics no more then two kliks later when a large, green painted mech came limping around the corner, his near-drunken movements only adding to the air of utter insanity the mech was giving off as he snarled viciously. The guard the mech was chasing shot past Lord Megatron with no words, just a terrified shout as he fled for his spark.</p>
<p>As red optics flickered away from the original prey and locked gazes with his own, Megatron could not suppress the vague shiver that ran through his frame. He had seen many horrific things, done many horrific things, in his lifetime. But the wild, maddened look in the mech’s red optics made Megatron pause even more than the sight of energon splattered across the supposed prisoner’s frame as the green mech dropped the offline frame he had been dragging and growled at Megatron darkly.</p>
<p>Megatron had long ago learned to trust his instincts when they told him to be cautious, so it was with a calculating look that the warlord took a step back and purred dangerously, “I wouldn’t try it youngling.”</p>
<p>The mech’s optics flashed brighter as he roared and charged Megatron, stumbling slightly in a way that clued Megatron in to the fact that Shockwave’s examinations had left minor processor damage. Damage that Megatron could exploit. Sidestepping the mech’s charge, Megatron lashed out with his right servo, smacking the mech hard between his shoulder plating in an attempt to make him overbalance. Megatron’s optics widened in surprise as the stumble gave way to a deceptively graceful pivot on one pede.</p>
<p>His optics filmed over with a burst of brief static as a fist collided with Megatron’s helm, making him stagger back, hoping to backpedal out of range of a second attack. Megatron’s optics came back online just in time for him to dodge another swipe at his helm that could have inflicted serious damage. A strange thrill surged through Megatron’s circuits as he commed, ::No one is to interfere! This is my battle!:: Before launching a counterattack with an almost gleeful roar.</p>
<p>The next few breems were confusing to Megatron’s memory files, but he did remember just how rapidly glee had evaporated and been replaced by rage and pain. Despite his injuries and seeming difficulty in controlling his own frame, Megatron’s opponent was difficult and deadly simply because of how fast and utterly determined he was to kill the Warlord of the Decepticons.</p>
<p>Clever tactics and ruses soon were only given secondary place in Megatron’s processor as the two large mechs locked in brutal, animalistic combat. Clawing, punching, cuffing, slamming, and even biting each other in a struggle for dominance.</p>
<p>The green mech snarled as he ducked under Megatron’s latest punch, his servo flashing out to reach between the plating of Megatron’s shoulder and outstretched arm to grab and rip out anything his servo found with near-peerless savagery. Megatron bellowed in pain and hatred as he retaliated by jerking his elbow back sharply, increasing the damage to his shoulder, but with the satisfying effect of slamming his reinforced elbow plating into the mech’s helm with a clang.</p>
<p>The mech stumbled to one side as Megatron whirled around and lunged for him again, ready to take advantage of the momentary weakness. Megatron slammed the right side of the mech’s abdominal plating, denting it with the force of the blow from his left servo. The punch was quickly followed up with kick to the mech’s left leg that nearly crushed the knee joint hidden under the armor.</p>
<p>With a strangled hiss of stubborn hatred and a distinct lack of reaction to a normally excruciating wound, Megatron’s opponent threw all of his weight forward in a close range tackle, bringing both of them down to the ground with a crash of metal and a scream of overexerted gears.</p>
<p>The mech’s fingers found the few vulnerable seams of Megatron’s armor within nano-kliks, ripping, clawing and tearing at anything within reach as the two rolled across the floor, first Megatron on top in an effort to pin the other with his greater weight, then the other mech as he used his own weight and the lack of motor control in Megatron’s pain-fogged processor to tilt the scales and end up on top once more.</p>
<p>Finally, Megatron managed to grab the green helm of his opponent and slam it harshly to the floor, the action stunning the mech’s functions long enough for Megatron to drag the mech upright and pin him against the wall. Frame screaming with pain, but his processor snapping strangely clear and vindictively sharp, Megatron sent his left servo gouging into the abdominal plating of his enemy, callously ripping away the protective armor to get at the sensitive internals underneath.</p>
<p>Despite all previous lack of pain, the mech clearly felt it as Megatron grabbed a servo full of wires and important tubing within the mech’s exposed mid-riff and jerked it towards him with a roar. The mech writhed under his grasp with a scream of startled agony before going still, his damaged systems unable to take the shock of the sudden pain on top of the havoc already wreaked upon his frame.</p>
<p>Megatron released the limp mech and heaved with exertion, trying not to tremble from the pain of injuries that ranged in a number unheard of since the beginning of his gladiatorial career. Soundwave had appeared by his side, slender yet strong arms trying to help support him as Knockout came dithering over, shrieking for a hover stretcher.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>End Flashback</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Megatron pulled his thoughts out of the past and resumed looking around impassively. He had fallen into stasis shortly after that, only remaining conscious long enough to order that the Bāsākā mech be given enough repairs to remain online. After all, Megatron still had plans for him, even after the near escape and painful fight.</p>
<p>But now, the mech had been rescued and Megatron’s plans for him would have to be put on hold indefinitely. All because of Starscream’s inability to hunt down and stop a few fragging Autobots. With a low snarl, Megatron began barking out orders again. His plans to devastate the Autobots on the battle field with reprogramed Bāsākā mechs may have been forced into hiatus, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have other plans.</p>
<p>After all, there was still a war to win and a Prime to punish for an old betrayal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Impossible Possibilities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick note here that the femme in this chapter and the previous chapter: Moon Glow, does not belong to me. She belongs to a wonderful little girl who gave me permission to use her just for a few chapters. So no touchy (no touchy my OCs either, but especially not this one).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz strode down the halls, his processor a whirling storm of emotions, confusion, and thoughts, all clamoring for attention. He didn’t know whether to be furious, scared, spark-broken, or simply confused. <em>Those memory files … they can’t be true can they? Shockwave said in the video that there was no sign of memory tampering and no matter what other things that slagged scrapheap is, wrong or sloppy in his work is not one of them. Besides, Ratchet would have spotted any serious memory file rewriting in his processor scans … right? So … if the memories aren’t faked…</em></p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, <em>but that’s impossible! Organic’s don’t have sparks! Even if someone somehow made them metal, which sounds pretty impossible too, there would be no way that the changed organic would have a spark. Only sparks from the AllSpark or made through energy exchange exist. Therefor, someone must have tampered with Star’s memories to make her think she was an organic but when he abandoned her and her family in that old base, it woke her up from the reprograming … without leaving any trace of the tampering … that doesn’t make any sense.</em></p>
<p>A new thought occurred to him and Jazz slowed to a stop in the corridor, ignoring everyone else as he rolled it over in his processor with growing horror, <em>What if … they were sparked after the war … something considered near impossible. What if they were placed in some kind of simulation chamber when they were newly sparked? Forced to believe they were organic?</em></p>
<p>Jazz growled as he dismissed that theory, <em>That wouldn’t work. There’s no way to reprogram touch and sense that much. Plus, organic’s can’t consume energon, so how would that have been explained away? Unless … bah! I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore! I don’t even know if those crazy memory files are shared experiences for the rest of Starwish’s family!</em></p>
<p>Tipping his helm to one side, he latched onto a new thought, <em>course, I could always check on that. It might lead to a clue…</em> With a sharp nod to himself, Jazz set off again, this time angling towards the rec room in hopes of finding the two littlest members of Starwish’s motley family unit. As he trotted with purpose into the turbo lift that would take him down to the floor housing the rec room, his comlink pinged urgently, ::Optimus Prime to Jazz. Where are you going, Jazz?::</p>
<p>Jazz scowled at the wall of the turbo lift in frustration, but not frustration at his Prime, ::Talking an’ theorizing ain’t gonna get us anywhere with so little data, Prime. Ah’m doing what Ah do best, searching for more.::</p>
<p>Optimus sounded a touch worried, ::You are going to question Starwish?::</p>
<p>Jazz replied an immediate negative, ::No. No sense in stressing her with questions like thah. Besides, we’ve already seen what she thinks is real thank’s to Shocker,:: <em>the pit-spawned glitchy-</em> ::Ah don’t wanna ask Hardwire jus’ yet cause he might deny it. If he has similar memory files or simply knows about Starwish’s files, he might not tell me anything out’a fear of ridicule or worse.::</p>
<p>Optimus sounded vaguely distracted, probably by the rampaging meeting still no doubt going on in the conference room, ::Where do you intend to get more data then?::</p>
<p>Jazz stepped out of the lift and jogged toward the rec room, his sensitive audio receptors already picking up the sound of happy laughter spilling from the recreational area, ::Ah’m gonna have a chat with the twinlings.::</p>
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<p>Zipline was happily getting into a mock battle with Buffer while Fast Track pointedly sat in Sunstreaker’s lap and refused to participate when Jazz came in and asked to speak with them in private. Curious and, in Zipline’s case a little bit miffed at having to pause his mock battle, the twinlings followed Jazz to a sequestered corner of the rec room and sat on the tabletop expectantly, waiting for Jazz to start.</p>
<p>Settling down in a chair, Jazz leaned forward conspiratorially and cocked his helm to one side as if skeptical, “Star said that yah all weren’t from Cybertron originally, thah <b>really</b> true?”</p>
<p>The twinlings exchanged surprised glances at Jazz’s doubt of Starwish’s word before Fast Track answered, swift to come to his sister’s defense, “Is too true!”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned, seemingly unconvinced, “Where are yah from then?”</p>
<p>Zipline puffed out his chest plates proudly, “Earth of course! We were born there!”</p>
<p>Jazz sat back in surprise, not seeming to be able to say anything. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who had been listening in, sent them a pulse of confusion as Sideswipe said aloud, “Say what now?”</p>
<p>Fast Track rolled his optics, adults could be so slow sometimes. Even if two of them were their dads. Channeling some of the sarcasm he had started to pick up from Sunstreaker, he replied, “We come from planet Earth. That’s where we were born. You know, born?”</p>
<p>Jazz tilted his helm and rested his chin on one servo, “Yah lost me, youngling. How about yah tell meh about this <em>Earth</em> place instead, huh?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track exchanged glances again, it wasn’t really what they had planned to do that cycle, but who were they to pass up a chance of bragging about their exploits on Earth? Zipline grinned as he shifted more comfortably on the tabletop, “Sure!”</p>
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<p>Starwish sat between Flareup and Moonracer, listening to the other femmes chat easily about seemingly random topics each with their own set of unspoken rules. The current topic was mechs for some reason, with every femme not currently mated required to state what they wanted most in a mech so that the mated femmes could give their opinions or advice.</p>
<p>Starwish nibbled on an energon goodie, trying to be as invisible as possible for this conversation. After all, they had already dragged her into a conversation about favorite pastimes, why should they want her opinion for this?</p>
<p>“So, Starwish, what kind of traits do you want in a mech?” <em>Apparently, they do anyway.</em></p>
<p>Starwish looked up at the femme who had spoken, a saucy femme named Firestar who for some reason Starwish thought of as Chromia’s sister, “Uh … what traits?”</p>
<p>Lickety-Split snatched another energon goodie off of the tray as she said, “Yeah! You know, appearance, height, alt mode, personality traits. That sort of thing. Me? I want a mech who’s fast enough to keep up with me and isn’t afraid to race!”</p>
<p>Starwish tried to think of something to say. What kind of traits did she want in a mech? The problem with that was … she didn’t really want a mech at all. Still, the expectant looks and Flareup’s persistent nudges made it clear that she was required to say something. Finally, Starwish blurted the first thing that popped into her processor, “Music. A mech who likes music … and wouldn’t mind my … hobbies, I guess.” She thought about it a little more, “But, most of all, he’d have to be kind … and … gentle? Does that make sense?”</p>
<p>Elita-1 smiled gently at Starwish, “That sounds like a good criteria, Starwish. A worthwhile mech should always have compassion.”</p>
<p>Chromia took a long sip of energon and added dryly, “As long as he isn’t strutless about it. A mech’s gotta be ready to defend his femme too.”</p>
<p>Vibes, a femme who sounded so much like a classic southerner it made Starwish want to giggle, commented, “Yah big on music then, femling?”</p>
<p>Moonracer answered for Starwish, “She’s great with music! She’s a dancer, when you can coax her into not being so shy and she does this amazing version of singing! It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard before!”</p>
<p>Firestar raised an optic ridge, “Really now? What’s so special about it?” Her tone wasn’t unkind, it was simply curious. But Starwish still felt like melting into the floor as Moonracer happily extolled her music abilities.</p>
<p>Lancer looked up from where she was polishing one of her weapons absentmindedly, her expression one of mild curiosity, “Could we hear some of this singing? I’d like to know more.”</p>
<p>Starwish rapidly shook her helm, feeling her faceplates heat with a blush of shy embarrassment. There was no way she was ready to sing in front of these strange femmes, no matter how friendly they seemed. Seeing her discomfort, Elita-1 interjected calmly, “Perhaps another time. I do not believe Starwish is quite in the mood to sing, is that not right, Starwish? You did, after all, just get released from the medbay.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, grateful for the rescue, “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Elita.”</p>
<p>Greenlight laughed a little bit, “You have to be the only femling here who still calls Elita ‘ma’am’ even when you’re not in trouble. It’s adorable.”</p>
<p>Starwish just blinked at Greenlight, unsure how to respond to that. Group hang-outs had never really been her forte, and now with other strange femmes and the stress from earlier that cycle, she just couldn’t figure out how to operate. She really just wanted to curl up somewhere safe and take a nap, frankly.</p>
<p>Lightbright, a femling who looked to be only a little bit older than her, leaned forward and said, “What about Jazz?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at her uncomprehendingly, “What?”</p>
<p>Lightbright smiled at her inquisitively, “You were escorted here by Jazz, right? So, do you like him?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her mind go blank, a denial freezing on her lip plates. For some reason, the words of denial wouldn’t come out. Instead, memories of Jazz played through her processor, her mind focusing almost against her will on his voice, his chuckle, his gentle hug, the way he always smiled for her…</p>
<p>Her helm spun as she suddenly asked herself <em>It can’t be … do I … like Jazz? But we’re not even the same species! </em>Starwish stared down at her servos, folding them so tightly together in her lap that the energon goodie she was holding almost crumbled, “I…” <em>I can’t like Jazz, it isn’t … it isn’t right! Is it? I mean … sure he’s friendly and loves music and is so sweet and gentle and handsome and oh scrap I’m just making this worse!</em></p>
<p>Her prolonged silence had successfully garnered the one thing Starwish wanted to avoid most in the femme meeting, the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Flareup’s right optic ridge was raised as she carefully nudged Starwish, “Hey, Starwish? Hello! You still there?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked rapidly, her blush deepening on her faceplates as she tried to figure out exactly why her tank felt like it was flipping and her spark was doing the can-can in her throat tubing, “Uh…”</p>
<p>Vibes’ faceplates lit with a impish grin and she said, “Ah do believe yah’ve hi’ tha mark Lightbrigh’! Little Wishy here is in love wit’ Jazzy!”</p>
<p>Starwish snapped out of her daze at the declaration and began shaking her helm wildly, “N-no! I-I-I D-don’t-! I-I’m not-!”</p>
<p>Lickety-Split squealed and bounced in her seat, “No way! You <b>do </b>like Jazz! Aww!”</p>
<p>Starwish whimpered and hid her face in her servos, trying to decide whether it was worth dying of embarrassment just so she wouldn’t hear the other femme’s cooing at her anymore, “S-stop it! <b>Stop it</b>!”</p>
<p>A surprised silence fell at her shout and both Flareup and Moonracer leaned away from her in surprise. After a moment’s pause, Moonracer gently wrapped her arms around Starwish in a hug, “Aw, Starwish. It’s okay, we were just teasing you. It’s our job as femmes, and in particular your roommates, to coo over you when you fall in love. Oh, please don’t cry, it’s okay…”</p>
<p>Starwish reluctantly curled into Moonracer’s embrace, sniffling in an effort to stave off tears as she whispered, “I-I can’t … I can’t … ooh!”</p>
<p>Chromia’s voice accompanied the sound of pedesteps and a gentle servo resting on Starwish’s shoulder, “Hey, calm down, femling. Focus on deep vents, you’re okay. Can you hear me? You’re just fine. If you say you aren’t in love with Jazz, then we won’t call you on it. Just <b>relax</b>, okay?”</p>
<p>Starwish obeyed Chromia’s gentle commands and focused on venting, trying to stall the torrent of thoughts and conflicting emotions that waged within her, <em>I hate my life sometimes … so much. </em>Finally regaining what little of her composure and dignity was left, Starwish shyly peeked out from Moonracer’s hug, taking in the expressions of everyone else in the room. Most of the femmes just looked sympathetic, with Lightbright looking particularly ashamed of herself for some reason.</p>
<p>Chromia tilted her helm to one side to that she could catch Starwish’s gaze, “You okay now, femling?”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a weak nod, “I-I guess … I-I’m sorry. Opi might come breaking down the door in a few breems t-though.”</p>
<p>Chromia didn’t even pause to think about her answer, “Eh, it’s an ugly door anyway. Deserves to be broken down.” Starwish gave a quiet giggle, but whether it was from stress release or actually finding Chromia’s statement funny, even Starwish herself didn’t know.</p>
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<p>At the weak giggle, everyone allowed themselves to relax. Vibes gave a tiny sigh as she sipped on an energon cube and opened a com with all of the other femmes except Starwish, ::Yikes, didn’t mean ta make tha poor thang break down like thah. Now Ah feel bad.::</p>
<p>Firestar swirled what little liquid was left in her own cube as she commed back, ::It’s the trauma from her capture. I’ve seen this kind of thing during rescue aftermaths. There’s just too much emotional backlash after the terror and stress of being say, trapped underneath some rubble for a few joors. Anything can set off a violent or tearful reaction. It isn’t any of us, particularly, it’s just the emotional scarring of previous trauma rising to the surface at the slightest provocation.::</p>
<p>Lightbright still looked ashamed, ::I didn’t mean to do that. I just wanted to tease her a little bit. Like everyone did to me back home when I had a crush on a mech.::</p>
<p>Vibes jutted out her bottom lip plate thoughtfully, ::Well, we’ll jus’ have ta make i’ up ta her, Ah guess. No more teasin’ her ‘bout Jazzy or any o’ dat. Anybot got a’ idea for a distraction?::</p>
<p>Elita-1 smiled gently at Starwish, giving no sign of the comlink conversation as she murmured, “We are sorry for distressing you, Starwish. Would you like us to take you to your quarters for some rest?”</p>
<p>Starwish averted her optics, “I’m sorry … I-I’m being a problem aren’t I?”</p>
<p>Elita-1 shook her helm immediately, “Not at all, Starwish. You are one of us, we just want to make sure you are alright. You can stay if you want, or Moonracer can drop you off at your quarters for a rest if that is what you prefer.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics widened for a moment in clear fear before she shook her helm rapidly, “N-no! I-I’d rather … stay here … if nobody minds…”</p>
<p>Flareup gently wrapped her right arm around Starwish in a hug, “Nobody minds, Star. We like your company. Now, how about actually eating that energon goodie instead of crushing it?”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a weak smile at Flareup’s words before shyly nibbling on her energon goodie as suggested. After a few breems, good-natured conversation resumed between the femmes and the mood lightened considerably. They made a point not to try to drag Starwish into the conversation unless she wanted to speak, something she did not seem inclined to do at all.</p>
<p>After about ten more breems of chatting, Flareup commed the other femmes, ::She’s in recharge.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 stopped her conversation with Firestar and looked over curiously at the sofa where Moonracer, Flareup, and Starwish were all seated. Sure enough, Starwish was recharging, her helm resting in Flareup’s lap and her body curled up tightly on the sofa seat. Her expression was vaguely troubled and her audio receptors twitched occasionally as if tracking an unknown sound.</p>
<p>Firestar made a sympathetic noise, ::Holographic fluxes. That’s why she stayed here. She probably doesn’t want to be alone because of whatever happened to her in Kaon.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 nodded in agreement, ::I’ll com her Guardian and have him pick her up. I’m sure Optimus will let him take some leave to be with his charge.::</p>
<p>Lancer sighed, ::Fragging cons. Making such a sweet femling afraid of everything.::</p>
<p>Greenlight scowled, ::What bothers me is why Megatron would have her specifically targeted in the first place. What’s so different about her from us that makes him want her more? It isn’t fair to her that she’s being hunted.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 thought about all she knew about Starwish from Ratchet and about the shock she’d felt from Optimus’s end of the bond earlier. She knew that there was much more to Starwish than met the optic, but for now, she agreed with her mate in keeping silent. Starwish deserved her privacy in such matters, ::It is most likely her connection to Hardwire. Megatron would do anything to gain someone as destructive on the battlefield as a Bāsākā mech.::</p>
<p>Lickety-Split shivered, ::You’re telling us. That mech is fragging terrifying.::</p>
<p>Chromia rolled her optics lazily, ::Not when he’s himself. There isn’t a nicer, more laid-back mech on this base except for Jazz.:: When Chromia saw the incredulous looks all of the femmes were giving her, she huffed irritatedly, ::That’s it. As soon as Magnus picks up Starwish, we’re heading off to meet Hardwire. You femmes still need to thank him for helping in the rescue mission. You’ve thanked everyone else, after all.::</p>
<p>As if summoned by the very mention of his name, Ultra Magnus appeared in the doorway, his faceplates so blank they looked like they’d been carved that way. With a silent nod to Elita-1 and Chromia, Ultra Magnus strode wordlessly through the doorway and over to the sofa where Starwish was curled up in recharge.</p>
<p>The femmes watched in surprised silence as the SiC picked up the white femling with surprising gentleness, even soothing her quietly when the motion threatened to bring her out of recharge, and left without having ever said a word.</p>
<p>Chromia nodded decisively, “Alright, femmes, that’s our signal. Let’s go meet Hardwire. Elita just commed him and he’s free to meet us in the training rooms, so let’s go!”</p>
<p>Startled, Lightbright blinked nervously, “But! But, Chromia!”</p>
<p>Elita-1 stood up from her seat, deciding to temporarily push aside the worry she felt at the sight of Ultra Magnus’s faceplates and deal with the minor problem before her now, “I agree with Chromia. Hardwire was an integral part of your rescue. The least you can all do is give him recognition for it. Besides,” she fixed her femmes with a stern look, “I will not have the femmes under my command treating an innocent mech like he is a monster.”</p>
<p>With muffled huffs and groans, the femmes who had yet to actually meet Hardwire threw their empty energon cubes down the recycling chute and shuffled reluctantly out of the lounge to meet the mech they currently dreaded. Chromia opened a private com with Elita-1 as the two led the femmes down the halls, ::For the love of Primus. They’re acting like a bunch of sparklings! Hardwire is the kind of mech they should fear least, not most!::</p>
<p>Elita-1 gave Chromia a humorless smile and a quirk of one optic ridge, ::You forget, Chromia. The only time Firestar and the others have seen Hardwire is on the battlefield. Even Flashpoint has not had very much interaction with him except as a medbay patient during which she could always assume his mild behavior was because of his damaged state.::</p>
<p>Chromia flicked away the statement with a wave of her left servo, ::Well, we’ll just have to straighten that out. Can’t have a repeat of the last time the other femmes were scared of a mech who meant them no harm. Remember the academy stampede incident?::</p>
<p>Elita-1 winced and suppressed a rueful sigh at the same time. During their younger vorns, when Elita had been sent to attend a posh academy for Towers younglings, several of the other femmes in class had been frightened of one of the mechs working as a security guard there. Although the mech was actually friendly, all of the upper class femmes had been terrified of his appearance, leading to a mass “stampede” at one point when he was sent to round them up for the classes they had been skipping while trying to avoid him.</p>
<p>It had gotten to the point where none of the other femmes except Elita-1 could stand to be in the same room as the mech and there were so many horrid rumors about him that the teachers had had to dismiss the poor mech from their service just to prevent the loss of high paying student attendance.</p>
<p>She knew that Optimus would never dismiss or reassign Hardwire because of a misunderstanding, but if she didn’t end the other femmes’ paranoia before it had a chance to get truly started, it could affect their performance at a key moment in battle. At the very least, if the other femmes started to avoid Hardwire like he was dangerous, the mechs stationed in Iacon who didn’t know Hardwire might pick up on that fact and come to the wrong conclusions. That was something Elita-1 very much wanted to avoid.</p>
<p>Turning her attention over her shoulder briefly, she was pleased to see Flareup and Moonracer acting as rear guards and chatting animatedly about Hardwire’s normal personality, ::Well, hopefully it will not come to that extreme. Flareup’s and Moonracer’s stories should help a little bit and meeting Hardwire personally should clear up the rest of the paranoia.::</p>
<p>Chromia glanced over her shoulder, then shrugged, ::Hopefully. If not, we can always lock them all in a room with him for a few joors. That’ll clear up any misunderstandings real fast. Might even get him an Intended.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 shot her SiC a sharp look, ::Chromia! You would not dare!::</p>
<p>Chromia was obviously biting back laughter, ::Don’t worry! I’m not that cruel! If I did that, it would probably cause life-long trauma.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 narrowed her optics suspiciously, ::Hardwire would not traumatize them.::</p>
<p>Chromia gave Elita-1 a smug smirk, ::Actually, I was thinking about the trauma Hardwire would receive at being locked in a room with several femmes. You know how femme shy he gets sometimes.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 did not deign Chromia’s joke with further response as their group arrived in front of the training room in which Hardwire had told Elita-1 he was exercising. Glancing over her shoulder at the femmes following, Elita-1 called, “Alright, femmes. Best behavior please.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 turned to open the door, pretending not to hear Lightbright whisper, “Do we have too? He’s so … so scary.”</p>
<p>The door slid open and all of the femmes stepped inside just in time to see Hardwire fall flat on his back with a surprised grunt as the little femme seeker Moon Glow perched cheerfully on his chest plates with the cry of, “Got ya!” and Bulkhead start laughing uproariously.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of her optics, Elita-1 saw Flareup give the scene of Hardwire sighing tolerantly while Moon Glow started dancing gleefully around his fallen form a pointed look. Leaning over, Flareup stage-whispered sarcastically to Lightbright, “Oh yes, that’s a really terrifying sight if I’ve ever seen one. He’s a real spark-stopper he is.”</p>
<p>Hardwire, still sprawled on the floor mat, turned his helm to blink at them, “Oh, hello Elita, Chromia, everyone else.” He paused in his hello and looked confused, “What looks terrifying? I think I missed the other half of that conversation.”</p>
<p>Elita-1 smiled warmly at Hardwire as Bulkhead helped him up, “It is nothing, Hardwire. How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Hardwire rubbed the back of his helm and gave the still celebrating Moon Glow a dry, patient look, “Like I just got knocked over by seven tons of hyperactive seeker.”</p>
<p>Moon Glow paused in her dance to shout in mock anger, “Hey! I’m only five tons! Are you calling me over-specced?”</p>
<p>Hardwire pointedly ignored her shout and continued to answer Elita-1’s question, “Other than that, I’m … fine I suppose. Ratchet’s ordered lots of rest, refueling, and only light activities for the next metacycle but he says that my new parts are integrating well and that I should be able to perform light duty after the metacycle is up.”</p>
<p>His optics flickered over the very, very silent femmes standing behind Elita-1, “Um … not to be rude, ma’am but … why are…?” He looked too embarrassed to just out and ask why there were so many femmes accompanying her to visit him.</p>
<p>Chromia, her optics shining with far too much glee for the situation, turned to the staring femmes and barked out in a perfect Drill-Master style, “Well? What are you waiting for? Form up and get started! He doesn’t bite!”</p>
<p>Moon Glow and Bulkhead both paused in their activities to watch as the other femmes minus Moonracer, Flareup, Chromia, and Elita-1, all got in line and took turns thanking Hardwire for helping with their rescue. By the time they were done, Hardwire’s faceplates were flushed a deep blue as he stammered softly, Bulkhead was snickering and shaking his helm, and Moon Glow was openly giggling at Hardwire’s embarrassment.</p>
<p>Tactfully, Elita-1 commed the upbeat femme flyer, ::Not that I am ungrateful that you so freely befriended Hardwire, Moon Glow. But do you not have elsewhere to be?::</p>
<p>Moon Glow checked her chronometer and gasped, “I’m late for flight formation practice! Oh … and I never showed up for the femme meeting either, oops. Well, I gotta go now, see you later Hardwire-this-was-fun-bye!”</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked as Moon Glow ran out without another word, “Goodbye?” Turning to the other femmes he stammered, “U-um … you’re welcome? I-I was just happy to help. I … honestly don’t even remember that much of it. But as long as everyone made it back safely…”</p>
<p>Ever the blunt one, Vibes blurted, “Are yah really a Bāsākā mech? Really?”</p>
<p>Hardwire scowled a little bit at her question and looked away, his voice taking on a faintly growled edge as he spoke, “So I’m told. I don’t … I don’t remember anything from those … sessions to be perfectly honest.”</p>
<p>Vibes raised her servos in a placating manner, “Easy, mech. Ah was jus’ askin’. Yah don’ seem very … fierce is all.”</p>
<p>Flareup blurted, “That’s what I’ve been telling all of you this entire time! <b>Primus</b>!”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot first Bulkhead, then Elita-1 a baffled look, “Am I missing something here?”</p>
<p>Chromia strode over and patted Hardwire on the arm, “Nothing much, Wire. Just a little misunderstanding in the ranks. You cleared it up nicely though, so thanks.”</p>
<p>Still looking flummoxed, Hardwire cautiously flexed a few of his neck cables, presumably to work out the kinks developing in them from the light exercising he’d been doing as he answered, “You’re welcome?”</p>
<p>Elita-1 flashed a triumphant look briefly at Chromia, ::You see? Meeting Hardwire really did dissuade their notions immediately.::</p>
<p>Chromia sauntered back to the group and began herding the femmes out with a huff of her vents, ::That’s only because a slagging <b>cyber-bunny </b>is more aggressive than Hardwire right now. If we’d introduced him while he was playing Lob or something, it would have taken longer.::</p>
<p>Elita-1 bid Hardwire goodbye as they left, their task complete, ::Then it is fortunate that Ratchet forbade Hardwire from playing Lob for the next metacycle, isn’t it?::</p>
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<p>Hardwire turned to look at Bulkhead as the last of the femmes trailed out of the training room door, leaving the two mechs alone, “Care to enlighten me as to what the ‘misunderstanding’ I just cleared up was?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead shrugged, “They’re femmes, Wire. You’re guess is as good as mine. Come on, that’s enough exercise for the cycle, let’s get you some energon.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gratefully followed Bulkhead out, “No complaints here.” <em>Who knew seekers had their own version of tag? Or that Moon Glow would be so utterly, enthusiastically good at it? I think I got more exercise just trying to keep up with her than I would have gotten in joors of mock-sparring with Bulkhead! Oh well, at least it was fun.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire felt his armor tingle as a mech passed behind him and struggled not to whirl around with a snarl, <em>and at least I got to forget my PTSD for a while too. Wonder if Bulkhead would mind us drinking our energon in our quarters?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ultra Magnus sat on the edge of his berth, watching Starwish recharge peacefully on it, his own thoughts whirling around and around unbearably in the privacy of his own processor. <em>What happened to you, Little One? What happened to make you so confused? Who would tamper with your processor drastically enough that you don’t even know what species you are? There is no possibility that you were not originally Cybertronian … is there?</em></p>
<p>In her recharge, Starwish shifted faintly, a low hum emitting from her vocalizer as if she was trying to speak during her rest. Ultra Magnus shook his helm despairingly, unable to put aside the conundrum of the video Mirage had recovered from Shockwave’s lab as some kind of Decepticon ploy, yet unable to accept the weighty meaning that came with the video if it was true.</p>
<p>His little Starwish, an organic? An organic changed into a Cybertronian complete with a spark? It was impossible. Completely, utterly impossible and yet … Ultra Magnus couldn’t shake the feeling that every scientific theory proposed during the meeting to rationalize Starwish’s unexplainable memories were wrong.</p>
<p>His brooding was interrupted by a com message, ::Optimus Prime to Ultra Magnus, I am leaving the main base for a few joors. Prowl has been temporarily placed in charge so that you may stay with Starwish unless an emergency occurs.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stared unseeingly at the wall and tried to keep the stress from his voice, ::May I inquire as to your destination and purpose, sir?::</p>
<p>Prime answered swiftly, the normally calm overtones of his voice just barely hiding the edges of weariness and confusion, ::I am going to the Hall of Records. There may be someone there who can offer insight on this … unique situation.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus briefly wondered how a bunch of archivists could possibly help, but then again, with all of the knowledge stored inside the Hall of Records, there just might be something that could help. If Prime believed that it was a possibility, Magnus was certainly not going to question it, ::Understood, sir. Ultra Magnus out.::</p>
<p>The comlink clicked shut, leaving Ultra Magnus once again in the silence of his quarters, staring worriedly at his charge. Shifting nervously, Starwish whimpered faintly on the berth, a strange sound briefly escaping her vocalizer. Ultra Magnus’s spark pulsed painfully in its chamber at the plaintive cry and his servo instinctively reached out to stroke her prosthetics, something that always seemed to soothe his charge. Starwish twitched underneath the stroking, another plaintive noise emitting from her vocalizer as images faintly skittered past her end of their spark bond.</p>
<p><em>Is she supposed to be able to move or whimper in recharge? Her systems should all be inactive for fuel conservation, right? </em>Another image skittered faintly past and Ultra Magnus hesitantly reached across their bond, trying to see and understand what kind of holographic flux she was going through and how to banish it. A shout of surprise rose in his vocalizer before dying away without a sound as images washed over him. Through her optics and sluggish senses, Ultra Magnus felt strange liquid pelt against her strangely armor-less frame, soaking through the coverings of her … protoform? He wasn’t sure what to call it.</p>
<p>His spark started beating faster as terror washed over him, and his optics flickered from side to side as Starwish tried to run away from something in her holographic flux, strange streets and squat, non-metallic buildings rising up on either side as she fled. Her helm seemed to look over her shoulder in her holographic flux and Ultra Magnus felt another spike of terror come from his charge at the sight of Shockwave, standing over her expressionlessly no matter how fast she ran, his callous voice booming over the strange weather, “What are you?”</p>
<p><em>Human! I’m a human … but I’m not anymore … I don’t understand! Go away! Leave me alone! Someone, help me!</em> With a flicker of static, Ultra Magnus was able to see through the bond as the image shifted to distinctly alien surroundings.</p>
<p>An alt mode raced crazily past Starwish’s point of view and crashed into a structure, causing it to explode and a wall of fire to rush toward her, the distinct knowing of impending death making him cringe on behalf of his confused charge. The heat of the fire flooded over him, making the strange not-armor of Starwish’s memory prickle uncomfortably in the moments just before the burning she apparently could not remember.</p>
<p>The moment played over and over, sometimes mixing with other memories of the strange world, sometimes just highlighting details so emotionally raw that Ultra Magnus could see them even through their developing bond. The acrid smell of smoke, the screams of two younglings, the twinlings perhaps? The thought, <em>not again, please not again!</em> Rolling over and over in the background as she remained trapped in the looping memory file.</p>
<p>Shaking slightly from the distress passed to him through the bond, Ultra Magnus decided that he had seen more than enough. He could not let her suffer further.</p>
<p>Retreating within himself, Ultra Magnus gathered his focus and sent a wave of love and comfort to Starwish patiently, pushing aside the terror, confusion, and unwanted images with a firm but gentle mental touch. Experimentally, he sent an image of a place that held happy memories for him, allowing the expansive Crystal Gardens of Praxus to unfurl in his memory files before pushing it to Starwish over their bond.</p>
<p>It was hard to do, but it worked and was made completely worth it by the soft exhale of Starwish’s vents as the horrid images and feelings were dissipated and replaced successfully by memories of the Praxus Crystal Gardens. As the tense feeling over their bond eased, Ultra Magnus allowed himself a moment of relief. <em>What was all of that? Those feelings…</em> He couldn’t suppress a shudder as he remembered the feeling of cold liquid pounding against a vulnerable, armor-less frame and the wall of offlining fire rushing forward.</p>
<p>Knowledge settled uncomfortably in his spark, a feeling of utter surety that had only come upon him twice before in his lifetime. Ultra Magnus gave a low keen as he closed his optics and lifted Starwish off of the berth, cradling her to his chest plates as he wrestled to accept the meaning of the feeling. Her memories weren’t faked, the feeling in his spark said, they were as real as his own memories of Andromeda or the war. He still didn’t know how it was possible, especially considering that the memories being real would mean that Starwish had not always been Cybertronian.</p>
<p>But the feeling refused to give way to the logical argument against that possibility and as Ultra Magnus carefully stood up and moved to sit on the berth with his back against the wall by the berth’s head, he realized that believing the improbable story actually made a lot of sense in some ways. All of the quirks that had been there when she had first arrived, not knowing how to use a comlink, her strange phrases, a thousand and one unexplainable “personality” quirks or gaps of knowledge that were so common on Cybertron. If she had truly been an organic once, then all of those things were explained. Maybe she hadn’t been glitching as he had first suspected, maybe she simply hadn’t known.</p>
<p>His logic center argued with the assumption, pointing out all of the things that made it impossible, both scientifically and a host of other things. She had known of Optimus Prime and had a fairly good grasp of the Great War for one. For another, how could an organic get a spark? Or become Cybertronian? It didn’t … work.</p>
<p>A memory file was pulled up without his conscious desire and for a moment he was seeing his sparkmate, servo propped on one hip, a patiently exasperated expression on her faceplates, <em>“It’s always got to be logical and quantified with you, doesn’t it? Can’t you ever just … accept that something is true even if you’ve never seen it with your own optics?”</em> Ultra Magnus felt his lips quirk into a sad smile, they had been arguing about whether or not the core of Cybertron was truly Primus, their ancestor and first of all their kind, or if that was only a legend. Ultra Magnus hadn’t believed in something that no one had ever seen and documented in millions of megacycles. Andromeda, however, had believed the legends and when asked why, had simply said that it was a spark-deep feeling.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s sad smile slid back into nonexistence as he looked down at the femling in his arms. He knew about spark-deep feelings. He had experienced them twice before. The first time, he had followed it and the result had made him the happiest mech on Cybertron. The second time, he had ignored it … and it had cost his sparkmate and still developing sparkling.</p>
<p>Tilting his helm back, Magnus stared at the ceiling blankly as, with one last strong brush of love towards Starwish through their bond, he silently, if uncomfortably, accepted what the feeling was telling him and vowed then and there not to tell anyone else. Whatever she had been before coming to Cybertron, he didn’t know. But he knew what she was now.</p>
<p>Looking down again, he gazed gently at her still faceplates, an expression of restful peace on them now that she was carefully cradled in his arms and away from her holographic fluxes. Yes, he knew what she was now, no matter her past. She was his charge, his responsibility, his precious Little One that he would protect with his life or in this case, his secrecy. Others would not be able to accept her if they heard of her origins, so they would not know. <em>But do you? Do you accept her despite her past? </em>Whispered a tiny voice in the back of Ultra Magnus’s processor doubtingly.</p>
<p>Looking deep into his own spark, Ultra Magnus gave a tiny, almost rueful smile as he silently shifted Starwish’s position in his arms slightly to make her more comfortable to hold. He did. He accepted her. He did not understand her past, or why he felt so unshakably sure that her unusual memory files were not faked, but he accepted her all the same.</p>
<p>What else could he do? She was his Little One and he would love her, no matter her beginnings, until the very end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Optimus Prime drove over one of the many winding speedways of Iacon, his wheels rolling away the distance between him and his destination. As was custom, other Autobots on the speedway pulled to one side to let him through once they registered his signature on their scanners, moving hastily out of the way of the Prime.</p>
<p>Internally, Optimus sighed. He was aware that the other travelers on the speedway were merely adhering to the ancient customs and longstanding social norms of Cybertron, he was also grateful that his automatic “right of way” ensured that he would get to the Archives faster, but something about the deference shown on the road made him uncomfortable at times. It reminded him that the other Autobots saw him as a mech high above their station, someone to be revered, respected, … and obeyed.</p>
<p>True, he was their Prime, their leader in the Great War, and bearer of the Matrix of Leadership. But somewhere deep inside of Optimus, a naive young archivist still lurked, longing not to be revered or obeyed, only to be a friend. Perhaps it was because of where he was going that the feeling of being somehow fake was so strong. Who was he, he asked himself yet again, to be leader of so many brave mechs and femmes? Who was he that they would so willingly part aside for him on the road or give their sparks in battle because of his commands?</p>
<p>Alpha Trion’s voice crisply sounded inside his helm, <em>“Who are you to </em><b><em>not</em></b><em> be a Prime? It is those very questions that makes you worthy, Optimus. You will not take the power bestowed upon you for granted, nor will you forget what it means to follow and to have faith.”</em> Optimus gave a tired chuckle, Alpha Trion had never been short of answers for as long as the former archivist could remember and, when he chose to share his knowledge, had never tried to soften his verbal blows.</p>
<p><em>Hopefully, Alpha Trion will have an answer for this, as well. </em>Optimus felt his fleeting good humor evaporate as he remembered his purpose for visiting the Master Archivist. Optimus needed answers to the new knowledge presented by the video taken from Shockwave’s lab and for an old mystery he had been meaning to unlock for several orns now. The mystery of Starwish’s programming had been plaguing Optimus ever since Ratchet had given him a copy of the data and now that he was in Iacon, he was determined to discover what it meant.</p>
<p><em>I only hope that Alpha Trion is not unduly disturbed by my unannounced arrival.</em> Of course, there was really no way to secretly contact the Archivist ahead of time and tell him he was coming except through a private com channel, which, as per usual for the reclusive mech, was firmly switched off. Optimus did not want to risk relaying a message through another mech, even an archivist, therefor, he was making his visit unannounced and hoping that Alpha Trion would not be too busy to speak with him.</p>
<p>Smoothly taking the inside curve of thespeedway’s descending spiral, Optimus internally smiled when three aerial trainees briefly flew over his helm in a perfect escort formation, taking the spiral and small maneuvering space with seeming ease. Soon, one of the few Autobot Seekers left, presumably the trainees’ Drill-Master, shot past and they peeled off to follow their fellow flyer instead.</p>
<p>Nothing of further note happened as Optimus drove the rest of the way to the Hall of Records, a vague feeling of nostalgia washing over his spark as he passed underneath the sloping metal arches of the bridge and approached the ancient building. Transforming slowly, Optimus approached the doors and stopped a respectful distance away from the two startled Autobot guards keeping watch over the main entrance. Raising his voice, he called the customary request to the guards, “I, Optimus Prime, request permission to approach the Hall.”</p>
<p>Both mechs hastily stood aside and called back in unison, “Approach and enter Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots!”</p>
<p><em>I never had to go through this as an Archivist. I could always just take the back entrance. </em>Hiding his faintly amused expression at how stiffly the guards were standing at attention behind his battle mask, Optimus nodded to them as he passed, “At ease, soldiers. You are both doing a fine job.”</p>
<p>Instead of relaxing, the two mechs stood a little straighter, armor flaring with pride as they chorused, “Yes, sir!” Optimus suppressed the urge to ruefully shake his helm at their enthusiasm as the large doors to the Hall of Records slid open and he strode inside.</p>
<p>The Hall of Records was exactly like he remembered and Optimus paused a moment to just stand there and appreciate the calm, timeless atmosphere and remember all of the many things that had happened to him within its wide rooms and arching halls. His moment of remembrance was interrupted by present events when a small mech shyly scurried up to him and cycled his vents nervously, “Uh, Prime, sir? The guards reported your arrival at the Hall of Records and I was wondering if I, um, could be of any assistance?”</p>
<p>Looking down at the orange mech with small neon green stripes crisscrossing over his frame, Optimus replied warmly, “I am fine, Turing. I have not been gone from these halls so long that I have forgotten the way.”</p>
<p>Turing dipped his helm shyly, his faceplates dusting a light blue as he stammered, “Oh! Of course you haven’t, Prime, sir! I-I just-!”</p>
<p>With a frown that was hidden behind his battle mask, Optimus gently laid a servo on Turing’s shoulder, “Slower, Turing, you know how your vocalizer jams if you speak too quickly.”</p>
<p>Turing’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and he blinked at Optimus, “B-but…”</p>
<p>Optimus glanced around and saw that miraculously, there was no one else nearby to witness the exchange. Swiftly crouching, Optimus lowered his battle mask and offered a tiny smile to Turing, “You do not have to be quite so formal with me, Turing. I am still the fellow archivist you once knew.”</p>
<p>Turing’s blush disappeared and was replaced by an incredulous smile, “Not a ‘fellow’ archivist anymore though and you’ve certain gotten, well, taller, since I saw you last.” Turing paused, his helm cocking to one side contemplatively as his curiosity and Optimus’s familiarity swept away his previous formality, “You have his look now too…”</p>
<p>Relieved that one of his oldest friends from his archivist cycles was no longer treating him like a distinguished stranger, Optimus stood up straight once more as he asked softly, “Look like whom?”</p>
<p>Turing glanced around as he quietly fell in step with Optimus as the latter began to slowly make his way deeper into the Hall of Records, “You look like Master Archivist Trion.” Seeing Optimus’s surprised glance, Turing explained further, “Its your optics, you have the same look he gets sometimes. You remember, The Look?”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded absently and puzzled over that new information. <em>Do I really have The Look?</em> The Look was what all of the archivists had called Alpha Trion’s expression when something out of the ordinary happened, be it bad, humorous, or merely strange.</p>
<p>Optimus remembered The Look quite well. It was an expression that had somehow contained equal measures of long life, wisdom, and always most distressing of all, immense, spark-breaking weariness. In that gaze, Optimus had been able, even as a naive archivist, to sense the immeasurable sadness that must have happened in order to impart such weariness to the Head Archivist.</p>
<p>Now Turing claimed that Optimus had the same look in his optics? He gave a soft sigh as he answered, “I suppose I should not be surprised. Fighting a war does not leave much room for naivety and innocence.”</p>
<p>Turing’s gaze and posture was sympathetic, “I know. We’ve all seen the footage and … it effects some of us more than others, admittedly, but being there? In real life? I can’t imagine what that would do to a bot … no offense intended, Prime.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded, “None taken, Turing. Tell me, where has everyone gone? I have yet to see any other archivists.”</p>
<p>Turing huffed faintly, “Master Trion rescheduled the extensive maintenance for the Deep Archives to this cycle. We’ve been short on archivists ever since recruiting began so most of those left are currently down there. Do you wish to come see?”</p>
<p>Optimus shook his helm, “Actually, I am here to see Master Trion. Is he currently available?”</p>
<p>Turing’s optics flickered faintly as he shrugged, his rounded shoulder guards, always several sizes too large for his small frame, making the motion seem exaggerated, “For you, Prime? I am certain he will be.” They stopped at an intersection and Turing smiled up at Optimus, “I should be heading back to my post before someone decides I would be more useful crawling around in the maintenance shafts. Master Trion will no doubt be expecting you.”</p>
<p>Optimus dipped his helm in acknowledgement and for a moment, it seemed as if he was Orion Pax again, off to the Deep Archives where legends and ancient secrets were kept while Turing contentedly went to record and categorize information streaming in from the Communication Grid. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed in his life and all of his worries as a Prime and of war were simply far off fantasies, created by the overly imaginative processor of a certain enthusiastic archivist.</p>
<p>Then, Turing saluted him in the formal way of a subordinate to his Prime, shattering the aura of endless normalcy and returning everything to the present cycle once more. Optimus returned the salute without hesitation and, after a moment of watching Turing trot easily away, he pushed aside his brief impression of longing and resumed his trek to Alpha Trion’s sanctuary.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Puzzles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alpha Trion was aware of Optimus’s presence the moment the mech set pede inside the Hall of Records. The haunting call of the Matrix of Leadership echoed to him, filling his spark and processor with memories of far off times. Looking up from his book, Alpha Trion stared silently at the door, listening intently to the Matrix’s echoes for signs of Optimus’s current mood.</p>
<p>His focus was diverted from the Matrix’s call by the soft shifting of armor and the innocent voice of a youngling unmistakably looking for rescue from boredom asking tentatively, “Master Trion? Do you need something?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion looked over to where his newest bodyguard stood, fidgeting faintly from the pent-up energies of youth, and fought to hold off a tired smile at the unveiled gaze that met his, “Not at the moment, Smokescreen. However, as it seems you are about to pop a gear trying to hold still for so long, why do you not go down to the Deep Archives and see how the maintenance is progressing? Make sure to take your time and be thorough.”</p>
<p>The young Praxian’s doorwings shot into an upright position of eagerness, even that boring and tedious chore now seeming to be an adventure compared to standing around watching Alpha Trion pour over his records, “Yes sir, Master Trion! I’ll get right on it!”</p>
<p>Without bothering to ask why Alpha Trion had suddenly decided to send him away or why the old bot had practically told him to dawdle as much as possible, what else could “thorough” mean to that young, impulsive mind? Smokescreen rushed out of the door and scampered away, the sound of his pedes lingering in the towering halls outside.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion could not suppress a chuckle at the youngling’s eagerness to be moving, no matter the task. So different from the gentle natured and patient mechling who had once roamed the Hall of Records, content to sit still for joors on end and simply <b>learn</b>. But despite the radical difference between Smokescreen’s personality and that of the long absent archivist, the Praxian had proved to be a trustworthy and intelligent student. Once you got a hold of his short attention span, anyway.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion waited silently for his guest to arrive, one servo idly stroking the slender strands of his decorative metal beard. His audio receptors picked up the sound of pede-steps and he suppressed a smile as the mech outside knocked meekly in a request for an audience. Carefully closing his book and briefly stroking the sigil Solus had so skillfully carved on the cover, he called, “Enter, Optimus Prime, and be welcome.”</p>
<p>The door was an old one that required being opened manually but it still opened soundlessly despite the age of its hinges as Optimus stepped carefully inside Alpha Trion’s office and closed the door once more. Turning, Optimus dipped his helm respectfully, “Greetings, Alpha Trion, I hope I am not intruding.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion snorted through his vents dryly, “Well, intruding or not, you are here now and I have bid you be welcome.” He cocked his helm to one side and studied Optimus critically, “What brings you to my humble sanctuary this cycle, Optimus? You appear to be concerned … and not just with the war.”</p>
<p>Optimus looked only mildly surprised at Alpha Trion’s statement, he apparently remembered just how intuitive his old mentor could be. Striding further into the expansive room, skillfully avoiding the ever-present leaning towers of datapads and old fashioned scribing books, Optimus unsubspaced a datapad and offered it to Alpha Trion, “I was hoping you could translate this, Master Trion. I was able to decode one or two words, but I’m afraid the Matrix of Leadership offered no insight and my knowledge of this language is … rudimentary at best.”</p>
<p>With a faint hum, Alpha Trion leaned forward and accepted the datapad. Turning it on without hesitation, Alpha Trion carefully began studying the text displayed on the screen and froze. Keeping his expression completely neutral, Alpha Trion’s optics swept repeatedly over the text, his processor working overtime to understand what he saw. After reading the text for the eighth time, Alpha Trion slowly set the datapad on his desk and turned his gaze to Optimus, “This is indeed an interesting mystery. Tell me, where did you find this text?”</p>
<p>Optimus shifted slightly, leaning his weight more on his right pede than his left as he quietly answered, “That is … a long story, Master Trion. Do you know what it means?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion narrowed his optics sharply, <em>why does he attempt to hide its origins from me?</em> Steepling his fingers, Alpha Trion tilted his helm forward and glared at Optimus from underneath his optic ridges, “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Context is key for the translation. Now tell me, where did you find this text?”</p>
<p>Sensing the reprimand in the elder bot’s tone, Optimus dipped his helm in brief shame before answering, “My chief medical officer discovered the text hidden within a processor program code. I have come upon further evidence that the young femme in whom the program is installed was sparked after the start of the war and I wished to know why the Language of the Primes would be present within her coding. However, I was … unable to determine the purpose of the text on my own.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion sat back in his chair and settled his servos on the cover of his book, processor racing over the new information. <em>Could it be? Could one of them have survived to have descendants?</em> “This femling, was she taken from the AllSpark, or created through energy exchange?”</p>
<p>Optimus looked confused as to the purpose behind the question even as he answered, “Ratchet was unable to determine and both her original and secondary guardians have been offlined.” <em>So there is no way to tell … how intriguing…</em></p>
<p>Motioning for Optimus to come closer instead of stand by the far wall like a reprimanded rookie archivist, Alpha Trion murmured, “Truly remarkable.” Closing his optics, Alpha Trion wondered how much information he should share with Optimus, especially since he wasn’t sure as to whether the text could really be true or not. Still, if there was any chance that one of them had finally reemerged…</p>
<p>Opening his optics with a tiny sigh, Alpha Trion stood up slowly, “I will do my best to explain, Optimus, but first, you must follow me. We have much to discuss and even this sanctuary is not as secure as I would like for the topic we must breach.”</p>
<p>Optimus obediently followed, his optics questioning as Alpha Trion took the datapad in one servo and led the way deeper into his personal sanctuary, “Not secure, Master Trion? I was under the impression that this was the most secure place in all of Iacon.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion rumbled a half-formed laugh as he answered, “Security is a relative notion, Optimus. As is safety and secrecy. However, there is only one place in which I would consider it safe enough to discuss the matter you have brought before me. Now come. We have little time.”</p>
<p>Leading Optimus through the cluttered shelves and stacks of ancient texts too old and degraded to be seen by the public optic or old trinkets Alpha Trion had been given or found over the many stellar-cycles of his existence, the two mechs arrived at the back wall of Alpha Trion’s office. Reaching up, Alpha Trion traced an ancient symbol on the wall with one finger and murmured a single word from a long-forgotten tongue.</p>
<p>With a soft, nearly soundless whisper of metal parts, the wall parted and shifted into an oval shape just wide enough for one mech, allowing entrance into a small room older than the collective age of Iacon’s other buildings. Gesturing for the startled looking Optimus to proceed, Alpha Trion followed the baffled Prime inside the room and with another murmur, the wall shifted shut once more, leaving no sign as to what lay on the other side.</p>
<p>Optimus turned and shifted, his gaze drinking in his limited surroundings with the wide, inquisitive optics of the archivist he had once been. A soft noise of awe escaped Optimus’s vocalizer when he realized that the softly shifting lighting in the room was coming from thousands of intricate glow lines tracing up and down the walls, making a mirroring, complicated web of slowly morphing colors and patterns.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion, although he would have normally enjoyed seeing Optimus’s reaction to the room, pushed aside his brief impression of humorous pleasure and brought Optimus’s attention to the present task, “Tell me, Optimus, what do you know of the times before the Great Cataclysm?”</p>
<p>Optimus shook his helm in a visible effort to set aside his awe and blinked at Alpha Trion, “Not very much, I am afraid. I know that an ancient race known as the Predacons once existed on Cybertron before the time of the Cataclysm and that the Thirteen were said to have left Cybertron during that time.” <em>It appears that I censored information of those times a little too well.</em></p>
<p>Alpha Trion vented heavily, “I suggest you make yourself comfortable, Optimus, for you have much to learn.” Holding up the datapad, he continued, “In order to understand what this text means, you must first know of the Legend of the Heralds.”</p>
<p>Optimus cocked his helm to one side, “Heralds? If I translated correctly, that is one of the words in the text.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion nodded, “Indeed it is. That is only part of their title, however. For they were much more than Heralds … if the legends are to be believed.”</p>
<p>Optimus frowned, “Who are ‘they’, Alpha Trion? What is the legend of which you speak?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion looked around, suddenly wishing he had remembered to put some chairs in the small room. <em>This is going to take a long time, isn’t it? </em>“The beings to whom I am referring, Optimus, were ancient creatures of strange power. From what few legends remain of that time, they were said to be as old as the Thirteen themselves, or nearly, at any rate. After the Great Cataclysm had passed, there was no sign of them. For despite all of their fabled power, they were either destroyed or forced off of Cybertron by the devastating force of the Cataclysm.”</p>
<p>In a moment of un-Prime-like impatience, Optimus said, “But who <b>were</b> they, Alpha Trion? What do they have to do with the processor code?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion skewered Prime with a stern look that commanded silence, even from the bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, “They have <b>everything</b> to do with the code, young Prime, and if I am correct in my suspicions of its origin, the fate of Cybertron is in far more peril than even I ever believed.”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p>Jazz sat in his quarters, his visor dimmed moodily as he lay on his berth, one leg hanging over the edge and swinging a steady rhythm for his hectic thoughts. The twinlings had been more than willing to share tales of the supposed planet “<em>Earth</em>” and things they remembered. Even once bluntly answering a question from Sideswipe with the declaration that they hadn’t always been Cybertronian, so yes, they had too been able to go swimming in a liquid they called, “<em>water</em>”.</p>
<p>He would have surmised their outlandish tales to simply be the fantasies of young, overactive processors if it hadn’t been for two facts. One, in the recording showing Starwish’s mental fight with Shockwave, Jazz had seen several things that sounded just like what the twinlings were describing, thus making it at the very least a fantasy not produced by <b>their</b> young processors. Two, during the twinlings’ excited descriptions and stories, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had both jolted in shock and proceeded to possessively cuddle their charges for the rest of the discussion, often poking them and frowning as if afraid their younglings would disappear.</p>
<p>Jazz had commed them, asking why they had started acting so strangely, to which Sideswipe had blurted that the twinlings were sharing memory files over the bond and that the memories … they were simply too detailed to be faked. The twinlings were telling the absolute truth.</p>
<p>Jazz scowled moodily, he didn’t want to believe the stories. But Sunstreaker and Sideswipe certainly believed after what they had seen over their bond and Sunstreaker was one of the most cynical Autobots he knew. So if Sunstreaker was convinced … was there really a chance that Star and her family had once been organics? From another planet? With a grim shake of his helm, Jazz tried to make the growing ache in his processor go away. <em>There’s no way to really know I suppose. The twinlings convinced Sunny and Sides over their bond but … maybe it was just because of how fervently the younglings believed their memories?</em></p>
<p>Jazz growled angrily and pressed his servos to the sides of his helm, “Fraggit!” He hissed to himself, his accent dropping in his frustration, “Why does this have to be so complicated? What am I missing?” His servos slid back down to his lap and he tilted his helm backward to stare at the ceiling, “What am I missing?” He whispered softly, “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>His jaw tightened as he stared at the ceiling, <em>I need more data. There has to be some key to this that I don’t have yet. But how to get it? Tricking Hardwire would be a lot harder than the twinlings. If he has any sense at all, he’d keep quiet about any odd memory files. So what to do…</em></p>
<p>His contemplation was interrupted by the ping of his comlink, ::Uh … Fermium to Meister? I mean, Jazz?::</p>
<p>Raising an optic ridge in surprise, Jazz answered the com, ::Yeah, Fermium? Ah’m here.::</p>
<p>Fermium sounded definitely excited, ::Hello! I hope I’m not distracting you from any important business. I just wanted to let you know that I passed my final psych evaluation! I’m officially an Autobot! Well, technically I’m on probation as an ‘Autobot recruit’ but still! No more Megatron and blatant misuse of my projects!::</p>
<p>Jazz allowed himself a tiny smile, <em>at least someone’s cycle is going well,</em> ::Thah’s great, Fermium! Have yah been assigned yet?::</p>
<p>Fermium’s tone shifted from excited to giddy, ::Yes! I’m being assigned to work under Allotropy! <b>The</b> Allotropy! Of course, I’ll be monitored during any interactions with him and his team, but the very notion of being assigned to work in his department is … is …::</p>
<p>Jazz dryly offered a word to finish Fermium’s sputtering sentence, ::Thrillin’?::</p>
<p>Fermium’s vocalizer actually squeaked from the pressure of trying to contain his verbal excitement, ::Yes! He used to be one of the advanced tutors in the Crystal City Science Academy. I’d always wanted to go there just to hear one of his lectures…:: a soft sigh crossed the comlink and Jazz tried not to laugh at how adorably worked up Fermium was becoming, ::To think, I’ll not only get to meet him, but work under him! It’s such an honor! If I’d known he was in Iacon, I would have joined the Autobots much sooner.::</p>
<p>Jazz cocked his helm to one side thoughtfully, ::Not ta ruin your moment, but why’d yah remain neutral as long as yah did?::</p>
<p>Fermium was silent for several kliks before answering in a far more subdued tone, ::Well … for one, I was afraid of my research being manipulated for unethical ends. No offense, but for all of the stories of how Autobots are the correct side in this war, there are far more stories about just how brutal and callous the Autobots can be floating around in the Neutral Camps. I wasn’t sure which stories to believe, so I tried to stay out of it. Also…::</p>
<p>When Fermium’s voice trailed off and didn’t pick up after a breem, Jazz prompted softly, ::Also?::</p>
<p>Fermium’s voice was barely above a whisper, ::My mech creator lived in Kalis.:: Jazz went very still, even his vents shutting down briefly, <b><em>oh.</em></b></p>
<p>Jazz cycled his vents uncomfortably before answering, ::Oh. Did he…?::</p>
<p>Another sigh echoed over the comlink, ::He didn’t reach the evac ships in time. I … I wasn’t there so I can’t know for sure, but unless he miraculously changed in the vorns I was off studying, I doubt he even left his housing unit when the evac warnings came. He was stubborn like that. He told me once, when rumors of rebellion and terrorists were just getting started … he told me that if the terrorists came to Kalis he wasn't about to be shot in the back strut like a coward. He would never have left his home or his work, he just … it was just his way.::</p>
<p>Jazz felt a flutter of regret in his spark, Kalis was one of the greatest, if not the greatest massacre in Cybertronian history. It was one of the first neutral cities hit by the Decepticons at the beginning of the war and, aside from Praxus and the Youngling Centers, it was one of the most wanton displays of energon-lust that anyone had ever seen. The Autobots had been embroiled in a surprise series of heavy skirmishes across one of their most vulnerable fronts at the time and by the time word had reached them of Kalis’s plight, they had been too late to do more than help search for survivors.</p>
<p>The officials of Kalis had somehow received word two joors before the attack of the impending assault, but unfortunately, most of them refused to believe the anonymous warning and had not even bothered to tell the public about it. By the time one of the few officials who believed the warning had leaked it to the news channels and called for an evacuation, it was already too late to avoid the first wave of Seekers. The first wave of attack had knocked out Kalis’s communication grid, preventing them from calling the Autobots for aid until the destruction of the city was complete.</p>
<p>Jazz knew that many Neutrals blamed the Autobots for not protecting Kalis. Even though there was truly nothing they could have done, many Neutral camps and embittered Kalis survivors insisted that the Autobots had ignored the klik long distress call that had been sent out just before the communications grid went down when, in fact, the Autobot communications grid had been simply too swamped with in-battle reports to pick up the weak transmission burst.</p>
<p><em>No wonder he was reluctant to take sides. One side destroyed his home and offlined his creator and the other supposedly let it happen out of apathy.</em> Opening his end of the comlink again, Jazz said softly, ::Your creator sounds like he was a fine mech, Fermium. Ah’m sorry … for what happened.::</p>
<p>Fermium replied quietly, ::It wasn’t your fault, Meist- eh, Jazz. You and the Autobots didn’t fire the missiles that leveled my home, so there is nothing to apologize for. I’ve had enough pity in my life-cycle, so don’t feel guilty about it.::</p>
<p>Jazz nodded even though Fermium couldn’t see the motion, ::That’s very discerning of yah, Fermium,:: he paused to consider his words before adding, ::Thank yah … for givin’ the Autobots a chance. Ah don’t think yah’ll ever regret it.::</p>
<p>Fermium’s voice reacquired its happy, excited tone, ::When I get to work with Allotropy? I should think not! If a mech like him is on your side, than I have no reason to doubt your cause. Why, I’d even be willing to consider- hold on!::</p>
<p>Jazz blinked behind his visor and patiently waited for Fermium to resume, internally wondering what had distracted the scientist. Two breems later, Fermium resumed, ::Sorry for the interruption, that was another mech from the Science Department. Wonderfully fascinating mech, I hope I get to work with him in the future, he’s so charming. Anyway, I’m supposed to report to the Science Department in five breems and if I don’t hurry I’ll be late.::</p>
<p>Jazz chuckled softly, ::Yah’d better get going then. It was nice talkin’ ta yah again, Fermium.::</p>
<p>Fermium chuckled back, ::Same to you, Jazz. Same to you. I should probably sign off the com though, I tend to get lost when I try to drive and talk at the same time.::</p>
<p>Jazz rolled his optics, <em>why am I not surprised?</em> ::Ah’ll let yah get off the com then. One question though, that new colleague yah just met, who was he?::</p>
<p>The chipper answer made Jazz’s energon nearly freeze in his lines, ::Hmm? Oh, he said his designation was Que. Truly interesting fellow. Well, goodbye! Thank you for listening to me ramble!::</p>
<p>Jazz sat up straight in alarm, ::Fermium wait-!:: he sighed wearily at the non-responsive click indicating that Fermium had already signed off. Shaking his helm, he thought darkly, <em>Que and Fermium? Working together? Primus no, there wouldn’t be a building in Iacon left standing! Oh well, guess I’ll just have to hope that they’re assigned to different wings of the Science Department.</em></p>
<p>Jazz’s HUD pinged with an alert of lowering energon levels as he stood up and stretched lazily. Dismissing the ping, he huffed and trotted out of his quarters as his original dilemma resurfaced in his processor. <em>Might as well head back to the rec room and refuel. I’m not gonna get anything done in here. Besides, maybe I’ll find Hardwire and get a chance to talk to him. </em>He bounced easily down the hallways, weaving in between other mechs as he thought stubbornly to himself, <em>Cause there has to be more to this mystery than I know. There’s a logical answer to why Starwish and the twinlings have those memory files and I’m going to find it.</em> After all, he reasoned, what good was a Head of Special Ops if he couldn’t collect enough data to solve a few mysteries?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Friends and Confrontations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwire kept his backplates firmly pressed against the wall, trying not to fidget in the loud atmosphere of the rec room. It was far larger than the rec room in Algol and instead of having a separate pub, this one had a bar set against one wall, opposite of the entertainment areas. Because of this, the rec room was far more crowded than the one in Algol had usually been, with strange mechs bustling back and forth by Hardwire’s table and various recreational activities making a cacophony of friendly noise.</p>
<p>Normally, Hardwire wouldn’t have really been bothered by the activity and noise, he might have even enjoyed it. But instead, the flow and hubbub of unfamiliar faces was making Hardwire abnormally nervous and strained. Phantom sensations of being tackled to the ground and held there by a pile of bodies kept prickling his consciousness and even with the wall pressed firmly against his back plates, he kept being plagued by the irrational fear that someone was going to sneak up behind him and attack his processor interface port.</p>
<p>“Wire? You doing okay, buddy?” Hardwire glanced at Bulkhead briefly before resuming his restless examination of the room. Out of the corner of his optic, Hardwire could see Bulkhead frowning worriedly at him, “Wire? We can leave if you want. You don’t look like you feel so well.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted a little bit, taking a sip of his, previously untouched, energon before answering curtly, “I’m fine.” <em>Oops.</em></p>
<p>Bulkhead sat up straighter, “Now you’re talking that language of yours. Something’s definitely wrong. Come on, Hardwire, you can tell me if you need to leave. I won’t mind.”</p>
<p>Hardwire sighed and focused on speaking Cyber-Standard, “I’ll … be fine, Bulkhead. I just … need to learn to … relax again.” <em>I shouldn’t be so messed up. I’m sure Bulkhead’s seen worse than my little tenure under Shockwave and he’s perfectly fine! Frag.</em></p>
<p>Bulkhead gave Hardwire a long look, “That’s it. Let’s go refuel somewhere else.”</p>
<p>Hardwire swung his helm around to stare at Bulkhead in surprise, “We don’t have to-!”</p>
<p>Bulkhead stood up, snatching both his energon cube and Hardwire’s in one smooth motion, “We don’t, but I don’t like making you uncomfortable. You’re so nervous you’re making <b>me</b> fidget. So, up you get.”</p>
<p>Sheepishly, Hardwire stood up and started following Bulkhead out of the rec room, taking his energon cube back from Bulkhead as he did so, “Thank’s, Bulk. I … hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead snorted, “Inconveniencing? Wire, you’re my pal! It’s fine! Besides, Hatchet would have my helm if I didn’t let you get enough rest and relaxation because you didn’t like the rec room.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave a tiny smile, “Well, there is that.”</p>
<p>They both fell silent as they started weaving their way through the tables and mechs, Hardwire firmly suppressing his jitters and urges to punch anything that came too close. They had almost made it to the door and freedom when someone shouldered roughly into Hardwire, nearly knocking him off of his pedes. Hardwire stumbled with a grunt, his processor blanking out in panic as his servo acted seemingly of its own accord, dropping his energon cube with a splashing clatter and lashing out.</p>
<p>The loud sound of metal striking metal caused silence to fall almost instantly in the rec room as every helm swiveled to stare. Hardwire straightened up, panting in surprise as he blinked and tried to separate memory from reality. His efforts were interrupted when a large servo roughly grabbed the top lip of his chest plating and dragged him into the air, “Did. You. Just. Punch. Me?”</p>
<p>The deep, snarling voice vibrated through Hardwire’s cables and he blinked a few more times and tried to wiggle free, “Put me down!”</p>
<p>The servo holding him painfully by his chest plating shook him roughly, “I said, did you just punch me, yah little retro-rat!” Hardwire’s optics cleared of memories of Shockwave’s lab and he looked up the length of the arm holding him off of the ground and to the viciously bright red visor hiding the other mech’s optics. <em>Uh oh. </em>The other mech was <b>huge</b>. Easily two helms taller than Optimus, the massive frame spoke of destructive power. The silver main color glinted in the artificial rec room light, the frame’s powerful lines accented by red and yellow highlights. The mech’s battle mask was up, but it was still easy to tell that the fellow was very, very angry.</p>
<p>Hardwire gritted his denta, <em>this is going to go bad really, really fast.</em> Trying to defuse the situation before it escalated, he said, “Sorry. It was instinct.”</p>
<p>The mech growled and Hardwire tried not to wince at the painful vibrations it sent through his frame, “You shoved me, then you punched me. How was that ‘instinct’?”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a growl of his own rise up unbidden, <em>bully</em>, “No offense, but you shoved me. You shouldn’t have been surprised when it got a negative reaction.”</p>
<p>Murmurs were rising in the crowd of watching mechs and Hardwire thought he heard a word starting with “grim” float predominately through the whispers. Sensing Bulkhead coming closer and growling, Hardwire abruptly commed, ::Stay out of this unless it gets ugly, Bulkhead. I don’t want this to become a giant fight.::</p>
<p>Bulkhead commed back worriedly, ::Ugly? Wire, it’s already gotten ‘ugly’! Don’t you know who that is?::</p>
<p>Before Hardwire could answer, the mech holding him rumbled, “You calling me a liar?”</p>
<p>Hardwire stared at the red visor and forced himself not to flinch, “I’m saying that-”</p>
<p>The mech shook him and shouted, “Don’t talk back to me! You’re just a lousy retro-rat who’s trying to start something! Well let me tell you, retro-rat, start a fight with Grimlock and there aren’t going to be enough pieces left of you to make an energon blender!” <em>So, his name is Grimlock? Where have I heard that name before?</em></p>
<p>Another mech shouldered his way through the crowd, towering easily over everyone’s helms except for Grimlock as he carefully reached over and grabbed Grimlock’s arm that wasn’t currently holding Hardwire off of the ground, “Easy, Boss. He’s just a glitch. No need to get so worked up. You know how your temper gets when you’re low on energon…”</p>
<p>Grimlock swiveled his helm to snarl at the other mech, “Stay out of this Swoop! I don’t take scrap from anyone! Especially not retro-rats!”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt anger and a touch of fear coil tightly inside him. This mech was dangerous, he could tell, and things were going south fast. Going south so fast that if something didn’t change within the next few kliks, a lot of mechs would probably be hurt in the ensuing brawl. Normally, Hardwire would have attempted diplomacy in such a situation. However, his temper was already worn thin from stress and he had been forced to put up with far too many bullies during his time as a human. So, instead of waiting to see if the other mech, Swoop, could diffuse the situation, Hardwire snarled, “Put me down, ‘Grimlock’.”</p>
<p>Grimlock’s helm turned to glare at Hardwire again and Bulkhead commed urgently, ::Hardwire, watch it!::</p>
<p>Hardwire ignored the warning, continuing to glare coldly at Grimlock as the bigger mech rumbled contemptuously, “What if I don’t want to, <b>retro-rat</b>?”</p>
<p>Hardwire curled his lips, bearing his denta warningly as he hissed, “One, I’m uncomfortable up here. Two, retro-rats tend to bite when they’re caught and I’d hate to have to ruin that shiny finish of yours.”</p>
<p>Grimlock pulled his helm back a little in apparent shock, “You think that <b>you</b> could hurt <b>me</b>?” His seemingly incredulous boom sounded decidedly mocking.</p>
<p>Hardwire twitched, fully aware that he was going to get himself beaten to within an inch of his life if he messed up his next move but not particularly caring, “I don’t know if it would hurt, but I know that I can sure as frag can ruin your cycle.”</p>
<p>Grimlock snorted with laughter and pulled Hardwire closer to his masked faceplate, “Oh really? What makes you think that?”</p>
<p>Hardwire allow his snarl to form a fake grin instead, “Because as nice as your armor is, I really doubt it can deflect a blast from a Kaonian Sniper Cannon MX-115 at point-blank range.” Every mech in the rec room went utterly silent as they finally registered the sound of a dangerous whine piercing the tense atmosphere. Grimlock looked down sharply and someone took a swift vent of shock.</p>
<p>Where Hardwire’s left servo used to be, the long barrel of his sniper cannon now whined dangerously, it’s muzzle pointing unwaveringly just below the bottom edge of Grimlock’s chest plates. During all of the commotion and attention drawn to their argument, Hardwire had slowly and near silently unsubspaced it, thus giving him the element of surprise.</p>
<p>Grimlock’s helm lifted again and Hardwire locked gazes with the bigger mech, “So, you still want to start something? Or would you rather go grab some energon with your friend there and let me go on my way?”</p>
<p>Grimlock was visibly shaking and his visor brightened dangerously, “I oughtta…”</p>
<p>Hardwire raised on optic ridge coldly, his fake smile remaining fixed in place as he silently dared Grimlock to finish his sentence. His cannon’s whine grew a little bit louder as he waited for Grimlock’s decision and hoped fervently that Grimlock would back off. Grimlock’s servo tightened painfully on Hardwire’s chest plating for a moment, then he slowly set Hardwire on the floor and let go. Hardwire backed away cautiously, not taking his optics off of Grimlock or subspacing his weapon. He didn’t trust the bigger mech to not attack out of spite once his guard was lowered.</p>
<p>Mechs hastily made room for Hardwire’s slow retreat, com chatter flying around like bees. Hardwire attempted to enter the channel but discovered he’d been locked out of whatever frequency everyone else was using, <em>don’t want to me to hear their gossip I suppose, </em>an oddly calm part of his processor mused. Grimlock had yet to move from the site of their confrontation, watching Hardwire’s every move unreadably. Just as Hardwire was hoping to meet up with Bulkhead and leave quietly, a cold voice barked dangerously, “What is going on in here?”</p>
<p>Hardwire swiftly shot a glance in the direction of the voice before resuming his vigil on Grimlock, resisting the urge to hiss in frustration as Prowl marched through the crowd and entered the impromptu circle of tension. Prowl came to a stop just inside the open circle, his doorwings hiked high on his back in what Hardwire assumed to either dominance or irritation. Prowl’s normally blank expression held a decidedly stern, frowning air as he studied the scene in front of him.</p>
<p>Looking at everyone in the room, Prowl repeated icily, “I repeat. What is going on in here? Hardwire, weapons are not allowed out of subspace in the recreational room unless in emergencies or when they are fully powered down and disassembled, put away your cannon.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his spark speed up with fear for surprisingly the first time since the start of the situation, “With all do respect, sir. Not until Grimlock stands down.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s sharp gaze shifted to Grimlock, who crossed his arms across his chest plates and huffed apathetically, “You’re not worth my time anyway.” Turning, Grimlock moved to shove his way through the crowd toward the energon dispenser, ignoring Prowl’s sharp order to halt.</p>
<p>Hardwire cautiously subspaced his cannon and watched as Prowl began seamlessly collecting reports on what had happened and sentencing Grimlock. In the middle of an argument with Grimlock over punishment, Prowl quietly commed Hardwire, ::You may go, Hardwire. Your actions were clearly in self defense, therefor, you are not guilty of an infraction of the recreation room rules.::</p>
<p>Hardwire felt Bulkhead gently touch his shoulder and flared his armor agitatedly, ::Sure you don’t need my help, sir? Grimlock doesn’t seem like the type to go quietly.::</p>
<p>Prowl stood his ground as Grimlock yelled at him, never showing any signs of irritation as he replied, ::Ironhide has just arrived, he is all the backup I will need. Besides, Ratchet will want to look at that dent in your plating. Dismissed.::</p>
<p>Hardwire sent an obedient click over the com channel before cutting the link and shuffling outside, nodding politely to a wide-opticed Ironhide as he passed. Only when he was alone with Bulkhead in the hallway did he allow himself to lean against the wall and heave his vents in fear, his servos shaking wildly as his spark pulsed at combat worthy speeds, <em>I never, ever want to come that close to shooting another Autobot again. Or meeting Grimlock … I certainly don’t want to do that again either.</em></p>
<p>Bulkhead’s incredulous voice broke through Hardwire’s jumbled thoughts, “You, Wire, are the craziest mech I’ve ever met since … well, since a <b>long </b>time ago.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave a tension-born laugh, “You just now noticed?”</p>
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<p>Arcee suppressed a low noise of irritation as Jolt ran yet another scan over her frame under the intense supervision of Ratchet, “For the last time, I feel <b>fine</b>. I just want to take a little walk around the base, is that really so dangerous?” <em>It’s not like I’m volunteering for a suicide mission or anything. I’m not even planning to run away!</em></p>
<p>Ratchet hushed her sternly, “A cracked spark chamber is nothing to treat lightly, femme, and I have to be absolutely certain as to the extent of your condition before even considering releasing you from the medbay.” <em>Maybe I should reconsider the running away plan. Wonder how much alone time I could steal before I was dragged back to the clutches of the medics?</em></p>
<p>As Ratchet thoroughly poked and prodded through her statistics and gently but firmly combed over her frame’s condition, Arcee glanced around the medbay main room in an effort to stave off boredom. It was very quiet aside from Ratchet’s mutterings and the beep of machinery, not another patient in sight. <em>Not surprising, </em>Arcee thought, <em>all of the minor patients would take advantage of their legs and get the frag out as soon as they were fixed and the other patients are all still in their rooms.</em></p>
<p>Arcee sighed, <em>Which is probably where I’ll end up after this check up. I was so close to escaping too…</em> Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft hiss of the medbay doors sliding open and two mechs walking in.</p>
<p>Ratchet’s exclamation of, “What did you do?” Went mostly ignored by Arcee as she stared at one of the newcomers. It was the battered mech she had seen three metacycles ago, dragged into a med room looking like remelted scrap. His red optics blinked shyly at Ratchet before flicking around the medbay nervously. His frame was in much better condition than when Arcee had last seen it, except for the large crumpled dent on the lip of his chest plating that looked decidedly uncomfortable.</p>
<p>The other green mech, a round, cheerful fellow, was cheerfully talking on behalf of his friend, “You should have seen it, Ratch! Grimlock tried to start a fight in the rec room and ol’ Wire here made him back down! Grimlock!”</p>
<p>Ratchet sputtered loudly, “And nearly got yourself scrapped, I’m sure! Sit down and let me take a look at that dent right now! Can’t let you out of my sensor range for a klik can I?” The last part was a dark mutter that Arcee only heard because of how close Ratchet was standing to her seat.</p>
<p>The dented mech ducked his helm in seeming shame, although he had a rueful smile on his faceplates that he was trying to hide as he sat down, “Sorry, Ratchet. I didn’t mean to get into trouble, it just sorta … grabbed me by the plating.” He looked meaningfully down at his chest plating as Ratchet stormed over and lightly tapped his helm with a wrench and scolded him anyway.</p>
<p>Arcee stared hard at the mech as Ratchet set about unbending the dent, the feeling that she had seen him even before he was dragged half-offline into the medbay stronger than ever. Seeming to sense her stare, the mech looked up and Arcee found herself staring into deep optics of such an intense ruby color her spark seemed to skip a beat in her chassis. Oblivious to her jumping spark, the mech gave a shy smile, “Hello.”</p>
<p>Arcee blinked and mentally chastised herself for being caught staring, “Hi.” She replied curtly.</p>
<p>The mech didn’t seem incredibly put off by her curt response, he simply went back to watching Ratchet fuss over the dent for a few kliks before shifting his attention back to her and asking jokingly, “So, what are you in for?”</p>
<p>Arcee shrugged, feeling oddly uncomfortable with making light conversation, yet despising the silence even more, “Cracked spark casing and couple other injuries,” raising her voice, she called pointedly to Ratchet, “but I’m feeling just <b>fine </b>now.”</p>
<p>Ratchet didn’t look up from the dent as he batted her words away with a servo, “Not according to your medic, you’re not. I’ll get back to you in a breem or two, so just stay there.”</p>
<p>Arcee huffed faintly, irritated at the casual rebuff of her statement. The round green mech chuckled and stepped forward, “Don’t even try it, femme. Ratchet makes even the Prime obey his orders he’s so scary. Designation’s Bulkhead and the crazy scrap-helm over there is Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Arcee glanced Bulkhead up and down, only mildly surprised by his friendly demeanor, “I’m Arcee.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave her another quick smile, “Nice to meet you, Arcee. Despite the … scenario.” His optics glanced around the medbay anxiously again and he visibly flinched when First Aid approached from an angle. Arcee watched curiously as the friendly medical apprentice immediately stopped at the flinch and backed away, circling around to approach Hardwire in the mech’s direct line of sight. <em>He’s awfully nervous around medics. I wonder why? Oh right, he got nabbed by Shockwave didn’t he? That would explain it.</em></p>
<p>Ratchet glanced briefly at Arcee before gruffly saying, “You should thank him, you know.”</p>
<p>Arcee frowned in confusion, “What?”</p>
<p>Ratchet waved an unoccupied servo toward his current patient, “You should thank him. He risked his chassis to save your spark during the rescue mission and brought you to me straight away for treatment.”</p>
<p>Hardwire groaned aloud and protested, “Ratchet! Don’t tell her that! Elita and Chromia already made everyone else thank me for that mission!” He shook his helm, his faceplates tinting a light blue in embarrassment as he muttered, “I was just … doing my job. I don’t even remember over half of the fragging thing.”</p>
<p><em>He was part of the rescue mission? </em>Arcee’s optics widened as she finally remembered where she had first seen Hardwire. <em>He was that … that pit-spawn who tore those ‘cons apart! I thought that had just been a processor flux! </em>Another memory attempted to crop up, but she couldn’t open it all the way. A haunting cry brushed her audios in remembrance and she shivered and hastily looked away from Hardwire, trying to make her spark slow down.</p>
<p>Jolt, still monitoring her life-signs, frowned and said, “Are you feeling alright? You’re spark is beating very fast … Perhaps you need to-?”</p>
<p>Arcee cut him off, not wanting to be sent back to her stark medbay room, “I’m fine. Just … remembering.” Watching Hardwire from the corner of her optic, she continued, “You … you were quite a sight out there. I didn’t know anyone could tear through ‘cons that fast.”</p>
<p>Hardwire huffed as he stared at the ceiling with his helm tilted back as per Ratchet’s not-so-gentle instructions, “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t remember anything from that cycle accept … a lot of shouting, I think? The memory files are corrupted or something.”</p>
<p>Ratchet corrected Hardwire as he stepped back, surveyed his work, then stepped forward again to correct something, “Suppressed, actually. Your memories of those time periods are locked down with the rest of the program, most likely to prevent any … behavioral patterns from crossing over into your regular life.”</p>
<p><em>Program? Behavioral patterns? Has this mech’s processor been tampered with?</em> Thinking back to the wild savagery she had seen right before slipping into stasis, she could easily believe it. If the Decepticons had tampered with his processor at some point, it would make sense that someone would place a lock on that section of programing. Pushing those thoughts away, she said, “Well, thank’s anyway.” <em>Even if you don’t remember.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire’s faceplates flushed a deeper blue and he looked away with a vague mutter that might have been, “N-no problem.”</p>
<p>Ratchet ignored the byplay as he stood back and waved the mech off of the berth, “You’re fine, no thanks to your self-preservation programming. Now get out of my medbay! I don’t want to see you back here for another five cycles at least, if that’s possible. Go get some rest and for Primus’s sake don’t overstrain your new parts!”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded obediently and started hurrying out the door with Bulkhead. Arcee saw a slender chance for escape and, against her better judgement, called, “Wait! I’ll go with you!”</p>
<p>Both mechs stopped and looked over their shoulders in surprise at her words as Ratchet snarled indignantly, “You most certainly will not! You require careful supervision and rest! Your condition-!”</p>
<p>Desperate and irritated, Arcee dared to interrupt Ratchet, “I can rest in my own quarters and I’m sure Elita-1 and the other femmes would be happy to monitor me for you! Or those two can! Hardwire’s on the same restrictions as I am, right? So I can do what he does!”</p>
<p>Ratchet paused, his optic ridges lowering as he considered her words. Arcee risked one last parting salvo, “Please, Ratchet. I’m going go meltdown in here. It’s just so…” Arcee’s voice trailed off, unable to articulate her reasons for despising the medbay, especially her private room. It was too stark, too clean, too barren of normal life. It smelled of cleaning solvent, various medical chemicals, and mesh-steel. It was quiet.</p>
<p>When she was alone, the smells and lack of noise made her think irresistibly about things she desperately wanted to forget. If she dared to close her optics, it made her think she was back in the lair of that <b>Arachnicon</b> pit-spawn. Trapped in the darkness and silence, waiting helplessly for the next round of torture or worse, the sight of Tailgate’s energon spilling out onto the floor as his spark guttered out.</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm and Arcee’s spark dropped with despair, “No, I can’t-”</p>
<p>“Ratchet.” All optics swung to look at Hardwire, his quiet voice managing to somehow cut off Ratchet’s words without even trying. Something in his voice made everyone stop what they were doing and pay attention to him as he turned his back on the door and faced the stubborn CMO. Red optics glanced at Arcee briefly and her spark did another crazy jump without her consent. Shifting his gaze back to Ratchet, Hardwire said, “Let her come. I’ll keep an optic on her.”</p>
<p>The deep, soft resonance of his voice made Arcee suppress a shiver, he sounded nothing like the shy mech who had been so embarrassed at being thanked for his part of her rescue. Tilting his helm downward slightly, his drew himself to his full height and added, “Nothing will happen to her under my watch.”</p>
<p>A meaningful gaze passed between the CMO and Hardwire and Arcee tried not to get her hopes up even as her spark fluttered eagerly. Finally, Ratchet looked away and cycled his vents, his expression unreadable as he muttered, “Fine, fine. Arcee … can go with you.”</p>
<p>Half-disbelieving, Arcee replayed Ratchet’s words in her processor even as she jumped off of the berth and hurried over to where Bulkhead and Hardwire were standing. Not waiting for Ratchet to change his mind, the three hurried out of the medbay in tense silence.</p>
<p>Once they were five hallways away from the medbay and thus, “safe” from being recalled, Arcee shot a quick look at Hardwire and said, “Thanks for that. Looks like I owe you two, now.” Instantly, a part of her processor berated her for her words. <em>Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why would you say that? What if his current attitude is all a ruse and he just wants to have some fun with you? He’ll try to take advantage of being “owed”!</em></p>
<p>Hardwire’s reply had Arcee staring at him surprise, “No, it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help.”</p>
<p>Arcee blinked once and crossed her arms over her chest plating, “Seriously?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s red optics held traces of confusion at her tone as he answered, “Sorry, did I insult you? I really am just happy to help out. Do you really expect me to call on you for a ‘debt’ or something?” He seemed to think of something then hastily added, “Not that I don’t respect your capabilities! I just…” He sighed and rubbed his faceplate with a servo, “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead nudged Hardwire’s right shoulder cheerfully, “Yeah. Femmes tend to do that to you.”</p>
<p>Arcee bit back a chuckle that wanted to form, “Haven’t had much practice talking to femmes?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s face slipped from being mildly amused and embarrassed at the same time to being utterly unreadable in a nano-klik, his optics flashing with a darkness that was almost terrifying in its intensity. The dark look disappeared less than a klik later, leaving only the unreadable expression as he answered softly, “Aside from my sister? Not recently.” Arcee felt her energon chill in its veins at his veiled tone and the lack emotion on his faceplates. Something about how fast he could change moods was frightening, more so because she got the impression that she knew that tone and expression from somewhere else but couldn’t place it.</p>
<p>With a faint shake of his helm, the cold aura Hardwire had projected disappeared and he smiled faintly down at Arcee, “So, did you have any plans for after you escaped Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Arcee tried not to be surprised by his sudden shift in attitude, <em>is something glitched with his personality matrix?</em> Pushing the thought aside, Arcee answered slowly, “Not really. Honestly? I thought I wouldn’t get out unless I made an escape attempt and hid in the air vents for a few joors.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave a brief laugh, “That … would not have ended well, no offense.” Tipping his helm back slightly, he seemed to think about something for a moment before continuing, “Unless there’s somewhere specific you would like to go, how about the Observatory? Iacon does have one, right?” The last question was directed at Bulkhead, who nodded. Hardwire looked back down at Arcee, “Sound good?”</p>
<p>Arcee shrugged, “I suppose so. Anything wrong with going to the rec room though?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s shoulder struts drooped and he cycled his vents uneasily, “Yeah … remember the dent I had when I came to the medbay to get repaired? Got it from another mech in the rec room. I’m not sure if Grimlock’s left yet.”</p>
<p>Arcee raised an optic ridge, “So what Bulkhead said earlier was true? You really got into a scrap with Grimlock and came out of it with only a dent?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead jumped into the conversation before Hardwire would answer, “He sure did! It was great! I’ve never seen anyone make Grimlock back down except Optimus Prime and even he usually has to do more than just draw a weapon!”</p>
<p>Hardwire was blushing again, “It was more impulse than anything, not like I planned how to get out of that situation. I didn’t even think that would work, to be honest…”</p>
<p>Arcee shook her helm in amazement, “You are one lucky mech. But I don’t think you should try that kind of stunt again. I guess we’ll go to the Observatory instead then.”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded gratefully, “Thanks.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead patted Hardwire’s shoulder strut firmly and said, “I’ll sneak back to the rec room and grab some more energon. Meet you at the Observatory.” Looking down at Arcee, he asked, “You want a cube?”</p>
<p>Arcee nodded, “Sure. I’ll drink almost anything after having to process med-grade for metacycles.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead winced sympathetically, “Know what? I’ll see if I can get you a <b>flavored</b> mid-grade. That med-grade stuff is horrible.” <em>You’re telling me.</em> With a cheerful call of “be right back!” Bulkhead lumbered off down a different hallway, leaving Hardwire and Arcee to make their way to the Observatory without him.</p>
<p>Hardwire called agitatedly, “Hey wait!” Just as Bulkhead left audio range, one servo outstretched as if to stop his friend. Seeing that his call had come too late, Hardwire sighed and lowered his servo again, “Wonderful.” Turning to Arcee, he asked embarrassedly, “I don’t suppose you know the way to the Observatory? Bulkhead forgot to send me a map of the base … again.”</p>
<p>Arcee stared at Hardwire for nearly a breem before chuckling dryly and saying, “Follow me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. Past Destinies, Present Paths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alpha Trion sat back down at his desk, his optics unfocused as he stroked the cover of his book. Optimus had just left, his gaze even more solemn than before as the young Prime had worked on processing the information just imparted to him by Alpha Trion. Alpha Trion was sure he looked just as solemn, if not more so. After all, Optimus had only heard Alpha Trion’s theories and some information that had been given under the guise of, “I discovered,” and “the old legends say.” He had not lived through the events described by the old Archivist. Optimus could not, even now, fully understand the full significance of the program text he had brought to the Hall of Records.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion sighed heavily, the all-too-familiar weight of responsibility and premonition resting heavily upon his shoulder struts. Optimus would do his utmost to help and keep things the way they should be, but in a matter such as this, Alpha Trion was sure that even the titanic efforts of the Last Prime would not be enough.</p>
<p>Especially considering the femling’s “unique” memories. <em>Stranger things have happened, and will happen again, than an organic becoming one of us. But how will that effect her destiny? How is it that it is one with a past not beginning on Cybertron or in the Well of AllSparks that bears such a heavy burden? How did she become one of Them?</em></p>
<p>Reaching out with tired fingers, Alpha Trion opened his book once more. Not to his last written sentence, but instead to an early entry. His very first entry, to be exact. Tracing the ancient words, Alpha Trion mouthed them silently as he read his own writing from many stellar-cycles ago, <em>We have succeeded in our first function in life. Since the beginning of our creation, we had one task and we have finally completed it. Unicron has been defeated at last. But we could not have done it without help. The marvelous, mysterious help that arrived in the final battle to light our darkest hour with hope. But I think I am getting ahead of myself. Surely a story needs to be told from the beginning and the beginning of this story starts long before my spark entered this world…</em></p>
<p>Alpha Trion skimmed the next few paragraphs, knowing by spark the words written there. The story of Primus and Unicron, two ancient titans forever locked in battle. The story of how they had fought, unable to best the other, until Primus tipped the scale with the creation of the Thirteen Primes and the final battle to defeat the Unmaker. As far as the rest of Cybertron knew, the only participants of that battle had been Unicron and the Thirteen Primes. Alpha Trion had ensured that. But the truth … the truth of that battle was so much more.</p>
<p>Sitting back, Alpha Trion tilted his chair backwards until he was staring at the ceiling with a remembering frown, his processor dredging up old memory files that he had not bothered to view or think about for a long, long time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Countless Stellar-Cycles Ago:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alpha Trion stood, optics wide, next to his siblings, his fellow Primes, the only line of defense between their creator’s vulnerable core, and Unicron the Destroyer. Prima stood at the center of their motley line, his optics flashing proudly as he held the sword Solus had forged for him, refusing to back down despite his many injuries. To Prima’s left, Megatronus bellowed angrily between heavy vents, his red gaze staring unflinchingly into that of the Destroyer.</p>
<p>They had been fighting for cycles, their advantage of surprise having worn off, leaving them unshielded against Unicron’s experience and fury. Unicron now towered in front of them, his gaze, a purple that refused to reflect the twisting nebula arching overhelm, shining with malice and pride as he mocked them, “Did you really believe you could defeat me? That you, children of Primus, could do what your creator cannot? Pathetic mortals! Tremble as I smite thee for thine insolence!”</p>
<p>Megatronus answered for them all, his denta curling into a sneer that seemed eerily similar to Unicron’s own expression, “If we are so pathetic, stop talking and strike us down with your own servos! Oh, that’s right, you only have one servo with which to strike. The other one got <b>chopped off</b> by one of us ‘pathetic mortals’!”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion suppressed a stress-born laugh at Megatronus’s jibe and the answering roar of rage from Unicron. <em>We are all going to offline, surely. This is the end.</em> Ignorant of Alpha Trion’s despairing thoughts, Prima turned to his siblings and ordered curtly, “We stand to the last. Nothing passes this line while we still have sparks.”</p>
<p>Micronus stared grimly at the sight of Unicron charging their position, the Unmaker’s massive mace of Dark Energon raised high, “With our injuries, our sparks will not beat for much longer.”</p>
<p>Onyx fluttered his wings, watching as Unicron beat at the energy shield temporarily protecting them as he growled out, “But we must hold this line despite our injuries. You heard our creator, we alone can hope to defeat the Destroyer now.”</p>
<p>Unicron’s mace crashed through the energy barrier at last, bellowing with triumph as their surroundings briefly lit up like a tiny star from the scattering energy that had once been a shield. As Alpha Trion’s optics struggled to adapt to sudden increase of light, he dived to the side instinctively in an effort to avoid the coming blows of his enemy.</p>
<p>Unicron laughed as his thirteen opponents scattered, frantically trying to attack him even as they dodged his flurry of expert blows, “Foolish mortals! You cannot hope to stand against me alone!”</p>
<p>Something warm and soothing brushed over Alpha Trion’s armor just as he reassembled with his siblings and formed a loose semicircle around Unicron. The warmth seemed to speak to his spark, and the pain of his injuries started to fade. <em>What is that?</em> A strong voice, low and powerful, yet not at all like a mech’s, rang out over the battlefield, “They do not stand alone, Unicron. They stand together, <b>as do we</b>!”</p>
<p>The Thirteen Primes whirled to look in the direction of the cry and Alpha Trion felt his spark pulse wildly at the sight his optics found. Arrayed in a proud line, optics shining with defiance, were reinforcements. Reinforcements for the battle-weary Primes.</p>
<p>Unicron took a thudding step back, his voice lowering to a dark snarl, “Who dares interfere in my carnage? Who dares interrupt my Chaos?”</p>
<p>The figure in the center of the line took a step forward and Alpha Trion gaped at the femme incredulously. The stranger’s optics held no fear, no hesitation, yet her servos were empty. With a gaze of complete defiance, the femme and her eleven companions stood on a battlefield, the battlegrounds of the Destroyer, with no weapons of any kind on their persons. <em>Are they-? Are they … malfunctioning?</em> He wanted to shout at them, warn them to run away, but no words would form.</p>
<p>Recovering from his surprise, Unicron took a large step forward and boomed, “I said ‘who dares interfere with my carnage’? Answer me, pathetic creatures!”</p>
<p>Much to the shock of everyone else present, the newcomers ignored Unicron’s bellow and instead turned to the Primes. One of the others in the line, a petite creature with armor painted to match the dark nebula above, stared directly at Alpha Trion and smiled faintly as the leader of the newcomers shouted, “Stand, Primes! Stand and do not despair! You do not stand alone in this fight! Look to your siblings! Look to your spark! Look and know we stand with you as well, no matter the end!”</p>
<p>Unicron, hearing the declaration, sneered and laughed mockingly, “You? Stand with these foolish Primes? If they cannot defeat me with their swords and weapons, how can you hope to defeat me when you come to the field of battle with <b>nothing</b>?”</p>
<p>The femme who had smiled at Alpha Trion piped up almost flippantly, “Who said we came with nothing?”</p>
<p>The leader raised her arms away from her sides, fingers splayed as she shouted, “Heralds! Assemble and aid the Primes! Unicron’s optics will not behold the passing of the next cycle!” With cries of acknowledgement, the Heralds leaped forward, light enveloping them seemingly from within as they started to transform.</p>
<p>Prima’s voice cut the air, bringing everyone’s focus back to the battle at servo, “Brothers! Sister! Everyone!” Raising the Star Saber high so that the tip pointed towards Unicron as it’s rippling light mirrored the appearance of the stars above, he roared “One last stand! One last assault! Rid this universe of Unicron’s filth! <b>Attack</b>!”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion felt the fervor of battle surge through his spark as he instinctively obeyed his elder sibling, throwing himself back into battle with a war cry that would have made even Onyx or Megatronus proud of him. This was it, the purpose behind their creation, the defining moment of their lives. This was the long-awaited battle … and they Would. Not. Lose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Present Cycle:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Master Trion?” Alpha Trion looked up sharply at the almost timid inquiry, blinking repeatedly to shake away images and feelings of the long past.</p>
<p>Sitting up slowly, he saw Smokescreen standing nervously by his side, a concerned expression in his optics. Glancing at his chronometer, Alpha Trion realized almost a joor had passed without his notice as he had relived his memories, “Yes, young one? Is something troubling you?”</p>
<p>Smokescreen flitted his doorwings nervously, “It’s just … you looked … you didn’t look so good, sir. I was gone for so long I thought that maybe something had happened and since I’m supposed to be your bodyguard that would be bad and-”</p>
<p>With a weary chuckle, Alpha Trion waved away Smokescreen’s stammering, “I am fine, young one. I was merely remembering someone that … I met a long time ago.” His chuckles faded away as he frowned darkly in thought, faint echoes of dying screams flitting through his processor before vanishing back into the archives of his own memory. <em>No matter how it happened, one of their kind has been found once again.</em> Turning one servo over, Alpha Trion stared at his palm silently, the invisible weight of a long discarded weapon still tickling his tactile sensors.</p>
<p>Straightening up, Alpha Trion nodded to himself, <em>this one, at least, will not suffer the fate of the others. This one will survive. </em><b><em>Must</em></b><em> survive. </em>Looking down at the puzzled Smokescreen, Alpha Trion said crisply, “Smokescreen, fetch me a cube of energon, will you? I am afraid I quite forgot to refuel at my normal time.”</p>
<p>Smokescreen’s concern disappeared and was replaced by the customary irritation of a young, eager mechling who was being forced to fetch and carry for another when there were secrets to be found instead. Hiding his irritation in everything but his optics, Smokescreen bowed at the waist and said, “Of course, Master Trion, I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion watched the young mech trot away as he reached into his desk and pulled out a long disused external com unit. It was primitive by Cybertronian standards, had been for a long time. Most had forgotten that small servo-sized external units ever existed, the only external units built anymore were the big ones meant for transmitting across Cybertron or space itself.</p>
<p>Still, Alpha Trion cradled the old piece of equipment gently in his servos as he powered it on. Because of its antiquity, it could not be detected through normal means. In fact, only another of its kind could pick up its transmission signal and only if that other unit was within the limited range of the transmitting unit. He knew for a fact that only one other mech in Iacon still owned a unit like the one in his servo and it was that mech he was intending to call as he pressed the transmit button.</p>
<p>There was a long pause as the transmission request pulsed out steadily, pinging every few kliks as it waited for a response. Finally, the ping turned into a chime and the small holo-unit on the top of the com device flickered to life, revealing another mech with wise optics and a respectful stance. The mech on the other end dipped his helm respectfully, “Master Trion, it is an honor.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion nodded in acknowledgement of the other mech’s rank. The other mech was nowhere near as old as Alpha Trion, but he was still old enough and experienced enough in the ways of the world to warrant the respect due his rank and wisdom, “Master Yoketron, I was wondering if you were still amendable to taking on one last apprentice.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron’s optic ridges rose fractionally, “You have found someone?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion smiled thinly, “Perhaps. I would not presume to educate a Cyber-Ninja Master on the qualities required in a student. But if you are willing to test her, there is someone that I believe has the spark to master your teachings. Even the final technique.”</p>
<p>There was a thickly contemplative silence as Yoketron considered Alpha Trion’s statement carefully. Tipping his helm faintly to one side, Yoketron answered, “I am listening…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Pain. Lots and lots of pain. Tearing, biting, everywhere, filling every sensor with endless agony. Darkness and pain. Then … something else, light? Yes, light. Light that soothed and took away the pain, leaving only an endless abyss that was blessedly free of pain. An eternity passed in the abyss, or perhaps it was only a moment, there was no way to tell. But then the abyss was shattered by touch, voices, and the pain came creeping back. It was not as bad as before, but it still hurt. Why did it have to hurt? Darkness came, stealing away the senses and fending off the pain with oblivion.</p>
<p>Eternity passed again without note. There was nothing, no pain, and that was fine. Then, through the oblivion…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Medical Stasis Lock: In effect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Still necessary? Calculating…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Diagnostic: Necessary.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Running diagnostic: … Diagnostic complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Spark integration: Complete</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Spark stability: 99.99999%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Frame status: Fully Functioning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Startup sequence: Initiate? Y/N.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Yes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Initiating Startup Sequence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Medical Stasis Lock: Overridden.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Optical Systems: On. Protective shutters deployed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Tactile Sensory System: Active. Beginning data stream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Fuel Analyzer: On. No data inputted. System standing by.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Audial Systems: On. Beginning data stream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Error: Unable to analyze auditory data. Determining problem…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Problem found: Current processor functions: Inadequate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Higher Functions: Deactivated. Reactivate? Y/N.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Yes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Higher Processor Functions: Reactivating…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Cognizance Matrix: Activating … Online.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cognizance? Was that important? Was … he coming back online? <em>Right … I’m a he … I’m a person…</em> The words continued to scroll across the darkness, heedless of his sluggish thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Logic Center: Activating … Online.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Emotion Core: Activating … Online.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Resuming Audial data stream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sounds came, disjointed and fuzzy, but there. One of the sounds became a voice, muttering and talking. The voice sounded directly next to his right audio receptor, “…Coming online- be ready for- reaction.” <em>Who? Who is that? Who … who are they talking about?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Memory Core: Activating … Online.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Memory File Check: In progress … Error. Error. Error.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Unable to open personal memory files.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Running Diagnostic:…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Diagnostic Complete: Cannot access previously recorded personal files on Memory Drives because of damage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Attempting Repairs … repairs failed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Personal Memory Files: Unretrievable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Bypass personal memory files? Y/N.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Why can’t I…? What happened to me?</em> The voice started talking more urgently and, hoping for an answer, he tried to listen in, “Slag! Memory- just as- feared.” <em>Well, that’s no help.</em> Ignoring the disjointed, one-sided chatter, he contemplated the latest message in confused frustration. Finally, he mentally selected an answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Yes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Bypassing personal memory files … Bypass complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Resuming Startup Sequence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly, everything clicked into place in his helm and he carefully opened his optics. <em>Where?</em> A faceplate peered down at him with a worried expression. The owner of the faceplate, a mech with a white helm and an orange chevron, said, “There we go … easy now. Can you hear me? What is your designation?”</p>
<p>He frowned at the questions, <em>my … designation?</em> Obediently, he tried to remember the answer to the strange mech’s question. Another error message appeared on his HUD and he felt the frown deepen, <em>I have to have a designation! Think … I have to have one. So what is it? Fragging memory files. Fragging-!</em> The mech leaning above him was growing worried by his silence. Resetting his vocalizer once or twice, he hesitantly started to speak, “M-my designation…” <em>Is that my voice? It sounds … wrong. Shouldn’t it be higher? Not so … bass?</em></p>
<p>His subconscious effort to remember triggered another error message and he growled angrily. <em>Why can’t I remember? I should at least know my own designation!</em> Desperately, he scrambled for a designation, any designation.</p>
<p>The, blessedly functioning, memory file of something he’d heard during his startup sequence came back to him and he blurted, “Slag. My designation … is Slag.” He cocked his helm slowly to one side and asked carefully, “Do I … know you?”</p>
<p>An unreadable look flitted over the other mech’s faceplates before being replaced by a gentle smile, “My designation is Ratchet. I’m a medic. Do you know what that is?”</p>
<p>Slag nodded slowly as he discovered he was still able to pull up general information files from his memory drives, “Yes. I … know what that is. You, repaired me?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded, “Yes, I repaired you. You suffered extreme damage during a battle and your spark had to be transferred to a different frame. Do you remember your faction?”</p>
<p>Slag checked his general files and felt brief relief when he found the relevant data, including a tiny byte of personal data that had somehow gotten logged under general information, thus making him able to view it, “I am an Autobot. We are currently at war with the Decepticons … who are led by Megatron.”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded again, “Good. Very good. You’re going to be just fine. That’s enough for now, just take it easy and get some recharge. You’ve been in medical stasis for metacycles but that is no replacement for actual recharge.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stood up and left the room, leaving Slag alone with his thoughts and the beeping medical equipment. Slag stared blankly at the ceiling for a few breems, his thoughts wandering randomly as he tried to activate his recharge protocols instead of constantly pinging his inaccessible personal memory files. <em>If he repaired me, why can’t I remember?</em></p>
<p>Slowly, Slag raised his left servo into his line of sight and examined it. It was large, the servo of a large mech. A Brute class mech maybe. The paint on the servo was severely scuffed and chipped but what remained was a dull silver color. <em>I … this is my frame now. But what did my old one look like?</em> Another automatic error message made Slag huff angrily and lower his servo, <em>my personal files are probably just fragmented. I’ll have that Ratchet fellow look at them later. He repaired the rest of me, surely he can fix up my files.</em> With that thought, Slag was finally able to activate his recharge protocols and drift away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ratchet strode into the large office utilized by all of the medical staff, his gaze immediately seeking out and finding Cogwheel. The veteran surgeon met his gaze, a question in her many optics, “Is he…?”</p>
<p>Ratchet forced himself to walk the rest of the way into the room before collapsing into a chair next to Cogwheel, “The mech in Room Five is online and will make a fully functional recovery. But … we need to update the Medical Registry.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel was easily able to pick up on Ratchet’s tone and guess it’s meaning, “What is Autobot Tuyere’s status?”</p>
<p>Ratchet ran a servo over his faceplates, trying futilely to ease the tension and pain in his helm, “Offline. Permanently offline.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel vented softly, “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded slowly and vented harshly a few times, “I’m sure. The memory files … Tuyere’s memories … they’re gone. I can’t repair damage that extensive and any memories that were potentially salvageable would have opened, even if they were fragmented, during the startup sequence. Autobot Tuyere … no longer exists.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel bowed her helm sadly, they both knew that there was a high risk of complete personal memory loss during an emergency spark transfer. But to know that it was true in this instance was still hard. Straightening up, Cogwheel powered on the nearest console, she was never one to linger on the unsolvable, “Who currently resides in Room Five?”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared unseeingly at the wall as he answered softly, “Autobot Slag. Brute class.” <em>I’m so sorry, Tuyere. I did everything I could. I … tried everything there was,</em> bowing his helm he silently promised, <em>and I’ll keep trying. I’ll protect … Slag as much as I can. I’ll see that he finds a new place among the Autobots. I’ll see that he makes you proud and maybe … one cycle … you’ll wake up again.</em></p>
<p>With a shake of his helm and faint, humorless chuckle he added, <em>After all, the impossible seems to be happening a lot lately. Especially where Starwish is involved…</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. What We See</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunstreaker held Fast Track possessively close, insisting that the little red-and-grey youngling sit in his lap as he drew on a datapad. Fast Track paused in his careful attempt at shading and looked up at Sunstreaker worriedly, <em>“Are you mad at me?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker blinked down at the youngling in his lap, <em>“Of course not, Track. Why would you think that?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track lightly bit his bottom lip component and tilted his helm to an angle as he answered, <em>“Ever since we told stories about Earth, you’ve … felt weird. Did we make you mad? Star and Wire said not to tell anyone about Earth but I thought…”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker immediately hugged the youngling in his lap, <em>“No!” </em>Pausing, he worked on only projecting a calm aura, <em>“No, Fast Track. I’m not mad at either of you. I just … you surprised me with those stories. It’s hard to believe that you … weren’t always mine.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track gave a tiny whine of confusion, <em>“Why does that make you unhappy?”</em> Sunstreaker almost told Fast Track the truth, <em>Because the thought of you being so fragile when I wasn’t there to protect you scares me. The thought of what you must have gone through to become Cybertronian makes me want to kill something on your behalf. The knowledge that you were stolen from your planet and home makes me want to hurt someone, but if you hadn’t been then I wouldn’t have you now … and that thought scares me most of all.</em></p>
<p>Instead, Sunstreaker gently nuzzled Fast Track’s helm and said, <em>“Not unhappy, Track. Just … thoughtful. You’ll understand when you’re older.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track sighed and blurted out loud, “Why do adults always say that?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker huffed, “Because it’s true. Now, I think that mech of yours needs a little more of a shadow, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Fast Track looked back down at his picture, conversation forgotten, “Okay!” Sunstreaker mentally groaned in relief at having deflected the conversation away from such a sensitive topic. He was still trying to wrap his processor around the fact that Zipline and Fast Track had not been originally, well, Cybertronian. He knew he believed them, the … clarity of the shared memories left no room for doubt. He and Sideswipe were far too skilled at recognizing accidentally shared memories to fall for fake ones. But the concept of it had brought him close to glitching more than a few times.</p>
<p>Luckily, his and Sideswipe’s parental programing had kicked in immediately, preventing a glitch and rerouting their shock and confusion into possessiveness. Sunstreaker tightened his hold fractionally on Fast Track instinctively, he wasn’t intending to let go of his young charge anytime soon.</p>
<p>Next to him, Sideswipe kept Zipline entertained in his lap by helping him play a small servo-held video game that Hot Shot had given the younglings as an apology for the previous scare. He too was plagued with possessive feelings and he was holding Zipline even more tightly than Sunstreaker was holding Fast Track. He always had been the more touch-orientated of the two so Sunstreaker wasn’t surprised by that.</p>
<p>They were sitting in their new, thankfully much larger, quarters. The rec room had seemed to be too crowded with strangers after the revelations of the twinlings’ past, their parental programming making them too overly paranoid to relax. Zipline and Fast Track had complained a little bit, but promises of games and art lessons had made them complacent to their guardians’ demands.</p>
<p>Without looking up from the game Zipline was playing, Sideswipe asked, <em>“Hey, Sunny?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker briefly glanced up from watching Fast Track draw before resuming his careful supervision, <em>“Yeah?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sent a small worried pulse to his twin, carefully shielding his bond with the twinlings so as not to bother them at the same time, <em>“What do you think Jazz will do? With the info, I mean. If the truth was heard by the wrong kind of mechs…”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker suppressed a dark growl and automatically shielded their charges from his anger at the concept Sideswipe had pointed out, <em>“Jazz will keep the secret. He knows not to tell anyone who might harm the twinlings or their siblings.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe nodded faintly, <em>“I know. But what if someone overheard? I know Jazz had the table and it’s nearby area shielded with a sound-proof field, but what if-?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker interrupted, <em>“If anyone tries </em><b><em>anything</em></b><em> against the twinlings, we kill them.”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker could sense that Sideswipe’s first instinct was to agree with him, but then doubt appeared, <em>“Even if it’s an Autobot?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker curled his lip plating briefly before forcing his faceplates back into a neutral expression, <em>“Even if it’s Primus himself. No one will cause that kind of harm to the twinlings ever again as long as our sparks still beat. No one.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe relaxed a little bit, <em>“Yeah. You’re right … and if we find the one who did this to them?”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker mused over that idea, what would they do if they ever found the mech who had turned the twinlings, Starwish, and Hardwire into cybertronians? His optics flashed a dark blue, <em>“Anyone who is willing to do this kind of … transformation can’t have any moral coding. Also, he’d probably want his ‘projects’ back. If we find him, we kill him before he gets to even </em><b><em>look</em></b><em> at the twinlings.”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sent a pulse of agreement over their bond and turned the majority of his focus back to Zipline, “No, no, no! Take the tunnel on the left, Zip!”</p>
<p>Zipline whined stubbornly, “But the right tunnel is shorter!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe huffed, “The right tunnel looks too easy, it has to be a trap.”</p>
<p>Zipline shook his helm and bent closer to the game screen, “<em>Nu-uh</em>.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe paused at the strange noise before stubbornly answering, “Yes it is.”</p>
<p>Zipline paused the game to glower at Sideswipe, “You’re supposed to say <em>uh-huh</em> when I say <em>nu-uh</em> and it is not a trap!” Having thus set his guardian straight, Zipline resumed the game.</p>
<p>Sideswipe paused, considering Zipline’s statement while Sunstreaker suppressed a groan of despair at the mischievous feeling that drifted over their bond, “It’s a trap.”</p>
<p>Zipline didn’t look away from carefully guiding his game character as he grunted, “<em>Nu-uh</em>.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe lightly rested his helm on top of Zipline’s, “<em>Uh-huh</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>Nu-uh</em>!”</p>
<p>“<em>Uh-huh</em>!”</p>
<p>“<b><em>Nu-uh</em></b>!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Fast Track looked at each other and groaned aloud as the senseless argument comprised entirely of <b>grunts</b> grew steadily louder. Fast Track stared thoughtfully at Sideswipe and Zipline for a few kliks before asking seriously, “<em>Daddy</em>?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker stopped trying to get Sideswipe to shut up through their bond long enough to answer distractedly, “Yes, Fast Track?”</p>
<p>“Was Sideswipe dropped on his helm when he was a sparkling?” Silence abruptly fell over the room as everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at Fast Track. <em>Dropped on his…?</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker burst out laughing while Sideswipe sputtered, “I was not!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker restrained his laughter long enough to say between bouts of sniggers, “Th-that would explain a-a lot!”</p>
<p>Fast Track blinked seriously at his guardians, clearly not understanding what was so funny about his question. Sideswipe growled indignantly when Sunstreaker’s laughter didn’t abate for almost a breem, <em>“Stop laughing at me!”</em></p>
<p>Sunstreaker only sent flickering mental images to his twin of a sparkling-Sideswipe being dropped by an overcharged Ratchet on his helm in response, too busy trying to stop overheating his frame with laughter to make a coherent sentence. As Sunstreaker finally got his laughter under control, he sensed Sideswipe giving him a deadpan expression and turned to look at him quizzically, <em>“What?”</em></p>
<p>Sideswipe sent the image back to Sunstreaker, causing the yellow twin to nearly lose control of his laughter all over again. When Sunstreaker’s newest bout of chuckles dissipated, Sideswipe said flatly, “You … have a really, really twisted sense of humor, Sunny. Do not pass it on to Fast Track. Or Zipline. Know what? Don’t even laugh anymore, it might be contagious.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker sarcastically swatted Sideswipe’s helm as he grunted, “Don’t call me that and, seriously? My sense of humor is twisted? You’re the one who thinks magnetizing Ratchet’s and Ironhide’s afts together is fun.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shrugged easily as he ruefully rubbed his helm, “What can I say? Good times.”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Fast Track and Zipline shared a long look as their two dads started arguing blandly over their helms before shrugging and resuming their separate activities. They’re guardians could be so weird sometimes. Fast Track stopped shading and looked critically at his picture of the strange cybertronian as he briefly wondered why Sunstreaker had not answered his question. <em>Oh well.</em> Picking up his stylus again, Fast Track added another small scribble to the side of the picture mech’s helm, carefully trying to recreate the image that had haunted his latest recharge.</p>
<p>Nodding in satisfaction, Fast Track carefully moved to write on the bottom of the picture in a small clear space, <em>What did that other mech call him? Oh yeah!</em> He frowned, he didn’t know how to spell part of the dream-mech’s name. Looking up, Fast Track interrupted Sunstreaker’s and Sideswipe’s conversation to ask, “How to you spell, ‘Al- Alche- Alchemist’?”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Cliffjumper winced sympathetically as Vibes finished telling her story, “That’s rough. Poor youngling, she wasn’t even there very long but…”</p>
<p>Vibes nodded glumly as she swung her legs back and forth in a youngling-like manner, “I’ was lon’ enough, Ah reckon. She didn’ go through too much in tha physical department, but mentally? Ah think i’s messed her up bad.” Vibes sighed and tossed her helm backwards to stare morosely at the ceiling, “Ah was kinda hopin’ thah ya might have more insight on how ta help her than Chromia an’ tha others. They don’ have any ideas on how ta make her feel betta beyond keepin’ her company an’ lettin’ her move back inta her Guardian’s quarters for awhile.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper shifted his weight lightly from pede to pede, his optic ridges furrowed in thought. He wanted to help, that was certain, but he wasn’t sure he could come up with any better ideas than Elita-1 or Chromia or anyone else who knew Starwish and her family. Glancing at Vibes briefly, he mused aloud, “Well, let’s see. What would make me feel better if I had just gone through all of that? A drink? A gift? Company?” He strained to come up with more ideas, it had been so long since he’d operated in even a vaguely civilian mindset. For soldiers, the most common treatment for trauma was burying it under a thick combination of missions, high grade, and the company of comrades who worked every cycle to bury the same horrid memory files as they.</p>
<p>Some soldiers probably went to see Rung, a psychologist and one of the few remaining non-military Autobots on Cybertron, whenever they were in Iacon, but most mechs and femmes preferred the suppression technique. It was easier to focus on surviving the next fight if you didn’t relive the previous ones in agonizing detail.</p>
<p>But for Starwish, a femling not even in her adult frame, and Hardwire, a newly upgraded mech who had only ever seen two battles, the necessary skill of suppression hadn’t been acquired yet. It wasn’t something that could really be taught either, so that left Cliffjumper in his current situation, thoughtfully pacing in his quarters with Vibes watching him expectantly. <em>There has to be something to help keep their processors off of their recent experiences, at least for a while. Something that won’t just distract them either, it has to be something that will actually make them happy. What could make them really happy again after being captured by Shockwave? The twinlings would probably help … but that won’t be enough.</em></p>
<p>Stopping his pacing, Cliffjumper leaned against the wall next to the locked door to his quarters and huffed faintly, “What could make them feel happy again after going through the Pit like that for the first time?” <em>Think Cliffjumper…</em></p>
<p>Vibes spoke up almost wistfully, “Ah know what would make meh feel happy ‘gain, especially after havin’ a brush wit’ Shockwave. Home.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s thought processes came to a brief stop as he tilted his helm, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Vibes stared thoughtfully down at her servos, “What Ah said, home. Anything tha could remind meh of happy, non-war memories.” She sighed longingly, “Like a Polyhexian oil cake, mmm. Add some high grade an’ a music track by Comet-Blaze … thah would make meh happy no matter what Ah’d jus’ gone through.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper straightened up with a triumphant grin, “That’s what we do then! We give them a reminder of the comforts of their old home!”</p>
<p>Vibes deadpanned at her friend, “Great plan, Cliff, wonderful plan. ‘Cept, you know, tha part where we don’ know where they even came from. How are we supposed ta remind ‘em of home when we don’ know what their home city was? Or if they even lived in a city!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s smile fell, <em>oh yeah … that’s right.</em> With a faint frown, he rapidly started to peruse his memory files, searching through his previous conversations with Starwish, Hardwire, and the Twinlings for anything that might be useful. Finally, he found and latched onto a particular memory, reviewing it a few times as his triumphant grin returned, “I have the perfect idea.”</p>
<p>Vibes cocked her helm to one side, “Wha? Yah know somethin’ ‘bout their home city?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper’s grin, if possible, got even bigger, “Even better. Come on!” Whirling, he made for the door, wirelessly unlocking it as he did so.</p>
<p>Vibes slid off of her perch and trotted after him into the halls, “Hey! Wait up! Wha’s this big idea o’ yours?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper looked over his shoulder at her eagerly, “I’ll tell you on the way! Hurry up, Vibes!”</p>
<p>Vibes huffed as she trotted to keep up with Cliffjumper, obviously confused at what was making him so cheerful, “Dare Ah ask … on tha way ta where?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper pointedly ignored the odd looks the two were getting from passersby as he led her to the nearest turbolift, “Que’s lab. If we’re gonna pull this off correctly, we’re going to need his help.” He cocked his helm to one side, considering something for a moment while Vibes stared at him incredulously and mouthed the words “Que” and “help” repeatedly in bafflement.</p>
<p>Cliffjumper nodded to himself firmly, “Actually, Vibes, know anyone who wouldn’t mind helping out in their off-duty time and can keep a secret? We’re going to need a lot of backup to pull this off. Oh, and the Prime’s permission … and maybe some sedative…”</p>
<p>Vibes stared at him for several breems without a word as the turbolift took them down several levels to the Science Wing of the base. Cliffjumper pulled his thoughts away from his plans long enough to blink at her, “Uh, Vibes? You okay?”</p>
<p>Vibes shook her helm and leaned against the back wall of the turbolift, “Ah’m either gonna have tha best time in vorns or regret this for tha rest o’ mah life-time.” Looking at Cliffjumper sidelong, she smirked, “Where do we start?”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Prehnite looked over the report once more before setting it down and staring thoughtfully off into the distance, not bothering stir from her contemplation as her mate approached. Acknowledging the meaning of her silence, her mate stood behind her and rested his servos gently on her shoulder plating, a solid anchor of support and comfort as her thoughts danced along the edges of darker memories.</p>
<p>Finally, Prehnite whispered, “Am I right?” Her mate hummed questioningly, prompting her without words to elaborate. Prehnite sighed and looked down at the datapad in her servo, “Am I right to allow such a burden to fall on the shoulders of ones so young?”</p>
<p>With a low rumble in his chest plating, her mate answered, “I thought we were past the stage of second-guessing in our lives, My Spark.”</p>
<p>Prehnite huffed and tilted her helm backwards briefly, relishing in the silver silence all around them, away from the hubbub of the HQ, away from gazes that watched her with the clear expectation that she knew exactly what she was doing. Here, she could ask the question bearing down on her spark, “For ourselves perhaps, but for others…”</p>
<p>The servos resting on her shoulders caressed her plating gently, soothing the cables underneath with well-practiced motions, “It is necessary and they are clearly strong enough.”</p>
<p>Prehnite frowned briefly, “But does that make it right, My Spark? Does that condone what they have experienced? I … I did not think she would suffer through such trauma so soon, I thought-”</p>
<p>The mech standing behind her cut off her sentence sternly, “We learned a long time ago that such things cannot be predicted, even here. As for whether it is right, you have seen what happens otherwise. What might still happen, even. Do you think that beings such as the Travers would refuse to help in any way they could, if they knew the entirety of the truth and if we had asked for their aid?”</p>
<p>Prehnite watched the silver mist coil and morph around them, never ceasing yet never making a sound in its endless dance all around the two as she pondered her mate’s question, “No. They would not have refused if they had been told, of that I am sure. But it still plagues me that we never had the time to explain in the first place. We never had time to <b>ask</b>.”</p>
<p>The servos gently massaging her shoulders briefly squeezed in an understanding way, “I understand. But what is done, is done, correct? All we can do now is watch and hope for the best.”</p>
<p>Prehnite watched as the mist around them suddenly rippled and tinged a light lavender color, signifying the passing by of someone she knew well, “Watching and hoping are not really Dawn’s style. I still do not think assigning her to watch the proceedings was the best idea.”</p>
<p>This bland comment elicited a gruff laugh from her sparkmate, “You would prefer to have her wandering around without anything to do?” Prehnite’s groaning sigh was all the answer he needed and another laugh pierced the air, “I thought not. Now, how about we see how that ‘secret’ betting pool between the Agents is faring? I hear that Team Duet is going well.”</p>
<p>Prehnite jerked free of her mate’s servos to whirl and stare at him incredulously, “You are not-!”</p>
<p>White optics glinted at her mischievously, “Me? Oh no, I am quite serious. Although I am quite fond of Team Artist, personally. Much more interesting than the other teams, even with the five-to-one odds…”</p>
<p>Prehnite smacked her mate’s chest plates sternly as she laughed in a mixture of horror and amusement, “Vector!”</p>
<p>Her cry was met with a booming laugh and the retort of, “What? It isn’t as if I placed money on it … not <b>much</b> money, anyway.”</p>
<p>Shaking her helm in disgust, Prehnite stalked towards the exit to their silver sanctuary, “I cannot believe you some cycles.”</p>
<p>He followed her out, calling cheekily, “What? Is it because you prefer Team Duet?” Prehnite shot her sparkmate a deadly look over her shoulder at his comment before setting off to resume her task of managing everyone. <em>Teams indeed. Love is no betting matter to be assigned odds and variables! Was he this insufferable when the others were around?</em></p>
<p>As she turned to acknowledge Andromeda hurrying toward her with a report, she added mentally, <em>Besides, anyone with optics can see to whom her spark belongs. There was never any doubt from the moment they first set optics on each other.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0052"><h2>52. Remembering Loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish blinked her way into wakefulness slowly, her systems still feeling sluggish after the stress leading to her power down. Someone was calling her name gently and her resting place jiggled faintly in time to the call, dragging her out of recharge. <em>Hmmm?</em> The sensation of arms cradling her gently and a loving, accepting pulse echoing to her spark made her stir and look up into the gaze of her Guardian, Ultra Magnus, “Opi…?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus gave her a tiny smile, “Hello, Little One. How was your recharge?”</p>
<p>Starwish sighed contentedly, feeling far too comfortable and warm in Magnus’s arms to want to move as she replied, “Better than usual. I…” She frowned quizzically as she tried to remember what had happened in her recharge, “I dreamed of a place filled with singing crystals, Opi. But, I’ve never been there before and Ratchet says holographic fluxes only play out memory files or mixed data feeds…”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus huffed the tiniest laugh for reasons lost on Starwish, “That is because I gave you one of my own memories over our bond. You were having a bad holographic flux and I believed that a memory of the Praxus Crystal Gardens would soothe it.”</p>
<p>Starwish gasped faintly, her optics going wide with wonder, “Y-you … you can do that over a bond?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nodded, “If the bond is strong enough and one has enough concentration, yes.”</p>
<p>Starwish carefully reached up and wrapped her arms around Ultra Magnus’s neck in a loose hug, <em>“Thanks for that then, Opi.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus held her more tightly for a moment as he replied, <em>“You are most welcome, Little One.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish lay there contentedly, her mind wandering over the memory imparted to her by Ultra Magnus. It was so beautiful there, with crystals even taller than Ultra Magnus that shifted colors delicately according to the angle of the light as their soft songs harmonized perfectly. Just thinking about the shared memory caused her to feel relaxed and happy, as if nothing could go wrong in the world.</p>
<p>As she mused over the memory, she saw something new and hesitantly looked up at her Guardian again, “Opi?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sent her a gentle wave of warm affection as he answered, “Yes, Little One?”</p>
<p>Starwish paused, curious yet cautious all the same, she hated the thought of ruining this nice moment with her Guardian because of a question. Sensing her reluctance, Ultra Magnus gently prodded the bond, indicating that he was willing to listen to her query. Starwish pursed her lips for a moment before blurting, “Who is the femme in the memory? The sea-blue and white one with wings?”</p>
<p>She sensed Ultra Magnus stiffen subtly and immediately rushed to apologize, “I’m sorry! I was just curious but if it’s private-”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus gently cut off her apology, “No, Little One. I should have … expected you to notice her and … you have a right to ask.” He vented heavily before continuing, a tinge of lonely melancholy and sad fondness ghosting across their bond as he continued, “Her designation was Andromeda and … she was my sparkmate.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt like her spark had just dropped out of its chamber, “Was?”</p>
<p>Her Opi nodded. Sadness, forlorn love, and a host of other emotions flickering on his side of the bond, just out of her reach but still strong enough to be sensed, “Yes. She and I had been mated for just over fifty vorns.”</p>
<p>He paused and looked down at Starwish fondly, “You would have loved her, Little One, and she would have adored you. Andromeda was kind, honorable, brave, loyal … and had the fiercest temper I’d ever seen. The first time we met was because she had gotten into a fight with three Elite-Guard Trainees in Maccadam’s Old Oil House and sent them to the nearest medbay for harassing a friend of hers. I was sent down to the scene to investigate on behalf of my superiors and she ignored the enforcers trying to arrest her for assault in favor of lecturing me on remembering to teach the trainees proper etiquette.”</p>
<p>He gave a low chuckle and Starwish couldn’t help but smile at the thought of such a fiery femme and how happy the memory seemed to make her Opi, “We kept encountering each other afterwards until I finally requested permission to court her. We were sparkbonded soon afterwards.”</p>
<p>His chuckling died down and Starwish sensed the lingering sadness again. Wrapping her arms more tightly around Ultra Magnus, she whispered timidly, “What happened to her?”</p>
<p>His answer made her snuggle closer against his armor in an effort to comfort him, “She was killed during one of the first terrorist attacks enacted by Megatron’s followers before the war. She was … there was a bomb planted beneath a city power line that ran to the nearest military base and … the rupture caused a three block long explosion.”</p>
<p>Starwish huddled against Ultra Magnus, “I-I’m…” Her voice trailed off, what was she supposed to say? That she was sorry? It sounded like a platitude, a customary response that held no true empathy. Ultra Magnus’s pain was an old one, existing long before she had ever come into his life, so who was she to offer comfort? Instinctively she hugged him more tightly, reaching out through their bond to try to express what words couldn’t convey.</p>
<p>She sent impressions of sympathy, regret for bringing up such a sensitive topic, longing to make Ultra Magnus’s pain go away even though there was nothing she could do. On top of all that was the understanding of what it meant to lose family. Because even if she could never comprehend the pain of losing a sparkmate, she knew what it meant to lose a loved one. Her original parents, her good friend Nadine, her entire home-world.</p>
<p>The last piece of understanding she suddenly tried to retract and hide as she realized just how clearly she had projected that thought. <em>What will he think if he hears that? He’ll think I’m mocking him, or crazy, or-! </em>A large yet gentle servo rubbed her back plating reassuringly, stemming the rush of her panicked thoughts, “I already know, Little One.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared, wide-opticed at a part of Ultra Magnus’s chest plating, “W-what?”</p>
<p>The servo continued to rub soothingly as he whispered, “I already know about where you come from … what you originally were. I saw it in your holographic fluxes. Other evidence had also previously brought your origins to my attention. I already know,” his next words rang clearly across their bond with love and certainty, <em>“and I still love you as my own.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish didn’t move for several breems, some part of her illogically afraid that if she moved, it would magically undo the words she had just heard. Ultra Magnus knew she used to be human … and he accepted it? Was that truly possible? He really, truly believed that she had not always been Cybertronian … and yet he still loved her as his charge? He still saw her no differently than before?</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus seemed to sense her disbelief and shock and sent another pulse of reassurance to her, <em>“I will admit that the revelation was … unsettling at first. But you are my charge, my Little One, there is nothing in your past that can change that fact. I would not truly be your guardian if I did not accept you as you are, mysterious origins or not.”</em> When Starwish offered no response to his words, Ultra Magnus shifted her in his arms slightly and gave her a worried look, <em>“Little One?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish felt her armor begin to shake as she rasped out, “Who else-?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus hugged her more tightly and said, “Other than myself? Data hinting at your origins was revealed to the Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Prowl, Inferno, and Jazz. We thought … Mirage had recovered an encrypted video from Shockwave’s lab and we thought it would have data about what happened there. Instead it contained a recording of Shockwave’s attempt to use the Cortical Psychic Patch.” Starwish shook even more at the mention of Shockwave and Magnus hesitantly finished, “You were amazing, Little One. You drove him from your processor through strength of will. But in the process, several of your … pre-Cybertronian memories came to the fore.”</p>
<p><em>So many know. What will they do? The Decepticons know! What will I do? What will Ratchet do? Will he lock us up? Do they know Hardwire and the Twinlings are the same as me? What do I do, what do I do, what do I do-</em> A strong, chastising pulse over the bond snapped her sharply out of her mental panicking, “Starwish! Remain calm. Mirage destroyed the Decepticon’s copy of the recording and Shockwave most likely suffered processor damage from your attack. It is doubtful he will remember any of what he saw within your mind. As for the rest of us … do you truly trust Ratchet and the Prime so little? Do you truly believe I would let any harm befall you, at Decepticon or Autobot servos?”</p>
<p>The faint, hurt feelings that she sensed when Magnus asked the last question made her realize what her accidentally broadcast thoughts must have sounded like to him. It would have sounded like an utter lack of faith in not only the Autobots, but in her Guardian’s ability and will to protect her. Starwish vented deeply a few times in order to stop her armor from shaking and whispered apologetically, “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t let any harm come to me and I know that Ratchet and Optimus would never try to hurt me I just … I’m afraid.” <em>Afraid of what they’ll think. Afraid of them treating me any differently. Afraid … afraid of word getting out and hurting my family.</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus slowly sat up, placing Starwish in his large lap as he did so, and tilted her helm up so as to look her directly in the optics, “You are safe here, Starwish. You and your family. Your secret will not be shared with anyone else and no matter if anyone else on the Prime’s command staff choose to believe your past or not, they will not let any harm come to you,” he gave her the tiniest of smiles, “and I will personally ensure that they do not let their knowledge adversely affect their interactions with you.”</p>
<p>One part of Starwish wondered how Ultra Magnus could hope to keep his last promise, but the rest of her was content to hold an almost childish faith in the words of her Guardian. After the stress and fear of her captivity, if felt wonderful to simply trust someone. To believe that she would be protected by someone. Reaching up, Starwish hugged Magnus again, “I love you.” She whispered impulsively, her words filled with a sincerity that showed over their bond as well as all of the gratitude that she felt the words “thank you” simply could not express.</p>
<p>In a rare moment of unbridled affection, Ultra Magnus engulfed her in a massive return hug, a motion that had only ever happened rarely because of his nature and trained restraint, “The same to you, My Youngling. The same to you.” Slowly pulling away from the the hug, Ultra Magnus briefly rubbed one of her audio amplifiers before saying softly, “Do you feel well enough to partake in some energon with me, Little One? Optimus gave me a few joors leave to spend with you.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled brightly for what felt like the first time in a long time, all concerns over her revealed past and Shockwave washing away at the promise of finally spending time with her perpetually busy Guardian, “Absolutely.”</p>
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<p>Arcee attempted to muffle a laugh behind her servo as Hardwire regaled her with a tale of a prank pulled off by his younger mech siblings and their Guardians, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Apparently, the four had once seen fit to see what would happen if they mixed paint tint into the cleaning solutions of the femmes’ wash racks, leading to a furious, brown-tinted, Flareup, Chromia, and Moonracer chasing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker through the base while a puzzled Hound wondered why the Twinlings had been suddenly deposited in his lap.</p>
<p>Arcee’s attempt to stifle her laughter failed and she held up a servo to briefly stop his story while her vents and cooling fans lowered the heat building in her frame. When she was finally ready to listen to his story again, she asked incredulously, “Didn’t anyone stop them?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, his optics briefly taking in the view afforded them in the observatory before looking over at her again, “Cliffjumper tried and nearly got run over. Everyone else just kept a safe distance, and possibly made bets, until Optimus and Prowl caught up and made them stop. Optimus made the twins strain the tint out of the cleaning solution and Prowl insisted they try it on themselves before sending them to the brig.” Hardwire’s mouth twitched, “Sunstreaker almost refused to come out of the brig until his paint reverted from being brown … and a dark magenta Sideswipe was … quite a sight to see.”</p>
<p>Arcee burst out laughing again, she’d heard about Sunstreaker’s reputation for being overly attentive to his paint job, so she could only imagine what being turned brown must have done to his temper. Hardwire laughed with her, his deeper chuckling sending a shiver briefly down her frame.</p>
<p>They had arrived in the observatory without incident and were now sitting on the floor, waiting for Bulkhead to come join them. But at the moment, Arcee found herself thoroughly enjoying Hardwire’s sole company. Unlike her initial, automatic, suspicions, he had proven to be a gentle-natured, good-humored mech who simply enjoyed conversing with Arcee as an equal. Recovering from her laughter, Arcee shook her helm lazily, “I probably would have traded a cube of high-grade to see that.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot her a casual grin, “Don’t worry, once they get fully settled into Iacon, they’ll inevitably pull off something just as spectacular.” His grin turned a tiny bit exasperated as he shook his helm, “I swear Sideswipe is trying to turn them into mini-versions of himself sometimes.”</p>
<p>Arcee raised an optic ridge, “Is that … bad? Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are known as the best frontliners in the entire Autobot army.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s face immediately dropped the smile, “They are. But … I don’t want the twinlings to be turned into overly cocky glitches and get into trouble they can’t handle. If anything happened to them…”</p>
<p>Arcee felt like slapping herself, she had just ruined the mood, fraggit! Just from listening to the prank story, Arcee had picked up on the fact that Hardwire was extremely fond of the two younglings. Not unreasonable considering how rare younglings were, everyone from Algol probably adored them. <em>Tailgate always loved younglings too-</em> With a sudden intake through her vents, Arcee tried to cut off that line of thought. Images of her partner flashed through her unwilling mind, first of him laughing and playing with the younglings they had once met while passing through a Neutral City, then of him hanging limply from stasis cuffs, his energon dribbling like a stream to the dirty metal floor beneath him while Arcee was forced to simply look on and scream futilely.</p>
<p>The images were slowly dispelled by the sensation of shaking and a voice calling through a wall of static in her audios, “-cee! Arcee! <b>Arcee</b>!” The last shout finally punctured her internal torment and sent her jolting back to awareness.</p>
<p>As her optics started focusing again, she saw strong arms the color of dark green on either side of her helm, the servos to which they were attached shaking her shoulders firmly, <em>wha-?</em> “Tailgate…?” <em>Why is-?</em> Her vision finally focused and locked with sympathetic red optics as she realized she had fallen into a memory flux.</p>
<p>The shaking stopped and Hardwire’s voice dropped to a gentle murmur, “You okay now?”</p>
<p>Arcee felt her spark nearly spasm with the intensity of her emotions. Shame at being seen in such a vulnerable mental state, anger at his question, his <b>pity</b>. Of course she wasn’t “okay”! Pulling away, she roughly brushed off his servos and stood up, pacing a few steps toward the window to avoid meeting Hardwire’s gaze any longer, “I’m fine,” she snapped coldly, “just … remembering.”</p>
<p>Her keen audios picked up the sound of Hardwire standing up, his voice unreadable as he said quietly, “You were hyperventilating.”</p>
<p>Arcee briefly ground her denta together in frustration, “I never said they were happy memories. Or that it was any of your business.” A tiny piece of her regretted her words the moment she said them, Hardwire had done nothing to deserve her venomous words. But it was too late to take them back, and even if she could take them back, Arcee was in too bad of a mood to do so.</p>
<p>She expected Hardwire to either get mad and return her venomous tone, storm off, or ask her if she wanted to “talk about it” out of pity and internally braced herself when her sensors detected Hardwire coming closer. Hardwire slowly came to a stop just behind her and to her right, just on the edge of her peripheral vision, “Fair enough.” His tone was carefully controlled and Arcee wondered just how reluctant his words were. <em>At least he knows enough to back off.</em></p>
<p>An uncomfortable silence stretched between them for a breem or two, during which Arcee mentally brooded, before Hardwire commented idly, “I wonder what’s taking Bulkhead so long with the energon.” Arcee didn’t reply, she just continued to glare out the window at the sprawling scenery of Iacon. Another breem passed before the much taller mech heaved a sigh and said, “You shouldn’t do that you know.”</p>
<p>Arcee glanced at Hardwire’s reflection in the glass, “Do what?” she asked icily.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s reflection showed that he continued to watch Iacon instead of her as he answered softly, “That. Cut yourself off from everyone in the world and brood. It doesn’t help things very much.”</p>
<p>Arcee’s scowl deepened, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged his shoulders easily, “I know more about it than you might think.”</p>
<p>Arcee snorted disdainfully, not even caring how insulting the motion might be. <em>Yeah right. </em>“Really.” Her voice left no doubt that she didn’t believe him. True, he was a fellow Autobot and had inevitably seen the horrors of war. He had probably even lost a few friends. But he had no idea what she was going through. He had never lost a partner.</p>
<p>Through the reflection, she could see Hardwire’s gaze grow a touch harder at her tone, “Really. You are not the first to lose someone close to them, nor will you be the last, unfortunately.”</p>
<p>A slightly more logical side of Arcee nervously queried the wisdom of verbally angering a mech with the Bāsākā Syndrome and tried to rein in her own temper long enough to back off of the tense situation. Opening her mouth, she felt a moment of panic when her intended grudging apology did not come out. Instead, she heard herself snap peevishly, “Frag off. Like you could possibly understand what it’s like to lose a partner.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s response was a sharp intake and his right servo curling into a fist. For a klik, Arcee thought she might have actually succeeded in the unintentional and fatal task of enraging a Bāsākā mech as his left servo snapped out, grabbed her shoulder and forced her to spin and face him. She scrambled to reach into her subspace and pull out a weapon of some kind when his red optics froze her into stillness with his gaze.</p>
<p>For a moment, she could see it clear in his optics. As her helm tilted back to stare fearfully at his faceplates, she could see the endless twin pools of lethal rage. His faceplates, which not too long ago had so easily held a cheerful smile, were now set in a hard mask that looked as if a smile had never come within two hundred kilometers of him. Then, the rage in his gaze flickered, revealing something underneath that made her armor shake and her spark pound even more than his burning anger. It was something she saw every time she caught a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface, something that gazed back at her every time she paused to actually look at herself, something that had always seemed to change her into someone else without altering her physically in any way.</p>
<p>Pain.</p>
<p>Total, spark-rending, irreparable, pain. The kind of pain that never left, even if all of time should pass. The kind of pain that came from losing someone who was more than a friend. The kind of pain that came from losing your partner … or someone who meant even more.</p>
<p>Before she could even fully grasp the meaning of what she saw in his optics, the pain was gone, masked beneath a deliberate blankness that must have taken vorns to master. His voice brought her sharply out of her shock, the rage masked in his optics now adding a biting edge to his voice instead, “<b>That</b>. Is enough. Of <b>that</b>. You have no right to say that, not when you know <b>nothing </b>of my life or of those around you. There are others out there who have lost so much more than you have. You lost a partner? There are people out there who have Lost. Everything. Their homes, their loved ones, their <b>lives</b>. Not just Autobots. Not just soldiers. But normal, living, feeling, beings who have no right to be dragged into this, or any, war.”</p>
<p>His servo dropped from her shoulder, but she might as well have been magnetized to the floor she was so rigid as Hardwire hissed in a low tone, “You don’t want to talk about what happened to you because even thinking about it hurts worse than the fragging pit, I get that. But that gives you no right to claim that I don’t know that kind of pain as well. That gives you no right to simply … simply brush off anyone else and assume that they haven’t experienced the same thing, or worse, as you.”</p>
<p>Hardwire drew himself up to his full height, positively towering over Arcee as he snarled, “If you want to cut yourself off from everyone else even if they’re trying to help you, that’s your choice.” He paused to give a snort of disdain, “It’s stupid as slag, but it’s your choice. But. Do. Not. Ever. Assume that you’ve suffered more than anyone else or that no one else has ever gone through the Exact. Same. Thing.”</p>
<p>His gaze shifted from shielded to harsh and angry as, with a brief, inarticulate snarl, Hardwire whirled away from her and stormed to the far side of the Observatory, armor bristling in a display of his aggressive emotions. Arcee stared after him, jaw moving wordlessly as she tried to formulate an opinion on what had just happened. Her servos clenched as she glared at his back struts, watching him lean against the see-through wall he was currently staring vacantly through. Her spark surged with anger at his words, his accusations, and she opened her mouth to shout at him only to suddenly remember the look in his optics right before his lecture.</p>
<p>All of her angry words faded away without a sound as she realized with stab of shame that Hardwire was right. Looking down at her fisted servos, she slowly unclenched them, processor rapidly replaying the past few breems with shameful clarity. Slowly looking back up at Hardwire, she vented a few times before calling, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced over his shoulder briefly at her, his gaze still hard, before returning to staring out at Iacon silently. Arcee felt dread settle in her tanks as she realized she might very well have made an enemy out of the mech standing in the Observatory with her. Crossing her arms over her chest plates defensively she called again, “I mean it … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … brushed you off like that. You’re right, I know that. I just…” Her voice trailed off again, she just what? Forgot that the war effected everyone and not just her? Forgot that while she was mourning a fallen partner, others were mourning the loss of entire home cities? Of entire family units? Purposely ignored everyone who tried to help under the assumption that they couldn’t understand?</p>
<p>Finding herself unable to say any of her thoughts, she lowered her gaze to the floor and simply repeated quietly, “I’m sorry.”</p>
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<p>Hardwire stared blankly through the wall-like window, trying to rein in his temper as Arcee timidly apologized. He knew he should forgive her. He knew he should let go of the urge to keep yelling at her or hit something. Deep down, he knew her words were not a true insult, but merely an attempt to maintain the wall she’d constructed around her spark to try to keep out further grief. He had done the same thing when Nadine had died, after all.</p>
<p>But that didn’t give her the right to brush off his own pain or his offer of understanding of her grief as fake, no matter her intention. He closed his optics and sighed heavily, struggling to think past his temper. He was furious, so furious that he knew it would show in his voice if he spoke again. Sounding that angry wouldn’t be a good way to accept her apology and, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t feel ready to accept the apology yet anyway. Opening his optics again, he spoke, focusing on keeping his words in Cyber-Standard, “Just … give me a few breems to … calm down.”</p>
<p>Arcee’s response was a hasty mumble of, “Right…” An uncomfortable silence fell again and Hardwire winced faintly at the pang of pain that suddenly hit his spark.</p>
<p><em>It’s not her fault.</em> A voice seemed to whisper in his helm as he stared out the window, <em>she didn’t mean it. She’s hurting, just like you were after you lost Nadine. But she hasn’t had any family to stand by her and help her recover, she’s been all alone, afraid to lower her walls again. You know how that feels.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire glowered, <em>Yeah, and what do I get for trying to help? A verbal slap in the face. She doesn’t want my opinion or help, she just wants to apologize so that she doesn’t have to go back to the medbay.</em> The little voice nagged back at him, refusing to be ignored, <em>Isn’t that what you did to Mr. Halpern when he tried to snap you out of your depression? Slap him in the face verbally? You were even more harsh than she was, weren’t you?</em> Hardwire’s glower smoothed over into a more blank look as he remembered guiltily that he had, in fact, reacted even worse than Arcee had.</p>
<p>After Nadine’s death, Hardwire had been in a very bad way, emotionally. He had been so angry and depressed that even Starwish hadn’t been able to snap him out of it. Starwish had lost a friend in Nadine, true, but she hadn’t lost a love and that was the excuse Hardwire had used to brush off her attempts at giving or getting comfort. He told himself that Starwish wouldn’t understand, that no one would.</p>
<p>Mr. Halpern, an older man who lived just two doors down at the time, had tried to offer Hardwire sympathy and advice on pulling himself out of depression, but Hardwire had rudely rebuffed him using the same excuse he’d used on Starwish. That had been a very bad mistake. Hardwire’s anger faded slightly as he remembered how Mr. Halpern had harshly cut Hardwire down several notches for the rebuff. You couldn’t exactly win an argument about loss and grief against someone who had been the only survivor of his family in a German concentration camp during WWII.</p>
<p>His anger started to slowly drain away as he remembered those days and how he felt during them. Arcee hadn’t meant her words just now anymore than he had back then. He growled out a sigh yet again and rested his forehelm against the window. He was still angry at her words and probably would remain so for a long time, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t forgive. Arcee, if she was anything like she had been during the T.V series, didn’t need another enemy. She needed a friend patient enough to weather her pain and scars with her.</p>
<p><em>Not that she’ll let me help anyway, but still.</em> Steeling his resolve and shoving his lingering resentment into a small corner of his mind to hopefully shrivel and die, he looked over his shoulder at where Arcee was standing, arms crossed over her chest plates and looking extremely uncomfortable. Sensing his gaze, she glanced at him briefly before lowering her gaze to the floor again.</p>
<p>Hardwire half turned around and said, “Hey.” Arcee looked up at him again and he continued, “I forgive you and … I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up at you quite like that.”</p>
<p>Arcee’s shook her helm and took a hesitant step closer, “No, I … I deserved being shouted at. I don’t like talking about my problems with anyone but that gives me no right to brush off yours.”</p>
<p>Hardwire rubbed the back of his helm briefly and offered a tiny, strained smile, “Want to just say we’re even and move on?”</p>
<p>Arcee gave a minuscule half smile as she answered, “Sure.” She paused for several kliks, during which Hardwire wondered if he should say something and came up with a blank.</p>
<p>Arcee suddenly opened her mouth as if to speak … when the Observatory door slid open and Bulkhead ambled in with the declaration of, “I’m here! Sorry it took so long, everyone in the halls between here and the rec room kept stopping me to ask if the rumors of your showdown with Grimlock were true. You’re famous now, Wire!” Bulkhead slowed to a stop and held out a cube of energon to Arcee, “Here you go, one flavored mid-grade.” Arcee took the cube with a murmur of thanks and Bulkhead called to Hardwire, “Want some flavored mid-grade, Hardwire? Buffer offered to make you an extra ration of it for facing down Grimlock.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt like face-palming at mention of Grimlock again, “Thank you, Bulkhead, I didn’t get to drink hardly anything of the last cube.” Taking the energon cube that was immediately offered, he asked dryly, “I’m never going to hear the end of the ‘Grimlock’ thing, am I?”</p>
<p>Bulkhead shook his helm cheerfully, “Nope. But Grimlock’s in the brig now though, so that’s one worry off your thought processes until he gets out.”</p>
<p>Hardwire decided not to ask further on that subject, Grimlock was too scary to really think about right now. Sipping on the energon Bulkhead had given him and pausing to savor its unusual flavor, he allowed Bulkhead’s easygoing chatter to wash over him, distracting him from his lingering anger at his recent argument with Arcee. Bulkhead remained oblivious to the faint aura of tension in the room as he tried to include Arcee in the conversation as well. Glancing down at Arcee, he was surprised to see that she was staring at him with a thoughtful expression. Accidentally catching his optic, she hastily looked away and started talking to Bulkhead, leaving Hardwire to wonder why his spark was suddenly stabbed with brief pain at her reluctance to meet his optics.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. No Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jazz ghosted into Prowl’s currently empty office and sat down with a low huff of frustration. He couldn’t remember being this frustrated. He simply couldn’t figure out the problem brought up by the video Mirage had taken from Shockwave’s laboratory and no amount of research appeared to be helping.</p>
<p>Not that he had much in the way of resources for said research. Going to the rec room had proven useless and Prowl was too busy managing the base in Optimus’s temporary absence for Jazz to ask what Prowl’s logic centers made of the video. Starwish was, according to Flareup, recharging in Ultra Magnus’s quarters, and Hardwire would certainly be in no condition to subtly interrogate after what had happened in the rec room with Grimlock.</p>
<p>Jazz’s frustrated frown morphed into a more contemplative expression as he thought of the confrontation that had happened in the rec room. He had arrived at the rec room just after the situation had started and had been apparently the only one to notice Hardwire unsubspace his sniper cannon. His armor shifted uneasily as he remembered the look that had entered Hardwire’s optics during the confrontation. It was a harsh look, a look that held no pity for the being it was turned on.</p>
<p>It was the look of someone who, at least subconsciously, was ready to kill.</p>
<p><em>Never thought someone like him would have that kind of look … scary. I wonder … did he know what he looked like just then? Was he consciously ready to shoot a fellow Autobot like that? Sure, the Autobot was </em><b><em>Grimlock </em></b><em>and the position of the cannon would make the shot not instantly fatal, but still … what was he really thinking? Was he bluffing?</em> Jazz shook his helm and leaned back in the chair, threading his servos together behind him and resting his helm on them as he contemplated. It seemed like Starwish and her family only ever answered one question at the price of many more appearing to hound Jazz’s inquisitive mind.</p>
<p>First, it was why they were in an abandoned Decepticon base. Then, it was where they came from, who had messed with their processors so badly, and why would anyone be that cruel to younglings and a newly upgraded adult. After that, it was the previous questions plus why someone would go to all of the trouble to install such complicated programs in Hardwire’s and Starwish’s coding and then hide it through fragmentation.</p>
<p>The questions just kept piling up with nowhere near enough answers to cover them all and now there was the seemingly ridiculous yet unavoidable questions of <em>were Starwish and her family unit really formerly organic</em> and if, by some impossibility they were, <em>what was Jazz going to do about it</em>?</p>
<p>He growled in his engine quietly, indulging in a rare moment of unmasked frustration as he retracted his visor and rubbed his optics shutters tiredly with one servo, <em>Star is my One, why does this have to be so complicated? I’m going to have enough troubles just getting Ultra Magnus’s permission court her when the time comes without worrying about whether she’s … not a real Cybertronian or going to go meltdown or some such scrap.</em></p>
<p>Returning his servo to its position as a helm rest, he murmured to the office at large, “Wha is it so hard ta find tha truth these cycles?”</p>
<p>For a split klik, the atmosphere all around seemed to distort, like he staring at a large hologram about to dissipate. “Because you can’t search for something that isn’t lost. You’ll only leave it behind if you do.” The faint whisper, ownerless and so quiet Jazz almost could have mistaken it for a stray thought of his own processor, had him immediately leaping to his pedes and looking around, visor down, acid blaster out and primed. It was quiet enough to have been in his own mind, but Jazz was sure that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t have been. Not when the distortion that had heralded it filled his spark with so much inexplicable dread.</p>
<p>Jazz looked around sharply, scanning for the source of the voice even as his armor bristled in fear, “Who’s there?” His challenge was met, unsurprisingly, by silence. He heightened his sensors to their maximum, listening for a sparkbeat or the whir of hydraulics not his own, proximity sensors straining to detect any movement nearby. His optics flicked back and forth wildly behind his visor, trying to see where the voice had come from. A chill slowly settled in his spark when, despite looking everywhere and trying every trick he knew, even the special Cloaker-Detecting mode of his visor, failed to pinpoint anything unusual in the office.</p>
<p>It was as if the voice had never existed. Jazz reset his optics and ran a swift diagnostic on himself as he slowly began to shift out of a combat stance, still cautious in case of an ambush. <em>I didn’t imagine it … did I? I couldn’t have … that distortion wasn’t a hologram or an optic failure. Something … </em><b><em>someone</em></b><em> was here. </em>He continued to vigilantly look around the room as he mentally replayed that last few kliks. No one had opened the door to the office or the ventilation grate inside the office just before or any time after the distortion and it’s whisper.</p>
<p>The words of the whisper played back in his memory file, <em>“Because you can’t search for something that isn’t lost. You’ll only leave it behind if you do.”</em> Jazz fully straightened up, arms falling limply to his sides as he stared at the empty office, <em>What does that mean? Was that an answer to my question? Or … or a trap? Who said that?</em> A possibility occurred to him but he immediately dismissed it, ghosts didn’t exist. Offlined sparks went immediately to become one with the AllSpark, they couldn’t linger outside the Well once they had been snuffed from physical existence. <em>And Cybertronians can’t have memories of being organic,</em> a little voice that he knew was his own pointed out sardonically in his helm.</p>
<p>His nervous thoughts were interrupted in mid-spin by the office door sliding open and Prowl stepping inside. Prowl came to an instant stop at the sight of Jazz standing in the middle of his office, acid blaster unsubspaced and ready to fire. His doorwings flicked down against his back into a defensive position and he began looking around, “Jazz, what is the situation?”</p>
<p>Jazz blinked at Prowl, his thoughts still shaken and slightly scattered, and slowly subspaced his acid blaster before flopping weakly onto the nearest chair. As Prowl hastily approached and began looking him over for any injuries, Jazz murmured in his true, accent-less voice, “I don’t know, Prowl. I thought … I thought I heard an intruder, but there’s nobody except us in the room. I checked with everything I have but … there’s no one here.” <em>But I could have sworn there was. I’m sure there was someone else in here. Someone who knew the truth about Starwish and her family. Someone who knew the answer to my questions…</em></p>
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<p>Rising Dawn ran through the mist, spark pounding as she sensed with painful clarity how the phantom energy all around her morphed from soundless, harmless, silver mist into writhing, dangerous, dark purple tendrils with each step she took. <em>I’m going to be in </em><b><em>so</em></b><em> much trouble! Who am I kidding, I already am in trouble! I didn’t mean for him to hear me! Stupid powers! Stupid lack of concentration! Stupid, stupid, </em><b><em>spark</em></b><em>!</em> The pure, mist-like energy around her feet suddenly solidified and coiled around her ankle struts, knocking her to the ground with painful thud. Rolling slowly over onto her back and flaring her doorwings so as not to pin them, Rising Dawn stared at the endless carpet of stars-like orbs orbiting high over her surroundings and sighed. She had lost her temper. Again.</p>
<p>Slowly draping her right forearm on her forehelm, she glared up at the arching nebula, trying to shunt her emotions to one side and calm the hissing circle of waving purple tendrils that simultaneously shielded her and ensnared her. She really hadn’t meant for Jazz to hear her words, they weren’t even her words, technically. She had only been stating out loud something Prehnite had once told her when she had asked a similar question during training. She hadn’t expected him to overhear her.</p>
<p><em>I wasn’t even feeling all that fired up … why did the barrier waver? Guess that’s yet another item to add to the long list of things I don’t understand about this place … or myself. </em>Closing her optics, she focused on her venting, trying to let go of her perception of everything else, the mist, the nebula, her mistake, she tried to let it all slide away.</p>
<p>Several breems passed before she dared to open her optics. To her relief, the dark purple had receded to simply being a light lavender, with the energy itself drifting and curling all around like scentless smoke. <em>Thank goodness.</em> With a contemplative sigh, she raised her left servo to bat softly at the energy, watching idly as it reacted to her touch, spiraling and spinning in time with the motions of her servo, the tip of the smoke-like strand she was batting at always staying in line with her pointer finger.</p>
<p><em>Why me? Why do you react like this only with me? Why do I have to be the one?</em> The energy did not respond to her, not that she expected it too. She had asked the same question both aloud and in silence enough times without response to know that it was pointless to ask. Still, it did not stop her from wondering often. She knew the other agents couldn’t come even close to effecting the barriers and the energy mists of their home like she did on a subconscious basis. Of course, she hadn’t come here under the same circumstances, nor had she lived the same ways they had before coming here.</p>
<p>Curling her left servo into a fist, she shoved it upward before opening her servo wide, fingers splayed. The mist all around reacted instantly, shooting upward with the faintest sound of displaced air. From there, it surged outward in all directions, like a silent lavender star finally exploding at the end of its life-cycle.</p>
<p>A warm baritone, tinged with the faintest overtures of amusement interrupted her semi-brooding, “I’m going to hope that you weren’t thinking of anyone in particular when you did that.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn didn’t look away from devising patterns in the air as she answered, “Just me.”</p>
<p>The owner of the voice slowly approached, stopping just outside her circle of lavender before settling down on the ground with a low groan, “What happened now?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn risked a glance at him, gauging the easygoing patience that lay in his blue optics even though he had proven himself time and again to be a good friend. Finally, she huffed and ceased her pattern drawing, propping herself up on her elbows as she answered glumly, “I think I just blew my assignment.”</p>
<p>Much to her irritation, her companion didn’t seem at all disturbed by her statement and only asked neutrally, “Care to share the details?”</p>
<p>Scowling, Rising Dawn allowed her personal circle of lavender energy to briefly tinge purple before restraining herself as she said, “I was watching one of the mechs in Sector T-MV/P and I sorta … blurted an answer to a question he was asking the empty room in general and he … he heard me somehow.”</p>
<p>The mech sitting beside her hummed in concern, “Who, what did he ask, and what did you say?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn twitched her doorwings nervously, “First Lieutenant Jazz. He and most of the Prime’s command staff found out that Starwish wasn’t always Cybertronian. Long story on how <b>that</b> candid piece of info came to light, but the general result is a lot of disbelief, a little bit of acceptance, and from Jazz, a lot of needless frustration searching for an answer he likes better.”</p>
<p>Her companion frowned thoughtfully, “Well, he is Special Ops. I guess when your specialty is finding and differentiating reliable data from enemy propaganda, the obvious answer becomes a little harder to see.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn shrugged her doorwings and huffed, “I suppose. But seeing him getting so worked up when all it takes is a little faith irks me. I quoted Matron Prehnite when he basically asked an empty room why the truth was so hard to find and he … he heard me. It must not have been clearly because he couldn’t pinpoint where the sound of my voice had come from but the fact that he heard at all…” she sighed, “I’m going to be in so much trouble when Matron Prehnite finds out.”</p>
<p>Carefully, her companion leaned over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Hey, it’s okay, she’ll understand that mistakes happen. Besides, she did that to Starwish once. Just after Starwish’s program first activated.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn stared moodily at her pedes, “It’s not the same. I’m just an apprentice. An apprentice who can barely control her abilities at odd times.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be like that,” he chided gently, “you’ve got great control for someone who doesn’t have a mentor trained in the same abilities as you. In fact, you’ve got great control, period.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn shot him a look that demanded he prove his words. He just smiled and said, “Know anyone else able to come here as a first frame youngling? Willingly and consciously come here?”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn paused then sighed, “You’ve got me there. But crossing back and forth isn’t the problem, Tailgate, it’s being in the shadowzone and <b>not</b> causing any ripples that’s so hard. Whenever I approach a border it’s … it’s like something starts begging for me to move past it, to change what’s inside. But I can’t.”</p>
<p>Tailgate slowly removed his arm from around her shoulders as he considered her words, “You know…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he tentatively continued, “Matron Prehnite always says that we should not interfere directly unless it is the absolute last resort. But I don’t think all the rules apply to That Problem, not anymore. I mean, she let those four cross over didn’t she? Ripples are bound to happen there now and those ripples are ultimately tied to us as a group.”</p>
<p>He rubbed the side of his helm thoughtfully as he finished, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’re trying to keep something really horrible from happening by breaking a few of the traditional rules. So if your instincts tell you to give a little advice to someone caught in the ripples … maybe you should listen to your spark more than your elders.” He shrugged, “Not much you can do about your words anyway, other than hope they made the right impression.”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn blinked at Tailgate a few times before allowing a lopsided smile to creep across her face, “Since when did <b>you</b> become capable of wise advice?”</p>
<p>Tailgate sat up straight and protested, “Hey! Are you calling me stupid? After all the trouble I went through just now to drudge up every piece of good advice I could find in my processor?”</p>
<p>Dawn laughed and the mist all around flared with tantalizing highlights of golden merriment, “You just proved my point, Gate!”</p>
<p>Tailgate’s only response to her laughter was to cross his arms over his chest plates and mutter darkly about femme partners and their horrid senses of humor. However, Dawn couldn’t help but idly note the relieved smile pulling at his lip components at having cheered up his younger friend.</p>
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<p>Shockwave studied his lab with an expert optic, watching as the drones moved around, rearranging things to his satisfaction while he pondered matters far more troubling. Two metacycles. That was how long he had been in a forced stasis while his processor repaired itself from the damage inflicted over the Cortical Psychic Patch. He had come back online in a corner of Knockout’s medbay, life support hooked to his frame to prevent his state from further deteriorating, and a processor ache the likes of which he had not experienced since his reprograming.</p>
<p>Even after coming out of stasis lock and being assured by Knockout, the fool, that Shockwave could resume his normal functions as always, Shockwave had been forced run several internal repairs on his processor. Several memory files had to be re-categorized, his self-repair systems had had to realign two wire synapses in his emotional locking system, something he still wasn’t sure had been completely successful. Furthermore, he had run a defrag program on his memory files of the Cortical Psychic Patch endeavor exactly twenty-one times going on twenty-two and yet the file still remained damaged.</p>
<p>Either that or a different scientist had achieved the anatomically impossible. As he dismissed the drones, Shockwave pondered that the likelihood of his memory files being actually functional were growing in percentage. His diagnostics had registered no extreme, memory altering damage to his processors, nor had the diagnostics his drones had run on him yielded anything except the conclusion that he was perfectly functional.</p>
<p>So, that left the options that either he was still damaged and had yet to find the source of the problem, the femme subject had been the one with irreparable processor damage, or another scientist had actually found a way to transform a sentient biological being into a fully functional cybertronian with a normal, healthy spark. The longer he pondered the problem, the more he began to discard the idea of the femme subject being irreparably damaged.</p>
<p>A part of his processor tried to discard the idea that he had mentally interfaced with a surviving subject of anatomic transformation, but then he would remember the moment before the attack that had driven him out. He could only remember bits and pieces of what had happened during his time in the femme subject’s processor, his processor had not had enough time to finish cataloging the data of the experience when he went into stasis lock.</p>
<p>But one thing he did remember, with a strange, almost exhilarating clarity, was the moment the femme’s mental projection of her consciousness had transformed into an organic being. The moment when the femme subject’s processor had defied all the laws of coding and logic and thrown him out of it, her mental projection morphing from organic to cybertronian with a strange sort of ease that was almost as confounding as her near physical attack that had driven him from her subconscious and forced him into stasis lock for Two. Metacycles.</p>
<p>Never, in all of his experimentation and testing, had a subject been able to counter the Cortical Psychic Patch. It was simply not possible. The Patch, once plugged into the subject’s neural network, aligned itself and the thought processes of the interrogator with the wavelength of the subject, allowing the interrogator full access to the memory files and impressions of the subject while simultaneously preventing the subject from attacking the interrogator. Firewalls and antivirus programs only worked on foreign data operating on a variant wavelength that did not match the host processor. If the interrogator registered as part of that wavelength, the antivirus programs assumed that the interrogator was simply a new, legal program, and remained dormant, thus rendering the subject defenseless.</p>
<p>Yet that femme had not only been able to register his presence in her processor, but drive him out and damage his processor in retaliation so severely that he’d gone into immediate stasis lock. She hadn’t used an antivirus program, she couldn’t have used a firewall, he’d already been inside her processor after all, yet she had still driven him out. The question of how and all the implications therein were even now circling through his logic center over and over.</p>
<p>Something stirred in his mind and interjected an idea into his thought processes, <em>willpower. Processor over Matter.</em> Shockwave’s optic dimmed as he paused in his inspection of his laboratory and considered the notion for a klik, then dismissed it. The theory of an individual influencing their physical state or the state of their surroundings with their sheer spark energy and willpower was improbable and, in the case of the femme subject, impossible. She had been, in no way, a cyber-ninja.</p>
<p>The Cyber-Ninja Corps had been all but gone and rusted over long before the war and even those who still claimed to be practitioners of the art had never mastered the supposed secret technique of molding their spark energy to suit their whim.Besides, if the femme subject’s memories were indeed true and she had, in fact, previously been organic, the chances of her having lived a long enough life-span to learn the “lost art” of Processor over Matter were nonexistent.</p>
<p>No, it had been something else, a new defense program, designed by the scientist who modified, or possibly created, their frames in order to prevent the knowledge of his identity or location from being discovered.</p>
<p>The long dormant something stirred again, <em>why are you willing to consider anatomic transformation but not the manipulation of energy through mental command?</em> Shockwave rejected the idea rebelliously and then stiffened when he realized what he had just done. A swift diagnostic revealed that, yet again, a strand of emotional coding had somehow appeared within his processing cortexes and he deleted it with brutal swiftness. Emotions would only get in his way, emotions were not logical and would not help in his research.</p>
<p>Briefly flaring his armor, Shockwave turned his attention to his computer, pushing aside any other ideas in favor of researching his newest theory and devising ways to test it. Was it possible to anatomically transform a live subject from one state of matter to another without offlining it and, if so, how was it done? Shockwave pulled up a manifest of the remaining prisoners given to him by Megatron and immediately deemed the number too low for his newest project. <em>Easily remedied.</em></p>
<p>After all, Megatron had made it very clear both before and after Shockwave’s stasis lock that he wanted Shockwave to unlock the secrets of the Bāsākā syndrome, both how to transfer it and how to control it. For that, he would need plenty of test subjects and resources … and if there were enough leftover subjects for his own private projects, well, all the more efficient.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0054"><h2>54. Level Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish carefully sorted through the containers of different medicines, parts, and medical tools, allowing the relative peace of the inventory routine to wash over her. Occasionally, her servo would pause over checking something off of the list, her processor wandering briefly to various things before she would shake herself loose of her daydreams and resume her task.</p>
<p>Ratchet had taken her under his tutelage again, much to her surprise. Even more surprising was the fact that he hadn’t once mentioned her true origins. She had noticed the odd looks he sent her way, worried and contemplative, but he never voiced his thoughts or questions aloud. She honestly wasn’t sure if she was grateful for that or more nervous. What did he think? Did he believe the contents of the video-file Ultra Magnus had told her about? Or did he think she was delusional? She couldn’t tell by her own observation and Ratchet wasn’t saying anything.</p>
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  <em>I wonder why he won’t say anything about it. The only thing he’s done is run a thorough processor and frame maintenance check on me before letting me resume working in the medbay. I’ve never known Ratchet to act like this. Granted, I haven’t known him very long by cybertronian standards, but still. I don’t even remember him acting like this in the T.V series…</em>
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<p>Her thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on the doorway to the storage room. Looking up, she blinked inquisitively at Ratchet, “Uh, y-yes, Ratchet?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s optics locked with hers only briefly before abruptly sliding to one side, “Do you feel well enough for a trip out of the main base?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her optic ridges rise in surprise, “I … I suppose so. Where?”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled something just below her level of hearing and her audio amplifiers twitched minutely, trying to pick up the sounds. Rubbing the back of his helm briefly, Ratchet said, “There is an older mech here in Iacon who has requested a maintenance check-up. However, because of his age and the nature of his duties, he can’t make time to come to the medbay himself and has requested that someone come to his housing unit torun the maintenance check.”</p>
<p>Starwish rolled that over in her helm a few times before saying tentatively, “So … you want me to go with you?” <em>Cybertronian medics make house calls? During a war?</em></p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm, “No, I wanted to ask if you felt comfortable going and running the check yourself. I’ve got other patients to tend to still and with the battles going on at the front lines I can’t risk leaving the medbay with only a pack of apprentices and a surgeon to run things should an emergency case come in and the mech specifically requested either myself or one of my students…” He shrugged his shoulders, looking briefly uncomfortable before locking gazes with her again, “Would you be willing to go and run the check-up? I can get you an escort if you want one or if you don’t want to go…”</p>
<p>Starwish didn’t have time to really consider her options before words of acceptance popped from her mouth, “No, I can do it.” <em>Why did I just say that?</em> Ratchet blinked at her in surprise and internally Starwish quailed. The thought of leaving the safety of the main Iacon base was daunting, especially since she didn’t know Iacon at all. The only Cybertronian cities she had ever been to were Algol and Kaon, and the latter didn’t really count.</p>
<p>Still, she couldn’t see a way to back down now that she had just agreed to Ratchet’s request. So, trying to hide her nervous fear, Starwish added shyly, “But, I would like an escort. If it’s no trouble.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared at her for about five kliks before shaking himself out of his seeming stupor and nodding, “Of course, I’ll com Prowl and see who is available.” He hurried to leave the storage room, only pausing long enough to say, “Assemble a portable maintenance kit, just like I taught you. I’ll check it before you leave.”</p>
<p>Starwish watched him disappear through the door, her glossa feeling leaden in her mouth. <em>Wonderful. What have I gotten myself into now?</em> Venting deeply, Starwish mentally made a checklist of all the things she would need for a “house-call” and began retrieving the items she didn’t have in subspace from the storage room she had been inventorying. <em>It’ll be okay. Ratchet wouldn’t send me out unless he thought I could handle it … right? Besides, I’ll be checking on not only an Autobot, but someone old enough to warrant a medic to come to their housing unit. Someone like that wouldn’t try anything, especially since I have an escort.</em></p>
<p>Selecting the final tools she deemed necessary, she tucked them carefully into her subspace and left the storage room. Stepping into the main room, she was surprised to see Whitestrike lounging near the exit to the medbay. He was clearly uninjured and Starwish realized that he must be her chosen escort. <em>Wow. That was fast. He couldn’t have been faster if he had been waiting right … outside…</em></p>
<p>With an internal sigh, Starwish contacted her Opi while she presented her requisitioned equipment to Ratchet for inspection, <em>“Opi?”</em></p>
<p>She could sense Ultra Magnus’s attention immediately focusing on her, <em>“Yes, Little One? Is everything alright?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish obediently showed Ratchet a few more of her tools as she answered, <em>“Everything’s fine. It’s just that, Ratchet’s assigned me to give a maintenance check-up at someone’s housing unit and called Prowl for an escort. Whitestrike showed up in like … a breem, maybe less. Are you having me followed?”</em></p>
<p>There was a flash of combined worry and mild guilt from her Guardian before he answered, <em>“I did not directly order it, no. But I did approve of the protective measure when it was brought up by someone else.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish’s mental conversation was briefly interrupted when Ratchet handed her the last of the inspected tools and said, “Very well, everything is in order. Just follow all of the steps I taught you and you’ll do fine.” Her HUD pinged with the alert that Ratchet was sending her a beacon for her Iacon map, “Here is the address, make sure to drive safely and not get lost. Whitestrike knows the way and will accompany you to the housing unit.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded nervously, “Right.”</p>
<p>Ratchet hesitated then gently touched her shoulder, “You’ll do fine. Now chop chop, your patient is waiting for you.” Starwish nodded yet again and quietly left the medbay, Whitestrike sauntering at her heels.</p>
<p>Reaching out mentally, she resumed speaking to Ultra Magnus, <em>“Who brought it up?”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus became suddenly evasive, <em>“A trusted member of the Command Staff. That aside, you are leaving the main base, Little One? Are you certain you are ready?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish decided to let his obvious subject change slide, <em>“I … I think so. I do want to see the city after all and Ratchet wouldn’t let me leave if he thought it was dangerous, right?”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sent a rush of courage and understanding to her, <em>“Of course. You are perfectly capable of this task. I assume Ratchet gave you the location of your patient’s housing unit?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish hummed softly even though Ultra Magnus would not be able to hear the sound, <em>“Yeah. It’s near the center of the city, level seventeen. Is that okay?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Hmm. I believe so. That is an older part of the city, it was originally quite an expensive and decent neighborhood. It fell into unpopularity as the city expanded and levels were built over it, obscuring the skyline for those living in level seventeen. Your patient must be an older well-to-do mech. What is his designation?”</em>
</p>
<p>Starwish came to an abrupt stop, a blush of embarrassment creeping up her cheekplating, <em>“Uh … Ratchet didn’t say and I … I forgot to ask.”</em></p>
<p>She could tell that Ultra Magnus was chuckling as he said, <em>“Understandable. But perhaps you should com Ratchet and ask so as to save yourself embarrassment when you get to your destination?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish started walking again, <em>“Good idea.”</em> Opening a com to Ratchet, she asked timidly, ::Starwish to Ratchet. Uh, I forgot to ask just now but … what is my patient’s designation?::</p>
<p>Ratchet sounded surprised as he answered, ::Oh! I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? His designation is Yoketron.::</p>
<p>Starwish nodded to herself, ::Yoketron. Got it. Thank you, Ratchet!:: Signing off of the com, Starwish resumed her conversation with her Guardian, <em>“The patient’s name is Yoketron.”</em></p>
<p>There was a surge of shock over their bond so strong that Starwish started blinking rapidly as if blinded by a bright light, <em>“Yoketron? Your patient is </em><b><em>Yoketron</em></b><em>?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish recovered from her blinking session and smiled sheepishly at Whitestrike as the mech directed her down a different corridor to reach the base exit, <em>“Um … yes? Why are you so shocked?”</em></p>
<p>The shock over their bond lessened enough that Starwish no longer felt like letting her jaw go slack and Ultra Magnus answered, <em>“My apologies, Little One. It is merely that Yoketron is one of the oldest and most respected Autobots on all of Cybertron. To meet him in person is considered a very great honor. You should be proud, Starwish, that Ratchet considers you capable of running a maintenance check on such a mech.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish fought down a feeling of shy unease, <em>Ratchet trusts me to run a maintenance check on a mech that … important? But… “I thought Ratchet didn’t … trust me because of the video, Opi. Why’d he ask </em><b><em>me</em></b><em> to run the check?”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus seemed to be considering his answer carefully as he spoke, <em>“The revelation of your origins has not broken Ratchet’s trust in you, per say. Ratchet merely has to … adjust to the knowledge. I am sorry if he has given you the impression that he no longer trusts you, Little One. He is merely worried for your health. The knowledge contained in the video is not an easy thing to accept for those who do not have a bond with you to prove the sincerity of your memories.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Oh… So he isn’t … angry with me?”</em>
</p>
<p> Ultra Magnus sent her a wave of compassion, <em>“Not in the slightest, Starwish. None of us are angry with you. Now, I am afraid I must return the majority of my focus to my duties. But remember to signal me should anything untoward happen.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish nodded absently, even though Ultra Magnus couldn’t see the gesture, <em>“Alright. Thank you, Opi.” </em>Another pulse of affection passed between them before Ultra Magnus’s end of the bond went silent and Starwish placed the majority of her focus on remaining calm and planning what to do on her newest mission. <em>If only I knew what kind of mech Yoketron was. Is he grumpy? Kind? Sharp-witted? Senile? Do Cybertronians even go senile?</em></p>
<p>The most passive stage of her medical program volunteered information on the subject via her HUD and Starwish tried not to groan, <em>I’m never going to get used to that, am I? It would be easier if it only did it with medical tools or simple things like that, but when it triggers on random because of my thoughts… so annoying. </em>Dismissing the window of medical jargon on her HUD, Starwish looked around at the increasingly busier halls and inched a little closer to Whitestrike. Obligingly, Whitestrike sidled into a position slightly in front of her and shot warning looks at any Autobots who looked as if they were about to approach.</p>
<p> When Starwish and Whitestrike reached the exit to the main base, Starwish hesitated in transforming, her optics going wide at the sight of all the traffic passing through the huge double doors. Whitestrike tilted his helm at her, “Are you alright, Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded timidly, “Uh … sure. I just … that’s a lot of bots.”</p>
<p>Whitestrike looked around at the hubbub and shrugged easily, “Compared to Algol, it is quite a crowd, isn’t it? Don’t worry though, they’re all Autobots like us, so they won’t bother you. I’ll take point, I know the address you’re going to anyway.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a noise of acknowledgement, vented deeply to push away her nerves as best she could, and transformed. Settling on her wheels, Starwish followed Whitestrike out of the main base and into the correct lane of travel, trying not to gasp in wonder at just how much bigger Iacon seemed when she was driving through it as opposed to looking through a window.</p>
<p>The road arched away from the main base, immediately splitting into four separate highways that each spiraled off into a different direction. Whitestrike led Starwish to the far right lane and Starwish did her best to drive and contain her wonder at the same time at the truly unearthly sight of the metal jungle stretching to the sky all around her. Every few miles on the road, there would be two distinct white lines on the road, like wheel tracks leading to one side of the road or another. <em>Those must be exits. They probably activate as someone matches their tires to the lines, making the exit ramp transform underneath them. That’s so cool. This whole place is so amazing.</em></p>
<p>Signs hanging over entrances to various buildings and establishments flashed and sparkled at the passerby with the brilliancy of frozen fireworks, providing ample lighting with which to see by as the natural light of the sun became weaker the further down Starwish went. An Autobot with a bulky motorcycle alt mode zoomed passed her on its way toward the top levels and Starwish worked up the courage to com Whitestrike, ::Hey, Whitestrike?::</p>
<p>The mech ahead of her answered, ::Yeah?::</p>
<p>Starwish followed Whitestrike down an exit ramp, inwardly noting that her transforming ramp theory was correct as she asked the question that had started to pester her for the last few breems, ::How deep is Iacon? I mean, how many levels are there before you hit the ground level?::</p>
<p>Whitestrike gave a thoughtful rumble in his engine, ::Honestly? I’m not sure of the exact number. I know there are over a hundred levels though. Some mechs say that the city goes even deeper than that, stretching for kilometers under the surface of Cybertron itself before ending, but I’ve never gotten confirmation on that myself.::</p>
<p><em>Underground levels? Wow.</em> Whitestrike slowed to a stop at a curb and transformed, prompting Starwish to do the same, “That far down? Yikes, and I thought this level was deep.”</p>
<p>Whitestrike gave a quick bark of laughter and flashed Starwish a smile, “This? Hardly. You can still see the sky from this level, see?” He pointed upward and Starwish glanced up briefly, confirming that she could indeed make out bits and pieces of sky from in between the towering buildings and winding roads arching overhelm. Whitestrike continued to elaborate as they started walking down streets too narrow for any alt modes other than a motorcycle to get through, “Like I said earlier, I don’t know for sure how many levels total Iacon has, but I do know it has at least a hundred. But level forty is as far down as I’ve ever been.”</p>
<p>Starwish kept close to Whitestrike as she looked around curiously at the well-maintained but mostly abandoned pedestrian roads they were striding down, “Really? What’s it like down there?”</p>
<p>Whitestrike rumbled in his engine again, “Dark and busy. Level forty was a import/export level back before the war. It connected the processing plants lower down to the upper market levels and was also the main hub for shipping raw materials down to the processing plants from cities like Kaon and Altihex. These cycles though, I’m not sure what goes on on that level. It’s probably abandoned, the docks down there are spacious, but too far down to be useful for most of our military transports. Plus, all the roads would be hard for a gunship to steer through safely.”</p>
<p>Starwish hummed quietly, <em>abandoned, that’s a pity.</em> Looking around, Starwish stopped and pointed across the street, “Oh, That’s the address isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Whitestrike examined the door she had pointed out and nodded slowly, “That’s it all right. Let’s go.” Starwish followed Whitestrike across the street, fighting down the newest bout of nervousness that threatened to make her turn tail and run. <em>It’s just a maintenance check, you’ve run them a hundred times before on the other bots back at base. They’re the easiest medical procedure to do, the only thing that’s changed is the setting and the patient. No problem. You can do this. You have to do this. Ratchet trusted you with this.</em></p>
<p>A servo politely touched her shoulder strut, breaking her out of her thoughts. Whitestrike nodded to the door they were now standing in front of, “You’re the one who has business here, so I’m afraid you have to announce yourself. Just press that button there and state your business.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked at the button Whitestrike indicated and vented slowly. <em>Just like earth intercom systems, right? Okay then.</em> Stepping forward, Starwish reached out and pressed the button situated beside the tall door and said, “Um, hello? I-I’m medical apprentice Starwish. I was sent by CMO Ratchet to perform a scheduled maintenance check on patient Yoketron?”</p>
<p>In the background, Starwish thought she heard Whitestrike face palm, but didn’t have time to look and check as the door to her patient’s residence unlocked with a click and slid open at that moment. Hesitantly Starwish inched toward the door, <em>it opened, but there’s no one on the other side. So do I just … walk in?</em></p>
<p>Whitestrike seemed to sense her question and said gently, “Go inside, head straight down the hall to the last door. Master Yoketron will meet you there.”</p>
<p><em>Master? </em>Starwish looked over her shoulder, “You know him?”</p>
<p>Whitestrike gave a tiny chuckle, “It would be more accurate to say that he knows me and that I’m acquainted with him. But yeah, I know him enough to trust him. I’ll keep watch outside, you go inside and run the checkup.”</p>
<p><em>Go inside? Alone?</em> Starwish shot Whitestrike an uneasy look before reluctantly entering the building. Padding nervously down the hall, she followed Whitestrike’s instructions and obediently made her way to the door at the very end of the hall. Cautiously, Starwish reached out to knock on the door and jumped back a bit when it slid open before she could touch it.</p>
<p>Starwish vented deeply, <em>get a hold of yourself Starwish. You’re in Iacon, with Whitestrike right outside, about to run a normal maintenance check on an old mech. An old, distinguished, Autobot mech who surely wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. </em>Sensing her nervousness, Ultra Magnus sent her a wordless wave of confidence before returning to his duties.</p>
<p>Mildly bolstered by her Guardian’s confidence in her, Starwish stepped through the door, all fear briefly vanishing as she stared in awe at the interior of the room. <em>It’s … Japanese. It’s like a sci-fi version of Japanese architecture… </em>Starwish stepped further into the room gingerly, drinking in the strangely familiar yet alien architecture of the room. The room was large and spacious, with mutedly silver walls, the farthest wall having large metal panels set in it that probably covered windows. The floor was covered by vaguely springy woven mats of a white material she couldn’t identify while the entire room was lit by dimmed yellow light fixtures set into the ceiling. In the exact center of the room was a low table around which were arranged four perfectly square navy blue pillows.</p>
<p>Seeing no sign of her patient, Starwish stepped further inside, the door sliding shut softly behind her as she tentatively made her way toward the table, still moving her helm this way and that in order to study the room. In the right wall was a small alcove with a small plaque hanging in its center and Starwish looked around cautiously before approaching the alcove to get a better look at the words engraved on the plaque. The glyphs were arranged oddly, the words reading up-down while the paragraph was set left-to-right. It reminded her of the anime shows she used to watch on Earth occasionally, sometimes the Japanese writing would read that way.</p>
<p>Starwish’s faceplates flickered into a confused frown as she read the plaque’s contents out loud, “At peace with anger, tranquil in rage. The wildest storm comes for the shortest time but its center is stronger than a lifetime of silence. Let the optic see differences while the spark sees equivalencies. Darkness dances while light stands still. We who court chaos for our love of harmony shall forever guard the stars from the depths of the shadows.” <em>Now what does that all mean? The entire thing wasn’t really a poem, but it wasn’t a story or paragraph either. Plus, the contents did nothing but describe opposites. At peace with anger? Courting chaos for the love of harmony? Who is it talking about?</em></p>
<p>“Does it confuse you, young one?” Starwish twitched and whirled, nearly pulling her buzz saws out of her subspace because of someone coming up behind her <b>again</b> without her notice. The mech who had spoken chuckled softly, his blue optics watching her in surprisingly warm appraisal as he said, “My apologies for startling you, young one. I have walked without sound for so long it is difficult to remember to make noise for the benefit of others at times.”</p>
<p>Starwish lowered her guard and bowed slightly at the waist, “N-no problem … sir. Are you, uh, Master Yoketron?” <em>That’s what Whitestrike called him and if he’s as distinguished as Ultra Magnus says he is then he requires a title of some kind, right?</em></p>
<p>The mech gave a faint rumbling noise as he nodded, “I am indeed, and you must be one of Ratchet’s medical apprentices, correct?”</p>
<p>Starwish bobbed her helm slightly, “Yes, sir. I was assigned to run the medical checkup you requested.”</p>
<p>Yoketron tipped his helm to one side in a faint half-nod, “Very well, young one. How do you wish to start?”</p>
<p>Starwish paused, gathering her thoughts as she idly gave Yoketron a visual inspection. He was old, she could easily tell from his voice and appearance, even through his armor appeared to be pristinely cared for. The white base of his armor reflected the light as the gold, black, and soft grey-blue patterns running over his armor gleamed with the signs of regular polishing. His armor was of a different style to anything she could recall seeing on Cybertron before, the smooth lines of the armor plating, the barest gaps in the seams as it flowed from piece to piece, how the tips of the chevron on his helm extended to the point where they became prong-like…</p>
<p>All in all, he looked very distinguished in a distinctly oriental way that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Shaking herself out of her observations, Starwish did her best to settle into the professional “medic-mode” Ratchet was always grilling her about, “Please remain standing for now, I’ll run the P.F.S. scan first.”</p>
<p>Yoketron raised an optic ridge slightly as she approached and pulled out the handheld scanner needed for her intended first step, “P.F.S.?”</p>
<p>His tone held faint traces of bemusement and Starwish blushed a bit when she realized that the acronym was probably incomprehensible to him, “Oh, sorry. That stands for Preliminary Function Status. I-it basically helps me determine your overall health and what areas might need a more in-depth scan.”</p>
<p>Yoketron’s optic ridge lowered as he made a soft noise of acknowledgement. For several breems there was silence as Starwish ran through the motions of a maintenance checkup, carefully going over the results of first the preliminary and then the more in-depth scans while mentally reciting the various lessons Ratchet had impressed upon her. <em>Fluid levels, normal. Armor durability … surprisingly high for how old it must be. No visible indentations or cracks in helm or upper processor plating. Hmm, are those protoform scars? That might affect wire conductivity, not to mention joint flexibility… I should probably check his spark casing integrity too.</em></p>
<p>Looking up from the scan results, Starwish worried her bottom lip for a few kliks, debating whether or not to follow through on those thoughts. It would be perfectly within her right as a medic to run a wire conductivity test and check his spark casing, but both would require Yoketron to remove some of his armor and she wasn’t sure how either of them would handle that. Yoketron’s low, mellow voice broke through her worrying, “Is the initial diagnosis that grim?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked at him, realized he was referring to her frown and chewed bottom lip, and flashed him a weak smile, “No, it isn’t that. I just … would you mind if I took a brief wire conductivity test a-and … examined your spark casing?”</p>
<p>Yoketron returned the blink and answered, “You are the medic, if you believe it to be within my best interests, then I would not mind in the slightest.”</p>
<p>Starwish vented deeply before saying, “Alright then. Please, um, sit down and … remove you chest plating … please.”</p>
<p>Yoketron shot her a look that might have been amusement as he obediently sat down and carefully began detaching the various interlocking pieces of his chest plating, “You are not very forceful for an apprentice of the infamous Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t help a brief giggle at that, “No, no I suppose I’m not. But I’m his newest apprentice so I guess his attitude hasn’t rubbed off on me yet.”</p>
<p>Yoketron carefully set aside the last piece of chest armor and leaned back slightly, allowing her full view of the protoform underneath, “Indeed? Well, you appear to have taken to your initial lessons quite well, young one.”</p>
<p>Starwish murmured a thank you for the compliment before kneeling down to get a better look at the exposed protoform. Her gaze flitted across the wires, tubes, and gears that made up cybertronian internal anatomy, wincing faintly when she saw the small yet numerous welding scars. Scars like that, Ratchet had told her once, only came from poor or hastily done patch jobs, like what one would be forced to make on the battlefield in order to get a patient up and moving again. <em>He’s seen a lot of battles then? But I thought that there was only ever one Great War on Cybertron. So where did he get these?</em></p>
<p>Pulling away from examining the scars, Starwish unsubspaced the equipment necessary for a wire conductivity test and set it up with practiced motions. Taking the needle of the testing wire, Starwish looked up at Yoketron’s face for a moment as she explained, “I’m going to insert this into one of your wires, it will pick up and record the conductivity and relay time of the electrical impulses in the wire and transmit the report to me.”</p>
<p>Yoketron was watching her with an unreadable yet non-threatening look, “Proceed.” Starwish internally sighed with relief at his immediate acceptance of her explanation, she didn’t want to deal with a stubborn or paranoid patient. Reaching out, Starwish gently ran her fingers across the many wires weaving to and fro in his chest, finally choosing a thicker one near his spark chamber to insert the needle, Ratchet’s lectures on wire sensitivity and how best to test their conductivity flashing through her mind.</p>
<p>The needle pierced the protective insulation around the wire and connected with the metal inside, immediately picking up and analyzing the racing pulses the wire was carrying along with the response time of it and its fellow wires. The report scrolled through her HUD, Starwish’s medical program helping her to translate the majority of it, and after a few more kliks she carefully pulled out the needle, letting Yoketron’s auto-repair fix the tiny hole.</p>
<p>Feeling the need to keep Yoketron updated on her findings, it was his frame she was checking after all, she spoke as she packed up the conductivity equipment, “You’re wire conductivity is good. A little bit slow in some areas, but very good for the most part. The wires all seem to be transmitting within acceptable speed parameters despite age and scarring.”</p>
<p>Yoketron gave a wordless noise of acknowledgement and continued to watch Starwish intently as she pulled out another scanner, “Uh, I’m going to check your spark casing now. I-I’m not going to open it, just scan the density and check for stress lines and things like that. It shouldn’t take more than a breem or two, but it will require my touching the casing. Is … is that okay?”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded, “Proceed.” Starwish took another steadying vent and gently held the scanner to Yoketron’s spark casing, the servo-held device beeping busily as it scanned his spark casing and the spark within for signs of damages, microscopic fractures, or any other problems. As Starwish watched the scanner beep busily away, something tugged deep in her processor and for a moment her optics stopped seeing her current surroundings and instead saw the battlefield. Before her was not Yoketron, but a half-destroyed mech lying on the ground as she reached to pull his spark out of its chamber, energon coating her servos and his agonized screams ringing in her ears along with the roar of gunfire and pounding of foreign memories guiding her servos against her will-</p>
<p>Shaking her helm, Starwish closed her optics and struggled to stay calm, <em>Not a battlefield, not a battlefield. It’s just a maintenance check. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…</em> Gentle servos rubbed her shoulders, holding her still as she tried to flinch away, murmuring kind words that steadily disrupted the hum of her impending memory loop, “Calm, young one, calm. The storm you see exists only in your processor now. Calm…”</p>
<p>The fog of screaming and energon started to fade incrementally and Starwish regained enough of her senses to send a wordless plea to Ultra Magnus for help. Her Guardian responded instantly with a wave of comfort and stability that successfully pushed away the majority of the memory flux and Starwish found herself sitting in Yoketron’s sitting room, his servos rubbing her shoulders gently as she struggled to separate reality from memory.</p>
<p>Shaking off the last of the flux, Starwish lowered her helm in shame, barely able to speak past the overwhelming urge to just get up and run away, “I-I’m sorry. I-I just … my first m-mission…”</p>
<p>Yoketron shushed her gently and lowered his servos from her shoulders, “You do not need to explain it to me, young one. I am well aware of how even the mundane can trigger the scars of the spark. Perhaps the distraction of conversation will help you to perform your duties?”</p>
<p>Something about Yoketron’s calm voice and unflappable aura helped wipe away enough of Starwish’s embarrassment and fear for her to function and she nodded meekly. Yoketron gave her a gentle look and obligingly started, “You appeared to be reading the plaque when I entered. What do you think of it?”</p>
<p>Starwish carefully picked up her scanner from where she’d dropped it on the floor and did her best to divide her attention between the conversation and her work and not her lingering traumatic memories, “I … it’s pretty. But … I’m not sure what it’s supposed to mean.”</p>
<p>Yoketron asked neutrally, “What would you guess it to mean?”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned absently, the steady beep of the scanner and the activity of thinking over the question successfully keeping her calm, “It … it contradicts itself. Peace with anger, tranquility with rage, it … I’d think it was talking about opposite forces but…” Starwish’s voice trailed off as she stopped to examine the results of the scan and changed the subject, “Your spark casing is fine, no noticeable cracks or stress lines and there doesn’t appear to be any leaking spark radiation. That’s … very good.” She left out the words “for someone your age and seeming experience”, it was too much of a Ratchet thing to say and she was still stressed out from her memory loop.</p>
<p>Sitting back, Starwish said, “That appears to be everything. Unless you have a more specific scan in mind to request … but I’d advise arranging for someone more experienced to do that.”</p>
<p>Yoketron tilted his helm faintly to one side as he reached for his chest plating, watching as Starwish quietly stood up and subspaced the scanner, “You do not have much confidence in yourself, young one.”</p>
<p>Starwish ducked her helm wordlessly, not saying anything to agree with or refute Yoketron’s words. Mentally, she framed a reply, but didn’t dare voice it. <em>Not really. I’m stressed, confused, traumatized and hideously embarrassed for having a panic attack in front of a patient. As soon as I’m home, I’m going to go find Hardwire and curl up miserably. Or something.</em></p>
<p>Seeming to sense that Starwish had no intention of answering his comment, Yoketron finished clipping his chest armor on and stood up, “You did a fine job, young one. You have done well, as I’m sure your teacher will confirm once he reads over your medical report on my status.”</p>
<p>Starwish mumbled a quiet thank you and wondered if she should just leave or wait to be dismissed. Since Yoketron appeared to be some kind of old aristocracy among the Autobots, she reluctantly decided that she’d have to wait to be dismissed. Yoketron motioned toward the door with a servo, “Come, I will escort you to the exit.” Starwish nodded her helm wordlessly and silently followed him out of the room, sending one last glance at the mysterious plaque as she left. The door slid shut behind them and they began walking sedately down the long hall, Yoketron setting the pace and Starwish not knowing how to ask to hurry up.</p>
<p>Halfway down the hall, Yoketron suddenly said, “What were you going to say earlier, about the plaque? Opposing forces, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked a bit at the sudden return of conversation but then scrambled to gather her thoughts, “Well … sort of. I was going to say that but … it’s not really about opposing forces is it? At peace <b>with</b> anger, tranquil <b>in</b> rage … courting chaos because of a love of harmony, it … it isn’t really about conflict, I don’t think.”</p>
<p>Yoketron hummed faintly, a wordless prompt for her to continue her line of thought. Starwish mulled over the plaque yet again, rereading the words in her helm as she tried to figure out what the author might have intended to convey. Perhaps she shouldn’t have treated the question so seriously, but Yoketron didn’t seem to be a mech who would indulge in pointless conversation. He seemed like the type to make even “small talk” matter somehow. So, she tried to piece together an appropriate answer. <em>I still don’t know </em><b><em>who</em></b><em> the plaque is referring to. But surely the rest of the verses are a clue… If I’m right and it isn’t about opposing forces or concepts then…</em></p>
<p>Something clicked in Starwish’s thought process and she raised her helm sharply, <em>that’s it!</em> Glancing at Yoketron, she said firmly, “Balance. It’s about balance.”</p>
<p>Yoketron raised an optic ridge faintly, “Indeed? What makes you come to that conclusion?”</p>
<p>Starwish stopped in the hallway, so absorbed in trying to properly put her reasoning into words that she forgot to walk for a moment, “Because … all those things it talks about seem to be opposites but … they’re really not. They balance each other out. A-a storm is fast and unstable but silence is too delicate to last longer than a single vent. A-also, courting chaos for the sake of harmony is…” her voice suddenly trailed off as she looked vaguely at the wall, “that’s kind of what’s going on right now… We all want peace … but we’re fighting a war because of it.”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded slowly to indicate he followed her reasoning, but then asked questioningly, “All? You mean all of the Autobots.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned as she remembered Megatron’s backstory. It had intrigued her, hearing Ratchet touch upon it during an episode, and she had gone looking for more information. The details of the story had always saddened her. Even now, after facing the horrid sight of war and being a prisoner of the Decepticons, it still made her sad. To see a mech who had started out caring so deeply about freedom become so callous about slavery and torture was … spark-breaking really.</p>
<p>Dipping her helm, Starwish murmured, “No … I … meant <b>everyone</b>.”</p>
<p>Yoketron didn’t overtly react to her murmur, he simply stated, “You appear to have faced the ‘mercy’ of the Decepticons, do you truly believe that they wish for peace? Or harmony?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt the words slip out with conviction before she could think about how foolish or traitorous they might sound to an Autobot, “Nobody starts out evil. Both sides are fighting for peace … the word just means two different things to them.” Memories of a stark cell and Shockwave’s cold optic made her shudder briefly, <b><em>very</em></b><em> different things.</em></p>
<p>Glancing up nervously, she was surprised to see no signs of derision or suspicion on Yoketron’s faceplates, he was just staring at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. Starwish hastily averted her gaze again, a wave of nervous jitters coming over her. <em>I shouldn’t have said that. No one knows about Megatron’s backstory except for Optimus and Ratchet and maybe a few others! He’ll think I’m nuts or a traitor or something. Now what do I do?</em></p>
<p>A servo gently took her own, shaking her out of her mental panicking, and slid it into a traditional gentlemen’s hold, “That is very perceptive of you, young one. Not many have the compassion to see things in such a light after so many vorns of war.”</p>
<p>Starwish dazedly allowed herself to be led down the hallway once more. <em>He isn’t mad? Or contemptuous?</em> “Y-you really think so?”</p>
<p>Yoketron gave a tiny, brief chuckle, “Yes. When you have lived as long as I have, you come to realize that each mech has a different understanding of the world than the other. Even on such seemingly universal concepts as ‘peace’ or ‘harmony’.” He glanced at her thoughtfully, “However, it takes a unique spark to realize this at such a young age.”</p>
<p>Starwish dipped her helm yet again, getting the uncomfortable impression that there was more to the conversation going on than she knew, “I just state things as I see them,” <em>when I have the courage to open my mouth, </em>“Comes with living with three brothers, I guess.”</p>
<p>They finally arrived at the end of the hallway and the door slid open for them to reveal Whitestrike still waiting patiently outside. Yoketron let go of her servo and dipped his helm first to Whitestrike, who bowed deeply, then to Starwish, who clumsily copied Whitestrike. Turning, Yoketron went to go back inside but then paused and looked over his shoulder at Starwish, “Do you have a Guardian, young one?”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked and nodded, “Um, yes, Ultra Magnus is my Guardian.”</p>
<p>Yoketron unsubspaced something and turned to face her again, “Indeed? Would you be willing to perform one last favor for me, young one?” Starwish nodded wordlessly and Yoketron pressed a datachip and a small, circular token into her right servo, “Take these to your Guardian, with my compliments.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked down at the items, gasping a bit at the insignia engraved on the token, <em>it’s like a yin-yang!</em> Starwish inspected it silently, it really did look a lot like the Earth yin-yang, but it had a few critical differences. For one, the opposing commas were not black and white, instead, one was a light, vibrant blue with its counterpart being a deep, intense purple. For another, instead of having a small circle of the opposing color in the end of the commas, the two commas twisted together to form an elegant silver circle in the exact center of the token.</p>
<p>Whitestrike, having ambled over to take a peek at what was in her servos made a sudden, low noise of shock, “M-master Yoketron-!” Starwish looked up, puzzled over Whitestrike’s abnormally flustered reaction. Whitestrike was looking rapidly from Starwish to Yoketron, his mouth-plates opening and closing wordlessly.</p>
<p>Yoketron merely blinked sternly at Whitestrike before turning to Starwish and saying, “Would you be willing to deliver those to your Guardian on my behalf, young one?”</p>
<p>Starwish shot Whitestrike one more puzzled glance before subspacing the items and shyly bowing, “Of course, uh, Master Yoketron.”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded firmly, “Very good. You have my thanks, young one. Good cycle.” With that, Yoketron disappeared into his housing unit. Leaving a baffled Starwish and a deathly silent Whitestrike standing on the street.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. Discussion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish padded towards the medbay, a still silent Whitestrike following at her heels. Whitestrike had hardly said a word since leaving Yoketron’s housing unit. She’d tried to ask him what had startled him so much about the things Yoketron had asked her to give to Ultra Magnus, but his only response had been a quiet and curt, “That is for your Guardian to explain, not me.”</p>
<p>Pushing aside the matter of Whitestrike’s silence and Yoketron’s task for now, Starwish strode toward the medbay doors, intent on making a report to Ratchet and then going to her Guardian for answers. The door slid open before she got within range of its sensors and she stopped short in surprise at the sight of Hardwire storming out into the hallway, his body posture screaming of suppressed anger. Voices were spilling out of the medbay as well, Ironhide’s voice chief among them, “Mechling, Hardwire! Wait!”</p>
<p>Hardwire turned and snarled savagely over his shoulder, “I’ve answered your fragging questions, now fragging leave me be!” Turning back to the hallway, Hardwire spotted Starwish and angled toward her.</p>
<p>Starwish swallowed hard, she hadn’t seen Hardwire so angry in a long time, “Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire reached out and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her away from her originally destination, “Come on, sis.” Glancing at Whitestrike, Hardwire growled, “Whitestrike, do me a favor and buzz off.” Whitestrike blinked at the unfamiliar term, but apparently Hardwire’s tone fully conveyed his meaning because Whitestrike nodded meekly and hurried away.</p>
<p>Feeling increasingly alarmed, Starwish tugged lightly at Hardwire’s hold on her, “Uh, Hardwire, I need to report to Ratchet-”</p>
<p>Hardwire cut her off, his voice going low and quiet, but still carrying notes of anger, “Later. I don’t want you around <b>them</b> right now.” <em>Them?</em> Looking over her shoulder, Starwish was surprised to see not just Ratchet standing in the medbay entrance, but also Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, and Chromia. All of them were watching them leave with varying expressions of guilt, worry, or surprise.</p>
<p>Starwish frowned in confusion then turned back to face the direction Hardwire was dragging her as she whispered, “Hardwire, what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>Hardwire grunted curtly, “Not. Here. Star.” Starwish took one more glance over her shoulder at the assembled bots watching them leave before wordlessly following Hardwire further into the base. Several breems of silence passed, during which Hardwire steered Starwish to a part of the base she was not familiar with, his firm grip never leaving her arm. His scowl darkened abruptly as they walked and his engine rumbled dangerously for a few kliks before he went back to a brooding silence and Starwish wondered if someone had tried to com him.</p>
<p>Her question was pushed aside for the moment when Ratchet pinged her com, ::Ratchet to Starwish, Starwish answer!::</p>
<p>Starwish frowned at her pedes as she replied, ::Starwish here, what’s going on?::</p>
<p>Ratchet’s tone became gruff and evasive, ::T-that’s … that’s complicated. Where is he taking you? Are you alright?::</p>
<p>Something about Ratchet’s tone set off warning bells in Starwish’s helm, ::I guess so. I just got back from the maintenance check you asked me to run and-::</p>
<p>Ratchet cut her off, ::Yes, yes, tell me about that later. Where is Hardwire taking you?::</p>
<p><em>I don’t remember hearing him sound so … agitated about Hardwire before. Why is he so worried? </em>::I don’t know, I haven’t been to this part of the base before. Ratchet, why is Hardwire so angry? I haven’t seem him like this in … vorns, I think!::</p>
<p>Prowl must have been listening in on the conversation, because he saw fit to interject, ::Ratchet and Ironhide confronted Hardwire about a personal matter. He did not react well. When you become certain of your location, please inform us immediately.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt like she should know what was going on, but for the moment the realization was escaping her. Instead, indignation on behalf of her brother was beginning to rise, ::Wait, wait, wait, back up. Ratchet and Ironhide did what? What in the world did they ask him?::</p>
<p>There was silence for almost a breem before Prowl responded quietly, ::They wished to know Hardwire’s opinion on the validity of certain memories witnessed within the video Mirage brought back from Kaon. Ultra Magnus informed you of the video and its contents, did he not?::</p>
<p>If Hardwire hadn’t been steadily dragging her, Starwish would have come to an abrupt stop in shock. <em>They asked him about that? Oh no … I hadn’t had a chance to tell him about it yet! </em>Starwish took a sidelong glance at Hardwire, examining his anger as best she could, <em>I still don’t see why he’s so mad about it except … </em>Opening her com to Prowl, Starwish said, ::They … they insisted that those ‘certain memories’ are false, didn’t they?::</p>
<p>Prowl sounded abnormally unreadable as he answered, ::The majority of the group present during the questioning were … highly skeptical, yes.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt her tanks churn a bit in a mix of trepidation and rising indignation, <em>Oh. </em>::You all think that we’re meltdown. Don’t you?::</p>
<p>If the others who had been in the medbay were listening in, none of them seemed to have an answer to her grim and quiet sentence. Even Prowl paused for a few kliks before saying, ::I cannot speak for the others in this matter. However, I am not of the opinion that you are ‘meltdown’. Until there is irrefutable evidence to the contrary, I, personally, am convinced of the validity of your memories. However, I am also of the opinion that this conclusion should have no bearing upon any of your current statuses as Autobots.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt her spark skip a quick beat, <em>so … he believes my memories but doesn’t hold it against me? Against any of us? I … I never thought … of all the Autobots who know, I thought Prowl would be the most adamant against believing or accepting …</em> At the thought of said “others” Starwish felt her faceplates fall into a dark frown even as she thanked the bot who had professed a measure of faith in her and her family, ::Thank you, Prowl. I appreciate it.::</p>
<p>Ironhide finally rejoined the com conversation, ::Look, Starwish, I-::</p>
<p>Anger, both for herself and on behalf of Hardwire, caused her to rudely cut him off as she now followed Hardwire willingly through the base, ::Don’t, Ironhide. Give us both some time to calm down before speaking to either of us again. Better yet, don’t speak to either of us until you have an apology lined up for my brother. The same goes to anyone else listening in on this channel who made Hardwire angry.:: With a click, she turned her comlink off and focused all of her attention on Hardwire and where he was taking her.</p>
<p>It was only a breem or two more of silent stomping through the halls, Hardwire’s dark expression making all other traffic in their way move to the side cautiously, before they reached their apparent destination. Metal doors slid open and Hardwire, still clutching Starwish’s upper arm, strode into an observatory even larger than the one in Algol. Had the circumstances been any different, Starwish would have marveled at the glorious view and how the completely empty observatory had a floor perfect for practicing her dancing. As it was, her attention remained on Hardwire as he finally let go of her and went up to the see-through wall of the observatory, servos clenching and unclenching as if he wanted to hit something.</p>
<p>Starwish worried her bottom lip, trying to decide if she was angry, frightened, sad, or capable of comforting Hardwire. Moving to stand more in the center of the room than by the door, she said nothing, knowing to wait until Hardwire deemed himself coherent. She had only rarely seen him this angry, but she knew that pushing him to speak would only make his temper worse and, while it might gain answers faster, would also risk broken items or Hardwire getting bruised knuckles from hitting the nearest wall.</p>
<p>Finally, after much vent hissing from Hardwire and the repeated flaring of his armor, her eldest adoptive brother spoke, his tone low and flat from trying to control his anger, “Do you know about the video taken from Shockwave’s lab?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded faintly, “Yes, Ultra Magnus told me and I was intending to find somewhere private to tell you but…” <em>But I can see someone’s beaten me too it and gotten a very bad reaction in the process.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire, who was mostly glaring at the view afforded them in the observatory, tilted his helm to glance at her for a brief klik, “What … what does Magnus think?”</p>
<p>Starwish vented slowly, knowing he was asking questions not only for information, but for a distraction, “He believes me and he’s fine with it. I … I told him that all of us were … the same. He didn’t react badly, he just asked me to tell him a little bit about our old home. Also … Prowl commed me on the way here-” Apparently mentioned Prowl was a bad idea, because Hardwire growled again and flexed his servos, balling them into tight fists as he glared out the window.</p>
<p>Starwish sighed, wondering why she ended up being the peacekeeper right on this cycle when all she really wanted to do was curl up and relax after the stressful appointment with Yoketron. Folding her servos in front of her as if she was at ballet school again, she said softly, “He’s on our side too. Hardwire … I know it’s stressful and scary but what…?” Her voice trailed off at the tensing in Hardwire’s shoulder struts. <em>What did they say to make you so angry? Did they threaten us? I don’t want to believe that. I don’t believe that Jazz- </em>She nipped that thought off at the bud and reworded it mentally, <em>that </em><b><em>any</em></b><em> of them would intentionally hurt us. Of course, if they assumed it was for our own good … no. Opi would stop them, so would Prowl and Optimus and Elita!</em></p>
<p>Hardwire finally answered, surprising Starwish with his full reversion to english, “Filthy … Disgusting … Barbaric … talking about organics as if they were the most horrific and unnatural things to ever exist…” Hardwire vented shakily, “I trusted them and they … this is how they … they wouldn’t even listen to me. They called me damaged, all of us … damaged … I can’t even…” His words trailed off for a moment before he whispered in a vaguely broken tone, “I thought better of them. I respected them, remembered what they did in the show and the movies and I … I thought they would at <b>least</b> give me a chance. Consider what I said. But everyone except Prowl…”</p>
<p>Hardwire suddenly gave an incoherent yell and slammed his fist against the see-through wall in front of him, the loud sound the collision made echoing eerily in the observatory. All of Hardwire’s rage seemed to drain away with that punch and he slid slowly to his knees with a clang. Starwish didn’t hesitate in running to Hardwire’s side and crouching next to him, “Hardwire!”</p>
<p>His gaze flickered up from the floor to her briefly before he reached out and pulled her into a wordless, one-armed hug. Starwish instinctively reached out and did her best to wrap both arms around Hardwire in an effort of mutual comfort. Hardwire’s final whisper told Starwish exactly why he was so upset, “They said all of our memories were fake, Mel. Everything. From our home to … to the people we knew. They were so sure they were right. But if they were right then … Nadine…”</p>
<p>Starwish took a sharp intake as she filled in the blank, <em>Then all of our grief over losing Nadine, over losing our home … it would mean nothing. It wouldn’t be real. Everything we knew and cherished and protected and grieved over would just be figment of our imaginations. It would all be pointless. So. Pointless.</em> Just the thought of such a possibility made a sob rise in her throat and her spark lurch so heavily that it attracted Ultra Magnus’s immediate attention, <em>“Little One?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish shrank back mentally, the sudden alienness of the concept of a spark bond washing over her for the first time in a long time. Slapping herself internally, she briefly reached out and brushed the bond, <em>“Sorry, Opi. But I … I need you to leave me alone for a while. Please.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus immediately flooded their bond with his concern instead, <em>“What has happened? What is wrong?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish bit her bottom lip for a moment, <em>“Some of the others who know … my secret. Everyone except Prowl confronted Hardwire about it. They…” </em>Words, even mental ones failed to fully express just what Ironhide and the others had done, emotionally, just through thoughtless words. Reaching out, Starwish whispered over the bond, <em>“They called my and Hardwire’s and the Twinlings memories fake.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish opened the bond as far as she could so that Ultra Magnus could sense just what those words meant to her, all the hurt and fear, all the terror that accompanied the concept that everything they had suffered was a mere illusion. Fear at the futility it would all represent. Everything that made Starwish and the others the beings they were, everything that they had been taught to cherish, all their moments as family together, had been threatened with that one accusation. Fake. A word that, in the present context, went so much deeper than a simple trick or lie.</p>
<p>Because if those memories were fake, what did that make them?</p>
<p>For a split klik, Ultra Magnus’s end of the bond went silent in disbelief, then it flooded with a mix of horror at the actions of the others who knew, outrage on Starwish’s behalf, and the near-overwhelming desire to comfort her and assure her that she and her family were indeed real no matter what the others unintentionally implied.</p>
<p>Starwish let the comfort wash over her for a few moments before saying softly, <em>“Thank you for that, Opi. But please, I need to focus on Hardwire right now…”</em></p>
<p>There was a pulse of understanding from Ultra Magnus, <em>“Of course. I will check in with you later. For now, I have something to which I must attend.”</em></p>
<p>The bond slid mostly shut and Starwish refocused her attention outward to the unmoving Hardwire and reverted back to english just as he had done, “I’m sorry, Michael. I … I never meant for them to know.”</p>
<p>Hardwire held her tighter, “Not your fault, Melody. Not your fault. We shouldn’t even <b>be</b> here … let alone dealing with this issue.” Starwish flinched a bit at the bitterness in his tone, the argument had definitely hit him hard. Reaching up, Starwish pressed a servo against Hardwire’s chest plates, feeling the metal underneath her palm and wishing intensely for a brief klik that it was flesh and fabric she was feeling instead.</p>
<p>Looking out of the observatory at the expanse of Iacon, Starwish whispered, “Michael? Do you … do you remember what you said to me just after Dark-Trail and the others offlined?” Hardwire went stiff against her but Starwish tentatively pressed on, “You said … you said that we are here for a reason. That … this isn’t an accident, we were sent here for some reason. We just don’t know what reason yet.”</p>
<p>Hardwire growled faintly, not saying a word in response. Starwish vented softly and continued to speak, “I know … I know it hurts to have them call our lives fake but … you know they don’t mean it like that. They … they just don’t know what to think is all, and they took it out on you. Just like if someone told us that they were a sentient robot turned into a human, right? I-It doesn’t make them right and it doesn’t make it hurt any less … but they didn’t mean it and … and I still believe what you said that cycle. That we’re here for a reason, even if we can’t see why just yet.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hissed softly, “I <b>trusted</b> them.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded even though Hardwire’s optics were closed and he couldn’t see it, “I did too. But … I guess you have to look at it from their perspective, right? Species switch, transformation, displacement … It all sounds pretty impossible even to me, and I’m living it right now.”</p>
<p>Hardwire slowly lifted his helm and opened his optics to stare bleakly out at Iacon, “That’s just it, Melody. We’re living it Every. Single. Cycle and then Ironhide and the others had the gall to just … brush it off and call it fake. I can barely take it some cycles as it is without having someone tell me that my entire life has been a fragging <b>lie</b>. The only way they even suspected thing is because of a video recording taken while you were mentally attacked and nearly <b>tortured</b>, Melody. I was cracked open like a high school frog dissection and by the time we were rescued, I could barely walk and you were in a coma.”</p>
<p>Hardwire clenched and unclenched one servo, “You’ve only been awake for a few cycles, Melody. They couldn’t even wait until the trauma had started to fade before ripping open old wounds and then having the audacity to say that those wounds didn’t even exist. When they did that … I wanted to hurt them so badly. I wanted to reach out and grab Chromia and just … hit her, shake her, <b>something</b>. Anything that would make her understand, make all of them understand, just how much those words hurt. I don’t know if I can forgive that kind of pain, Melody. I don’t know if I even want to.”</p>
<p>Starwish idly rubbed the servo that was pressed against Hardwire’s chest plates back and forth, “I know.”</p>
<p>Hardwire huffed weakly, almost like a dying sob, almost like a choked off laugh, “So what do we do about it, Melody?”</p>
<p>Starwish sighed quietly, feeling utterly drained from the cycle’s events, “That I don’t know, Michael. That I don’t know.” They settled down in silence for a while, off in their own dark thoughts as they took meager comfort in each others presence until their isolation was at last broken by the observatory door sliding open.</p>
<p>Turning halfway in Hardwire’s one-armed hug, Starwish blinked in surprise at the sight of the Twinlings scurrying in, familiar plush toys held close to their chest plates, their guardians standing silently on the other side of the entrance. Sunstreaker met her curious gaze seriously as the twinlings wordlessly plopped into Hardwire’s lap, “Ultra Magnus commed us and said you two needed a little private family time with the remainder of your old family unit. Sides and I will guard the door until you’re done.”</p>
<p>He made to step back and let the door slide shut when Hardwire, still not taking his gaze off of Iacon, said softly in Cyber-Standard, “Do you two know?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances before Sideswipe answered, “We know and it doesn’t change anything. The Twinlings are still ours and you are under our protection by extension. The past has never mattered to us before, it doesn’t matter now.”</p>
<p>Hardwire let those words hang in the air for nearly a breem before he whispered, “Thank you.” Sunstreaker and Sideswipe just nodded once before stepping back and letting the door slide shut behind them, no doubt moving to stand guard on either side of it. Starwish looked down at the Twinlings, who were patiently watching their older siblings with wide, questioning gazes.</p>
<p>Starwish smiled thinly at them and, still speaking english, said “Hi Zip, Hi Track.”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s faceplates were half hidden behind the Soundwave plush, blue optics wide as he asked, “What’s wrong? You two look sad.”</p>
<p>Hardwire finally tore his gaze away from Iacon to stare down fondly at the Twinlings, “I … I just had a fight with Ironhide and some others, that’s all.”</p>
<p>Zipline immediately cocked his helm and attempted to scowl as he demanded, “What for?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s jaw went tight and Starwish wearily took over for him, “It’s a long story, Zipline.”</p>
<p>Zipline’s scowl morphed into a pout as he blurted, “Aww! Grown-ups <b>always</b> say that when they don’t wanna talk about it!”</p>
<p>Fast Track, seeming to have put a little more thought into the implications of the term “a fight” asked, “Do you want us to prank them for you? As punishment?”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave a tiny huff of a laugh, “Maybe later, Track. For now, why don’t you two tell us what you’ve been up to lately?”</p>
<p>Instantly, both twinlings perked up, Zipline immediately launching into a babbling spiel about the newest vid-game he’d been playing while Fast Track interjected about a picture Sunstreaker had helped him draw. Both elder siblings quietly listened to the babble, gratefully allowing their grief and betrayed anger to fade away for the time being in favor of just relishing the presence of their remaining family and links to a world they would never see again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cliffjumper inched cautiously into Lab 005, a box of materials in his arms, sensors alert for any prelude to explosions, sprays of deadly chemicals, or the even more terrifying sound of the owner of the lab saying “oops”. The door slid shut behind him with a click and Cliffjumper tried not to flinch in anticipation of disaster. When the door shutting did not prompt any apocalyptic reactions from any of the many piles of scrap metal, unidentifiable devices, and tools, Cliffjumper relaxed fractionally and made his way further inside.</p>
<p>Back before the war, Lab 005 hadn’t been used very much. Despite its innocent moniker number, it was actually set well apart from the other labs, was highly reinforced, and back then had only been used for testing the most unknown and hazardous experiments. Things like the study of newly recovered devices of the Ancients, disassembling the newest mystery uncovered from deep within Cybertron, or the making of an invention whose prototypes could cause devastating destruction should they destabilize.</p>
<p><em>Well, considering who owns the lab now, that last one might not be such an abandoned purpose. I wonder if Que fully realizes just why the Commander of the Science Devision gave him this lab in particular.</em> Making his way into the main area of the cluttered lab, Cliffjumper looked around for any sign of its owner. Seeing no one, Cliffjumper shifted the box of supplies in his arms a bit uncomfortably, <em>I really don’t want to put this down just anywhere in case it sets something else off. Especially since some of this stuff could be considered mildly flammable.</em> Cliffjumper mentally cringed at his last line of though, <em>Mildly flammable and I’m giving it to Que? I’m beginning to doubt the validity of asking Que for help in this project.</em></p>
<p>Shaking those thoughts away, Cliffjumper tentatively called out, “Que? Are you in here? I brought the stuff you wanted…” From deep in a side room of the lab, Cliffjumper heard the clatter and crash of falling metal and a few yelps of surprise that nearly had him running for the exit. Shifting his legs into a better position for a hasty retreat, Cliffjumper called again, “Uh, Que? You okay in there?”</p>
<p>The side door slid open, revealing Que in all of his unusual glory. The mech’s torso was absolutely covered in various bits of metal of varying bright colors and shapes, loops of wires with erratically blinking lights dangled off of his helm, shoulders, and arms, and to top it all off, a myriad of tiny wisps of smoke drifted their way lazily into the air from Que’s left servo. Raising the smoking servo in question, Que reached out to snatch the box in Cliffjumper’s arms, helm-lights flashing a cheerful blue in time to his words as he exclaimed, “You brought the supplies! Excellent!”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper hastily held the box out of reach of the smoking servo and its only relatively safe counterpart, “How about you tell me where to put this, Que? You look a bit … preoccupied.”</p>
<p>Que blinked once at Cliffjumper before looking down at himself, “Oh, this? Just forgot to readjust my magnetic field when I got up to leave the room, reversed polarity effects and all that. As for the lights, well, I’ll get them working perfectly in time for the event, don’t worry! Anyway, come this way with that stuff, I’ll need to look it over before I starting installing it.”</p>
<p><em>Reversed polarity effects? </em>Cliffjumper shifted uneasily for a klik before following Que to a different section of the expansive and isolated lab, “Uh, Que? All I asked for was a few decorations for a party. Like … a few mini Sparkle Fountains or one of those programmable and portable holographic displays they used to use in Polyhex. What does all of that…” Cliffjumper struggled to find an appropriate word for the various nicknacks and unidentifiable metal trinkets that tinkled and jangled with each bouncy step Que took, failed, and pushed on helplessly, “<b>stuff</b>, have to do with my request?”</p>
<p>Que looked over his erratically illuminated shoulder briefly and flashed his blue helm-lights in his version of a smile, “Sparkle Fountains and holo-displays are so boring and normal! You said that this celebration thingy was a family tradition! That means that since we cannot replicate their family decorations exactly without tipping them off, we have to make it as unique as possible to balance out the unknown factors! Make it a … new addition to an old tradition! Sparkle Fountains will just look like a token effort, this will show that we put in our best efforts!” <em>Best efforts … right…</em></p>
<p>Cliffjumper shot a few nervous looks at the precariously piled shelves of trinkets and scrap metal they were passing as he answered, “Still not sure what all that stuff stuck to you has to do with it, but okay. What are you planning to do with these new supplies anyway? Interlocking rods, metal filings, tin curls, and Crystal City chemiluminescent material don’t really sound like stuff for a party to me…”</p>
<p>Que snorted through his vents as he came to a stop and motioned for Cliffjumper to set the box down on a rather battered and fire-blackened work desk, “That’s because you’re looking at all the supplies <b>separately</b>. Anyway, you aren’t the scientist, I am. That is why you asked for my help, yes? So just stand back and let me work. You and the others just worry about getting the Prime’s approval and things like that.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper set the box gingerly on the desk and shot it one last unsure look before turning back to Que, “You are absolutely sure that you’ll have everything ready in time? With no risk of explosions? If that stuff explodes around the twinlings or Starwish, Hardwire will go meltdown and we are certain to offline.” <em>Either from Hardwire’s rage or the fury of Ultra Magnus and the Twins.</em></p>
<p>Que made a shooing motion with one servo, paused to shoot a bit of fire suppressant on his left servo so that it would finally stop smoking, then resumed the shooing motions, “I promise, I promise. Everything will be fully tested, absolutely safe, and on time. Now you should go check on the other-” a loud beeping filled the lab and Que blinked once before smacking a servo against his helm and shouting, “The welder! I forgot to turn it off when I left the side room!” Without another coherent word, Que went shooting past Cliffjumper, helm-lights flashing agitatedly in time to the many loops of lights tangled on his upper body, shouting incomprehensibly the entire time.</p>
<p>Cliffjumper didn’t bother trying to decipher whatever else Que might have been jabbering, he just beat a hasty exit out of the lab, not willing to stick around and witness how well Que’s “project” mixed with a welder left on for too long. Cliffjumper sprinted around the clutter and gadgets in the lab, skidding through the door and letting it slide shut just in time to hear a muffled “whoomph” come from the other side. Venting out slowly in relief at his narrow escape, Cliffjumper commed, ::You okay in there, Que?::</p>
<p>There was a pause before, ::Oh, I’m fine. I only blew off my arm, but luckily the decorations on my arms kept it from flying across the room again! I can just weld it back on and Ratchet will never … aw frag.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper inched away from the lab door cautiously at the sound of Que swearing, ::What now?::</p>
<p>Que sounded more exasperated than distressed as he said, ::My last welder was at the epicenter of the explosion … so now I can’t weld my arm back on myself.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper tried to muffle a laugh behind his servo, Que was apparently more distressed over the loss of his welder than the detachment of his arm, ::Want me to com Ratchet then?::</p>
<p>Que’s voice went from exasperated to meek immediately, ::I’d prefer First Aid, honestly. Ratchet’s been in an even more terrible mood than usual lately. What with Starwish and Hardwire recovering from Kaon and the increase in activity on the front.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper shook his helm and started down the hall away from the lab, he wanted to be clear of the area by the time a certain wrench wielding medic got there, ::I’ll try to get First Aid for you Que, but no promises.::</p>
<p>::Which basically means that I’m going to be dismembered, beaten with a wrench, reassembled into an energon processor, and only then reassembled into a mech with two attached arms. Joy.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper did laugh at that, but not over the com. Que seemed to attract the most of Ratchet’s ire aside from Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who had been behaving exceptionally well ever since they started raising the Twinlings. Getting his laughter under control, Cliffjumper commed, ::Don’t worry, Ratchet might be too busy to deal with you at the moment.::</p>
<p>Que mumbled something about the status of his luck and the unlikelihood of Cliffjumper’s words before grudgingly signing off, leaving Cliffjumper to com First Aid and request he help Que.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. Perspectives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pretty sure this is the chapter that had a partner chapter in my side-story collection Harmonies of a Second Chance, which I WILL be posting, after I finish posting all of these chapters. So just be patient, yeah? Yeah. Okay. Thanks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ultra Magnus stared down his fellow officers with freezing rage shining in his optics the likes of which Jazz had never seen before. Despite being a war-hardened saboteur who commanded his own department of the Autobots, Jazz had to work very hard to avoid cringing pathetically under that stare. They were standing in Prime’s office, Optimus looking on with a veiled yet highly disappointed gaze as Ultra Magnus towered over Ironhide, Chromia, Ratchet, and Jazz like a harbinger of Unicron. Prowl stood stiffly in one corner, seemingly not part of the impending conversation.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s voice was bitingly controlled and dangerously low, “Do all of you have any concept of what you have just done?”</p>
<p>Jazz couldn’t stop a wince from flickering over his faceplates, <em>Wonder what Hardwire did to get Ultra Magnus to investigate the situation so fast. Hope nobot was sent to medbay. </em>A quiet part of Jazz’s mind noted that if Hardwire in a true rage was anything like Grimlock when the latter was in a mere bad mood, that hope might be a bit farfetched. Chromia dared to speak up, dragging Jazz’s attention back to the situation at servo, “What did ‘Wire do when he left the medbay? Is Starwish…?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s gaze, if anything, became even harsher, “Hardwire took Starwish aside in order to have privacy with the <b>last</b> of his <b>family</b> while he calmed down from your accusations.”</p>
<p>Ironhide shifted fractionally, “He wouldn’t harm her, would he? In his anger?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s armor bristled and he started to speak when Optimus interjected softly, the Prime’s tone low and infinitely sad, “Do you truly trust Hardwire so little, all of you, that you would assume that he would turn his rage at you upon the last of his family? The very ones he is trying to protect?” At those simple, disappointed questions, they all really did flinch, realizing just how mistrusting and thoughtless their worries must seem. <em>But I’ve never seen him that angry. Even good bots do stuff they normally wouldn’t do when they get that mad.</em> Jazz’s thought process was pushed away as Ultra Magnus made to speak again only to have Optimus wave him to one side with a small servo motion. Turning to his other officers, Optimus ordered, “Explain your actions.” Jazz instinctively straightened at the tone of voice. It wasn’t Prime’s normal, gentler tones of a stoic leader yet friend, it was the deep, curt intonations of an officer dressing down rebellious foot soldiers.</p>
<p>Ratchet vented heavily, “We never meant it to get so out of servo. We just … all wanted answers.”</p>
<p>Optimus leveled a long look at Ratchet, “According to what Ultra Magnus and Prowl,” he motioned to the rigid Praxian standing in the far corner, “have told me, you accused Hardwire and his family unit of being damaged, their lives up until this point false creations of a deluded processor, and yet you did not expect the situation to ‘get out of servo’? Answers are only found if you listen, Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Jazz blurted, “But what he was telling us-”</p>
<p>Optimus cut him off, “Is the simplest and most evident answer. The answer that Alpha Trion, Ultra Magnus, and myself believe to be true. Ancient records from the Age of Exploration have clearly catalogued the existence of sentient organic life aside from the Quintessons and the AllSpark is known to work in erratic ways when confronted with unorthodox times. However, that is not the point of this meeting, Jazz. The point is to fully impress upon you the gravity of what you have done and to decide what measures will be taken to repair the damage.”</p>
<p>Jazz lowered his helm slowly, shame, indignation, and worry all waging war in his spark. He was ashamed of how he’d handled the situation, indignant that Optimus was so trusting of things at faceplate value and that he would take them to task just for searching for answers, and worried over how badly they all might have damaged their relationships with Hardwire and his family unit.</p>
<p>The hardened edge in Optimus’s voice becameslightly softer and wearier, “Tell me, Ratchet, do you recall Professor Almanac? And Ironhide, do your memory banks still hold files of your mentor Pinwheel?”</p>
<p>Ratchet looked up from the floor sharply, “Of course I recall Professor Almanac! He was the sole reason I managed to transfer to the Iacon Academy of Medicine and Science from Tyger Pax’s Medical School! He not only helped me transfer to Iacon, but he later helped me fund and build a clinic for the lower levels of Iacon! He’s one of the reasons I am here this very cycle as your CMO!”</p>
<p>Jazz suddenly had a bad feeling that he knew where Optimus was going with his chosen line of conversation as Ironhide fluffed his armor briefly before smoothing it, “Like I could forget Pinwheel, Prime. He taught me everything I needed to know as your bodyguard. And the old bolt was the one that introduced me to Chromia.”</p>
<p>Optimus swung his gaze to Jazz, “I am certain you recall your mech creator and the things he taught you?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s quick processor could see what Prime was leading up to and his spark began to throb painfully, <em>I’m an glitch. A pit-fragging, sparkless, meltdown glitch, </em>“Ah wouldn’t have had a chance of survivin’ Special Ops training without his teachin’, let alone gotten promoted ta being its leader. Ah probably wouldn’t have even been online ta join tha Autobots when the war started.”</p>
<p>Optimus’s voice didn’t rise in volume at all, but the edge to it came back full force, “What would your reactions be if someone told you that those mechs did not exist? That Almanac, Pinwheel, and your mech creator were merely holographic fluxes, delusions of a damaged processor?”</p>
<p>Jazz clenched one servo reflexively, a thousand memory files cropping up, all of them of his mech creator, all of them crucial in some way to the development of his personality and current circumstances. If his mech creator had been someone else, or had offlined before teaching Jazz, then Jazz’s circumstances, personality, even his frame, would no doubt have been incredibly different.</p>
<p>He wouldn’t have learned how to be stealthy, how to hack like a master, how to gain information in secret, how to survive in the lower, rowdier districts of any city-state. He wouldn’t have learned music or worked in the clubs. He wouldn’t have learned to bluff his way out of almost any circumstance or to relax and roll with any situation no matter how unexpected.</p>
<p>With a sickening jolt, Jazz realized that he wouldn’t have even met <b>Prowl</b> if his mech creator hadn’t existed. Prowl, one of his closest, if not his closest, friend. Prowl, the mech who introduced him to Optimus. Prowl, the mech who talked sense into him before he could do something he would have regretted forever during the twilight cycles of the Golden Age when the threat of war was rising and battle lines were being drawn.</p>
<p>In short, Jazz wouldn’t have been Jazz without his mech creator being who he was … or being real at all. Ratchet, Ironhide, and Chromia were apparently realizing similar things about the bots in their lives. Ratchet’s shoulder plates slumped heavily in dejection and his optics closed with a miserable huff of his vents while Ironhide discreetly yet desperately wrapped his arm around Chromia’s middle as if to confirm her presence beside him. Chromia wordlessly grabbed Ironhide’s servo, optics staring at the floor as she whispered, “Oh Primus…” The words “we slagged up” went unspoken but Jazz was fairly certain his fellow currently-in-trouble officers were all thinking it just like he was.</p>
<p>Optimus swept his gaze over them, observing their realizations and giving them a breem to process it before continuing, “Hardwire is a young mech, barely into adulthood, who already holds the heavy responsibility of keeping the last of his family unit safe and happy while dealing with forces beyond his control. He trusted all of you, respected all of you, and when he revealed something intensely private and scarring to you, you essentially told him that his very spark essence was a lie. His, and that of his family unit. A family unit who would not even be his were it not for the memories that <b>you declared false</b>.”</p>
<p>He gave them another breem to process his statement and the horrified shame that came crashing down with it, “I cannot ask him or Starwish to trust you or work with you if you blatantly refuse to respect their nature, beliefs, and senses of self. You have all behaved most cruelly and unbecomingly, no matter how unintentional the act was, and until you are willing to apologize and they are willing to forgive … I am limiting your contact with them as much as possible.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s helm snapped up, optics wide behind his visor, <em>no!</em> Ironhide shuffled a bit as he protested aloud, “But Optimus-!”</p>
<p>Optimus held up a servo, “No. My decision is final barring emergency circumstances or the personal request of Hardwire and Starwish themselves. For the foreseeable future, Starwish’s medical training will be taken over by Cogwheel and Hoist. Hardwire’s medical care will be overseen by Hoist. Once Hardwire has been cleared for light duty and training, his training will be overseen by Bulkhead and Firestar for at least two and a half orns barring complications. None of you are permitted to initiate contact with them unless it is to apologize for what you have done <b>and</b> they are willing to be in your company once more. Is that understood?”</p>
<p>There was an unwilling silence, heavy and laden with guilt and rebellion both before Ultra Magnus stepped forward and growled menacingly, “Do you or do you not understand the orders of your Prime?”</p>
<p>Finally, Jazz and the others managed to force a grudging assent from their vocalizers past the heavy feeling of pain and guilt in their sparks. As Optimus dismissed them and they all filed out, Jazz pondered yet more questions that had appeared in his processor, ones that suddenly seemed far more important than finding out what really happened to Starwish and her family unit. <em>How could I have been so fragging thoughtless? And how do I fix it when I can’t even see them? </em>His spark throbbed almost reproachfully at him as he wondered glumly, <em>I wonder if I’ll even get the chance to for a long, long time.</em></p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Agent 77095 or simply “Seven” as Rising Dawn called him while he was on duty, shook his helm silently as he watched the meeting end and the reprimanded bots shuffle away to go about their duties and contemplate their mistakes. Behind his blue visor, Seven’s optics lingered on the receding back plating of Jazz before the door slid shut behind it, <em>it would appear Rising Dawn’s words did not have much effect. Or perhaps the effect is merely delayed. </em>A low, irritated noise escaped his vocalizer, <em>why must faith be such a difficult concept?</em> Pausing, he reviewed his last mental sentence and then chuckled dryly to himself, <em>well, that was hypocritical of me considering how long it took me to accept certain matters on the basis of faith.</em></p>
<p>Soundlessly, Seven resumed walking, ghosting placidly through the door as it opened again to release Ultra Magnus from Prime’s office, taking care not to inadvertently phase through the much bigger mech as he did so. Shooting a thoughtful glance at the SIC, Seven shook his helm and turned down a different hallway, meandering through the bustling activity and ducking occasionally through walls in order to facilitate a broader patrol route. <em>Looks like the ripples are starting their journey to become waves. I wonder who will be the one to risk drowning in them first?</em></p>
<p>Looking around as he walked unseen through the halls of Iacon’s main base, Seven took note of various things, from the state of mind and wellbeing of whoever was walking past to the snatches of gossip that told him how the war was faring in that world. His partially aimless patrol ground to a halt when he spotted someone in particular trotting down the halls, huge blue optics flicking this way and that, doorwings flicking up and down in concordance to his thoughts. Almost against his will, Seven smiled fractionally at the sight of the bright yellow armor and huge blue optics as memories of a similar yet inherently different Autobot came to the fore.</p>
<p><em>Now what could you be up to, youngling? </em>Checking his internal chronometer and deciding he had time for a detour, it wasn’t as if his patrol of this sector was on a schedule or plotted route really, Seven fell invisibly in step with the bright-opticed yellow praxian. Said praxian appeared to be looking for someone, stopping frequently to politely ask a passing bot if they’d seen the object of his search before continuing on.</p>
<p>Seven internally sighed, wishing briefly that he could warn the yellow youngling that it was not the best idea to seek out Starwish right then and actually be heard. Even though he knew it was futile, Seven said softly, “Now is not a good time, Bumblebee. Can’t you go look for someone else instead?” As expected, Bumblebee didn’t hear him and thus, did not have a chance to heed Seven’s words before finally arriving at the observatory where Starwish was currently hiding with her family. Standing on either side of the door were Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Both were glowering unanimously at the world as Sideswipe leaned against the wall in a seemingly lazy manner and Sunstreaker simply stood inches away from the potentially paint-scratching surface, majority of his weight balanced on one wheeled foot.</p>
<p>Seven came to a stop a safe distance away in the unlikely case that objects start flying. Nothing in that world could technically hurt him, but it was hideously disconcerting to have beings or items pass through him like he was merely air. He watched as Bumblebee approached the observatory door, pede-steps slowing with apprehension when he spotted the guards of said door, “Uh … hi Sideswipe, hi Sunstreaker … is Starwish in there?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe, the closest to Bumblebee, looked over at the yellow praxian and answered with uncharacteristic curtness, “Yes.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s doorwings flicked backward, apparently caught off guard by Sideswipe’s unusual briskness, “May I … go in and see her?”</p>
<p>“No.” The growled syllable emerged from Sunstreaker’s vocalizer like a death threat instead of a simple refusal and Bumblebee hunched his shoulder plating a bit.</p>
<p>Seeing the youngling’s reaction, Sideswipe gusted through his vents faintly before vaguely explaining, “Now’s not a good time, Bee. Starwish and her family unit are having some bonding time after a stressful cycle. You understand.” The last part less of a question and more of a warning statement; understand or back off anyway. <em>It would appear that Ultra Magnus is not the only one to feel extremely bad-tempered on behalf of Starwish and her family unit. Good, they need support for all of the problems this may cause.</em></p>
<p>While Bumblebee tried unsuccessfully to talk Sideswipe into revealing just what had happened to make Starwish and her family unit so stressed, Seven easily bypassed the twin guards and phased through the door, suppressing his instinctive urge to shudder at the act of moving through something physical with the ease of long habit. Stepping fully into the observatory, Seven stared down at the comfort huddle taking place.</p>
<p>Hardwire acted as the base, providing lap space for all while his large arms wrapped firmly around the rest of the group to keep them close. Starwish sat cross-legged on Hardwire’s lap, backplates leaning against his chest plates while her arms remained firmly wrapped around the twinlings who were snuggling into her left and right sides, Zipline’s left servo stretched out to grasp Fast Track’s right servo from across Starwish’s lap.</p>
<p>They were speaking softly in english, their words barely whispers as the twinlings questioned, most likely for the hundredth time, why Hardwire and Starwish were so upset while the older siblings tried to tell them in a way that wouldn’t shatter the twinlings perception of things. As he stood there and watched the displaced family huddle together so desperately, the older ones clinging to the younger like if they let go their loved ones would vanish forever and the younger ones merely picking up on the stress, Seven felt his spark twitch in guilt.</p>
<p>They shouldn’t have had to do this, they shouldn’t have had to be taken from their home and shoved into a world of war and strife and battle-lines. Not without a known reason. Not without a choice. If Seven could have, he would have taken their places in a human second, as would many of the other Agents. <em>But we couldn’t. We had even less choice than they did. We have even less choice than they do now. Not unless we wanted to let countless die.</em></p>
<p>Seven finally averted his optics, aware that he was intruding on an intensely private moment even as Zipline and Fast Track were finally given a watered-down version of what had happened to make Hardwire so angry and Starwish so weary of the world. <em>They’ll make it though, they’ll keep moving forward and, eventually, they’ll learn to thrive here. I know they will. It is the way of their old world, the nature of the planet they come from to grow strong and proud in even the most harsh and unusual of circumstances. Adaptability is their greatest strength.</em></p>
<p>Glancing one last time over his shoulder, Seven let his gaze linger on Starwish, only leaving at last when her optics flickered up briefly to sweep over the area of wall behind him, as if searching for the presence of the mech she couldn’t see. Stepping through the wall and back into the hallway, Seven noted that Bumblebee had disappeared, not doubt finally shooed away by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Cocking his helm to one side, he briefly debated returning to HQ before deciding to check on one or two more things first.</p>
<p>His patrol of the sector wasn’t exactly plotted or difficult. The only requirement of the mission was that someone be in the sector at all times, with shifts being long or short according to the normal schedule of the current patroller and a general timeframe set up for when the current patroller was allowed to signal for the next guard to come. Sloppy though it may seem, most sectors weren’t even afforded that much. There were simply too many sectors to patrol them all.</p>
<p>Seven snorted to himself at the thought of running sector-by-sector patrols. They didn’t even have enough members to patrol all of the <b>Clusters</b>, let alone individual sectors. Usually only the particularly troublesome, “ripple-prone” clusters and their key sectors were patrolled with any regularity, making this one a unique but necessary exception to the norm.</p>
<p>Seven’s thoughts about patrols and the other quirky workings of the organization in which he was currently involved were interrupted by a huge explosion that sent air pulsing backward through his intangible form. Seven blinked once, impressed that someone had managed to create an explosion large enough to effect the Shadowzone, albeit vaguely, when the location wasn’t a battlefield.</p>
<p>His searching gaze located the source of the explosion and his surprise vanished in favor of a vaguely exasperated yet amused huff, <em>I suppose that there really are some constants in a cluster … he seems to be just as bad as Agent 9-5225 when it comes to explosions. Only Que’s not even in the room this time.</em> Seven eyed the motley collection of scrap metal and half-assembled items that had been scattered by the explosion of some random project that had finally tipped over and fallen from its high shelf perch and wondered idly if he should be worried on behalf of the inhabitants of Iacon.</p>
<p>Deciding it would probably be fine and that there wasn’t anything he could do about it even if he was worried Seven proceeded to ghost around the room, inspecting things out of simple curiosity before shaking his helm and leaving. He knew what Que was attempting to build as he’d overheard Cliffjumper explaining it to the inventor several cycles ago, so he had just enough of an idea of what he was looking at to be grateful he wouldn’t be tangible at the intended surprise party. <em>Though how on Cybertron he managed to build something that actually looks vaguely appropriate for a Christmas party I’m not sure I want to know.</em></p>
<p>A distortion in the Shadowzone alerted him to an incoming presence and Seven turned just in time to see Agent 5299 come barreling into existence, “You’re being pulled off shift, mech! We need yah in Cluster A-7, Sector D-37!”</p>
<p>Agent 77095 stiffened to attention immediately, falling into a swift sprint alongside Agent 5299 as the shorter agent promptly spun on his pede and bolted out of the Shadowzone and for their new destination, “What’s happening? Sector D-37 was reported stable!”</p>
<p>Agent 5299 snorted through his vents in worried exasperation, “Yeah, thah’s what was reported alright. But some glitch inside the Sector let thah rabbit femme out o’ her prison, again, an’ now she’s starting to rip open tha Shadowzone with all tha ripples she’s causin’.”</p>
<p>Seven groaned in exasperation, “<b>Again</b> with that femme? This makes the third counterpart of hers to try pulling that idiotic illusionary moon plan. I’m being called in because of my speciality then, I suppose?”</p>
<p>Agent 5299 flashed him a swift, cheeky smile, “Fifth counterpart, actually, but yeah! Agent 646286 requested yah help him out with damage control. He an tha other natives o’ thah Cluster have got it mostly contained, but he’s havin’ trouble cutting her connection ta tha Shadowgates. Dawn’s there too, trying ta keep tha other sectors’ Shadowgates from being affected but yah know her, she’s better at controlling tha barriers directly an not tha Shadowgates.”</p>
<p>Seven gave a low noise as they rushed through HQ towards one of the shortcuts to Cluster A-7, ignoring the hubbub and frenzy going on all around, “<b>None</b> of us are really able to control the Shadowgates, but I’ll see if I can help force them shut.” <em>Hopefully before Dawn get’s fed up and slips through the barrier to beat up that femme personally. Such a troublesome Cluster.</em></p>
<p>Agent 5299 saluted Seven with mock cheer, “Gotta roll, mech! Ah’m headed back ta keep an optic on Sector T-MV/P!” Seven barely spared the time to wave as Agent 5299 split off from him and darted off to return to the Sector Seven had just left, processor more focused on the impending struggle. His surroundings blurred briefly as he crossed the threshold of the shortcut and found himself almost instantly transported to the edge of the appropriate Shadowzone. The mist around his pedes was utterly calm, thankfully, its silver edges only just starting to take on a lavender tinge that signified the severity of the ripples taking place inside Sector D-37.</p>
<p>Wasting no time, Seven stepped into the Shadowzone of the Sector, immediately having to brace himself against the rhythmic pulsing and rippling that seemed to shake the very air at its molecular level, “Agent 6-286! Where’s Agent 6-286?”</p>
<p>One of the agents already on the scene, 746 if Seven recalled correctly, paused in her frenetic rushing to check on a Shadowgate to wave Seven in the correct direction, “That way! He’s at ground zero!”</p>
<p>Seven nodded a quick thanks at her retreating back before taking off in the direction indicated, only his extensive training and experience in bad ripple events enabling him to keep his pedes as he weaved his way around the cracking energy and beings who couldn’t see him to reach Agent 646286’s side. With a jump and flip, Seven finally reached his destination, “I’m here!”</p>
<p>Agent 646286 looked up briefly at the sound of Seven’s voice, a smile flashing briefly across his non-metal face before it settled back into one of grim concentration, “Good, I almost have her connection to the last Shadowgate ruptured, but I need a boost in control. Think you can lend a hand, uh, servo?”</p>
<p>Seven nodded curtly, promptly sliding into a cross-legged position, optics narrowing with concentration as he vented deeply, beginning the process of calming his processor, “Whenever you are ready.”</p>
<p>Agent 646286 hummed an acknowledgement before calling over the sudden howl of wind, “On my signal then!”</p>
<p>Inside the sector itself, the inhabitants continued to fight against the near-overwhelming force of their enemy, unaware of the hidden beings aiding them from the outside. The source of the ripples narrowed her eyes dangerously as one of her opponents stubbornly picked himself off of the cratered ground and yelled defiantly, “I will not submit to the likes of you! None of us will!” The single cry of defiance tore across the previously silent battlefield and, slowly, rallied the others there. One by one, they stood, or knelt, some leaning on a comrade because of their injuries, others standing stubbornly on their own two feet through sheer force of will. No other cry pierced the air, but even in the battered and howling Shadowzone, Seven could see the defiance mirrored in their gazes, each silently declaring the words of the courageous first as if it was their own voice and battle cry.</p>
<p>The femme, Seven was eternally thankful she wasn’t cybertronian as he had no desire to be related to her even <b>species-wise</b>, sneered venomously, “Very well, foolish children. If you will not submit, you will die!” Her pale white hands stretched to the sky and the Shadowzone itself seemed to groan under the strain of resisting of her idiotic attempt to drain its power. The Shadowgate in front of Seven rippled dangerously, the sector nearest the disaster area starting to ripple as its own Shadowgate reacted and started to open.</p>
<p>Seven closed his optics grimly, pushing away thoughts of what could happen if inhabitants of either sector got too close to the hidden Shadowgates right now. Next to him, Agent 646286 shouted, “Almost … now! Close it! 77095, <b>close it</b>!” Seven gusted through his vents, pushing hard at the energy that comprised the Shadowgate, forcing it to bend and warp in a manner opposite what the femme wished for.</p>
<p>As Agents, they were unable to breach the interiors of the sectors without causing serious damage. But, as every logical person could figure out, just because they couldn’t go through a door, didn’t mean they couldn’t barricade it shut from the outside. Especially when the person on the other side of the “door” was never meant to touch it in the first place. The energy comprising the Shadowgate snapped and keened, suddenly rebounding against the person trying to force it open and causing a massive recoil effect that knocked her concentration loose, threatening to sever her hold on the Shadowgate.</p>
<p>The femme threw back her head with a feral shriek of surprised pain and rage, a shockwave of energy exploding out from the Shadowgate, through her, and into the sector, knocking several of her wounded opponents off of their feet again. Two of them managed to hold their ground, bracing against the howling circle of pure energy as it surged over them before launching themselves at their enemy with twin battle-cries, sensing an opening in the wake of the attack.</p>
<p>The two remaining defenders slamming their respective weapons into their enemy’s vulnerable frame, the pain of the mortal wounds she was suddenly receiving shattering the rest of the femme’s concentration, allowing the Shadowgate to snap shut with a concussive “whoomph” and a ripple strong enough to send Seven and the other agents sprawling. Inside the sector, the femme died with a scream and a self-destructive flare of her own power, knocking back her destroyers and sending them tumbling much the same way the Agents inside the Shadowzone had just been sent sprawling.</p>
<p>For a long moment, both inside the sector and out, there was a heavy silence in which all members tried to wrap their minds around the fact that it was over, that the disaster had passed, that the crisis had been averted.</p>
<p>Then ragged cheers started up within the sector, snapping the intangible and invisible agents out of their stupors and Seven sat up with a low groan, “Thank the AllSpark that’s over. Must the people of this Cluster always be so … destructive when they fight?”</p>
<p>Agent 646286 chuckled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well … at least they don’t do it intentionally, right? Unlike the people of Cluster C-MU and C-DCU…”</p>
<p>Agent 5-74462, who had come limping over to check on her partner 646286, moaned dramatically, “Don’t even <b>mention</b> those Clusters, especially not in the middle of a victory! Those Clusters are such a pain, ‘ttebane!”</p>
<p>She leveled a very dark look at Seven, “You owe me a treat of my choice at The Cinnamon Bee just for that.” Seven blinked at her in surprise from behind his visor while 646286 tried vainly to dissuade her from her proclamation.</p>
<p>Seven felt his mouth plating tick upward a fraction before he interrupted the arguing pair politely, “It would be my pleasure, 5-74462.”</p>
<p>She smiled brightly at him as he stood up and they began to file out of the Shadowzone and back to HQ along with the other agents, “Good! But one more thing, yah gotta call me by my <b>name</b> while we’re there. My serial number is just so boring and impersonal, ‘ttebane!”</p>
<p>Seven nodded politely once again and allowed himself to be dragged off to The Cinnamon Bee by the chattering organic femme agent and her partner, content to roll with the sudden change in activities. <em>From boring patrol to stabilizing reality to being off-duty entirely … throw in some clumsy attempts at jokes and a Decepticon attack and it would be just like my old home…</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. The Offer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(Ten Cycles Later: Morning)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stood up sharply, bending over immediately to get a better look at the item in Starwish’s servo, trying to confirm that his optics and audios weren’t deceiving him, “Master <b>Yoketron</b> gave this to you?”</p>
<p>Starwish shifted nervously, holding the item a little farther away from her frame in case it was dangerous, “…Yes? I … I meant to show it to you right away but then…” <em>The incident with Ratchet at the others happened and I had to get to know my new teachers and adjust to not seeing Ratchet or Jazz or Ironhide at all. Not that I want to see them particularly after what they did.</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus, sensing how uneasy he was making her, sat back in his chair slowly, still staring at the small token in her servo with an unreadable expression, “Did he give you anything else, Little One?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, using her other servo to unsubspace the datachip Yoketron had given her, “Yes, actually. He, um, he said to give this to you.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus took the datachip carefully from Starwish’s much smaller servo, optics rounding slightly as he exhaled slow and long through his vents, “It couldn’t be…”</p>
<p>Starwish fidgeted a bit as she retracted the servo with the token in it, “What couldn’t be, Opi?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stared blankly at the datachip before unsubspacing a datapad and slotting the datachip inside. His gaze flickered over the datapad’s screen, reading the contents what must have been at least three times before setting it down slowly, their bond flaring with shock. Wordlessly, he sat back in his chair, his stunned expression matching his emotions through their bond.</p>
<p>Tentatively, Starwish inched closer to him, “Opi? What is it?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus blinked once, twice, thrice, before finally answering, “Yoketron has decided to take you on as his apprentice.”</p>
<p>Starwish recoiled a bit, “He’s what? Why? What does he do?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus slowly rubbed a servo across the top of his helm, his stunned feelings never leaving, “Yoketron is the last known living Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps, a prestigious and extremely secret sect of Cybertronians whose existence dates back even before the Golden Age. It became extremely small and was considered outdated by the height of the Golden Age. What was left the Corps was inducted into the Autobot Army’s Special Operations forces when the war began … those who are not offline keep their status as members of the Corps a strict secret known only to a chosen few.”</p>
<p>He looked at Starwish with a near disbelieving gaze, “Master Yoketron has not taken an apprentice since … at least two hundred and fifty vorns ago.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt like her helm was about to spin and she perched shakily on the desk Ultra Magnus kept in his quarters. <em>A ninja? He’s a ninja? Wait, when did Cybertron ever have </em><b><em>ninja</em></b><em>?</em> A memory file from long before she became a cybertronian popped up and Starwish blinked once, <em>Oh yeah, Prowl from that Animated series was a ninja. But this isn’t that universe, I would have thought it didn’t apply… says the girl in another universe in the first place so scrap that argument.</em> Fighting down the twinge that came with just thinking about her past of late, Starwish pulled herself from her musings to ask incredulously, “And he wants to make <b>me </b>a ninja?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus picked up the datapad again as he answered solemnly, “<b>Cyber</b>-Ninja and it would appear so. This datachip contains a summary of his intentions and how to contact him for arrangements on this matter.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt like she would have blanched if it was anatomically possible, “Wait, wait, wait, don’t I get a choice in this?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus soothed her a bit over the bond as he said, “Of course you do, Starwish. If you truly do not want to be trained in the Cyber-Ninja arts, than it is possible to turn him down. However … I would strongly advise agreeing to the apprenticeship, Little One.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at her guardian disbelievingly, “You … you want me to become a nin- Cyber-Ninja?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sighed heavily, setting down the datapad yet again in favor of folding his servos together and resting his chin on them, “Little One, Cybertron is a dangerous place now, and you have already been taken from me once.”</p>
<p>Starwish winced minutely at that, memories of the battlefield and Shockwave threatening to rise before she managed to push them back down and listen to her guardian as he continued, “You … you are small and certainly not a combat frame. Also, as a medic, you cannot afford to have very many conventional weapons or ammo in your subspace. Cyber-Ninja, for all their secrecy, are renowned for one thing in particular; the ability to stay unnoticed in battle or win against multiple opponents in purely servo-to-servo.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus paused to rub his helm with a servo before returning to his original position, “You have met Master Yoketron, and you know that he is far from a large or young mech. Yet he is known as one of the fiercest combatants on all of Cybertron even these cycles.” Ultra Magnus looked at her earnestly, his tentative emotions creeping over their bond to back up his words, “I … I know I will not be able to keep you completely away from the battlefield forever, and when that cycle comes, I do not want you to be helpless if found alone by Decepticons. Master Yoketron could teach you to stay safe, Little One. You and your patients.”</p>
<p>Starwish shuddered at the mere thought of going back onto the battlefield, servos coming up to rub her upper arms instinctively even though the shudder wasn’t from cold. <em>Go near or on a battlefield again? I don’t think I can do that. I don’t- </em>images and sounds of screaming and explosions threatened to rise and engulf her before Ultra Magnus sensed them and pushed them away with a wave of comfort through their bond and the physical act of picking her up and placing her in his lap, “At ease, Starwish. You are safe in Iacon. You are safe.”</p>
<p>Starwish leaned against her guardian’s chest plating with a grateful gust of her vents, memory fluxes were horrible things to experience. Reluctantly bringing her processor back to the topic on servo, Starwish asked softly, “Would I have to give up my medical training?”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus shook his helm, “I do not believe so. Master Yoketron is a reasonable mech and I am sure that he would not have even considered apprenticing you, a talented medical apprentice, if it required you giving up your lessons in the medical practice. There would undoubtably be a significant decrease in the amount of free time you have, but it would certainly be worth the benefits of his teachings.”</p>
<p>Starwish closed her optics briefly, pulling up her memory file of her only meeting with Yoketron, <em>why me? Whatever did I do to impress him? This sounds like a big deal, to be offered the chance to become his apprentice. I panicked just giving him a basic checkup! I did nothing remarkable!</em> Her processor pulled up the specific moment of her conversation with Yoketron in the hallway, his random yet serious questions and his reaction to her response. Starwish’s optics snapped open and she whispered, “You’ve got to be joking…” <em>That was some kind of cliche old-potential-mentor-asks-random-yet-deep-question test? </em>Ultra Magnus gave her a wordless feeling of curiosity over their bond and Starwish mumbled sheepishly, “Nothing, I just … I just realized that he must have been testing me during the medical checkup. I still don’t see how I caught his optic though.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus asked gently, “Do you wish to accept his offer? If you do, there is no backing out unless Master Yoketron consents to it. You will be his apprentice until you have either mastered the Cyber-Ninja arts or he deems you unable to learn more.”</p>
<p>Starwish froze briefly with nervousness, processor flickering indecisively between saying yes or no. On the one servo, it sounded incredibly hard and intimidating to say yes. Especially since there would be the pressure of only being able to leave if she was a “failure”. But on the other servo, it was the opportunity to become a <b>ninja</b> as well as a medic. She would, if she succeeded, become a much better fighter at the very least. <em>Fighting … on a battlefield. </em>The memory of being carted away in a Decepticon gunship, unable to fight back as she and Hardwire were hauled away to be given over to Shockwave rose strong and spark-freezing.</p>
<p>Her servos clenched into fists as a thought pulsed desperately, dangerously, through her mind, <em>never again. I do not want to be that helpless, or helpless at all, </em><b><em>ever again</em></b><em>.</em> Her conviction must have pulsed over her bond with Ultra Magnus, because he had a look of understanding even as she raised her helm and answered firmly, “I accept. I want to be his apprentice.” <em>I just hope I live up to his expectations.</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus brushed his servo against her back plating soothingly, “I will contact him immediately and make the arrangements. For now however, I believe you have lessons with Cogwheel to which you must attend?”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a wordless noise of agreement as she reluctantly vacated her Opi’s lap and made her way out of their shared quarters with a tiny murmur of farewell. After her rescue, awakening, and subsequent discharge from the medbay, Optimus had reassigned Starwish and Ultra Magnus to share quarters like they had before Moonracer and Flareup had arrived in Algol. He and Elita-1 had both insisted that it would be best if she was near someone she had a spark bond with, namely Ultra Magnus. It did indeed help a bit, but Starwish couldn’t help feeling guiltily sometimes when she jerked out of recharge crying because of holographic fluxes and thus awakened her overly watchful Opi.</p>
<p>The cycle was just beginning, the sun having barely started to noticeably crest the horizon, yet already Starwish could hear Iacon base humming with activity. <em>This place never sleeps, I swear. Then again, with the number of Autobots that must be working here and how much they have to do because of the war, I suppose that’s no surprise.</em> Starwish ducked her helm a bit as she took a lift up to the level of the base that contained the medbay, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible among the other Autobots leaving that particular living quarters level on their way to work.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the other femmes were not around to hide among, so she was inevitably noticed by the group of mechs that had stepped into the lift with her. Fortunately, she knew two of them enough to tentatively relax as they greeted her.</p>
<p>Bluestreak smiled winningly at her, doorwings bobbing happily, “Good cycle, Starwish! How is your cycle going? Though, I suppose since it just started you can’t really give me a fair appraisal of how it’s going but so far it’s been good, right? At least, I hope so. I know what it’s like to have a cycle start off terribly from the moment I come out of recharge but luckily for me this wasn’t one of those cycles. How about you? Are you heading to train somewhere or do you have a bit of free time? I’m on patrol in about a joor but when I get back we could go down to the shooting range and practice if you want. Or not, I’m not sure if medical apprentices have long range rifles which is a pity because they’re so useful-”</p>
<p>Hound gently placed his servo over Bluestreak’s mouth, halting the steady stream of words and saving the audios of everyone else in the lift. Grinning easily at her, Hound gave his own greeting, “Good cycle, Starwish.”</p>
<p>Starwish smiled a bit, trying to ignore the other mechs not-so-secretly listening in to two of their comrades speaking with a pretty femme, “Good cycle, Bluestreak, Hound. I’m … well enough, I’m on my way to medical lessons with Cogwheel.”</p>
<p>Hound slowly lowered his servo from Bluestreak as he blinked in surprise, “Cogwheel? Ratchet too busy?”</p>
<p>Starwish did her best to suppress and hide the stab of hurt anger that pierced her spark at the mention of Ratchet as she answered falteringly, “O-oh well, Cogwheel has prosthetics like mine s-so it seemed like a good idea to get some tutoring f-from her.” <em>So much for pretending nothing’s wrong.</em></p>
<p>Bluestreak’s doorwings drooped in confusion and Hound was frowning faintly at her as Bluestreak blurted, “Is everything okay, Starwish? You didn’t get in trouble for getting tutored by another medic did you? I wouldn’t think it would be a problem, especially not with Ratchet. Once you get to know him, he’s really a fairly reasonable mech-”</p>
<p>Another stab of pained anger flashed through her spark and she cut Bluestreak off abruptly, “It wasn’t a problem and nothing is wrong.”</p>
<p>Both mechs looked slightly taken aback, causing Starwish to immediately flush and look away from them, “Sorry, Bluestreak. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”</p>
<p>Hound reached out and gently nudged her shoulder plating with his servo, “Are you sure everything is alright?”</p>
<p>Starwish bit her lip plating as the lift stopped and the door slid open, allowing the other mechs to stride out and another wave to start entering. Hurrying out of the door, she was displeased to realize that Bluestreak and Hound were now following her. Sighing heavily, Starwish mumbled, “I got into a fight with Ratchet. I’m still … I’m still mad about it is all.” <em>Really, really mad and really, really hurt that he would say those kinds of things. I know I should calm down and forgive him, them, … Cybertronians haven’t had any positive contact with organics as far as I can tell but it just … it hurts so much to know that he said those things to Hardwire. That he went behind my back to ask those things and then just … flung the information away in favor of believing that Hardwire and the twinlings and I were crazy.</em></p>
<p>Bluestreak sounded surprisingly subdued as he asked, “Is that why Hardwire’s been avoiding Ironhide down at the shooting range? They had a fight too?”</p>
<p>Starwish glanced at Bluestreak, partially surprised that he hadn’t rambled at all, more surprised by the fact that he’d noticed only ten cycles into the new “avoid Ironhide, Ratchet, Chromia, and Jazz” routine. Looking down at the floor again, Starwish said softly, “Sort of. I can’t … I don’t want to talk about it. We all had a fight and some … uncalled for things were said and … and…” Starwish fluttered her optics, trying to fight back the tears that suddenly rose and threatened to spill over. <em>No! I can’t cry now! I need to look presentable and professional around Cogwheel! I am </em><b><em>not</em></b><em> going to break down in the hallway!</em></p>
<p>Her mental self-reprimands and orders didn’t help much, but with several kliks of venting deeply and focusing pointedly on anything but the two mechs following her, she managed to restrain her tears. Hound’s voice broke through her concentration, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening between your family unit and Ratchet or Ironhide but I’m sorry. I won’t pry, but if you need any help…”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded in acknowledgment of Hound’s words and the rambling agreement from Bluestreak that immediately followed, teetering emotionally between being touched by their words and embittered by the snide thought that if they knew what the argument had been about they would be on Ratchet’s side instead. Pushing the bitter thought away as best she could, Starwish whispered a thanks and waved a shy goodbye as they parted ways in the halls, leaving her to walk to the medbay alone.</p>
<p>Or at least, to walk to the medbay alone for about two more breems before a voice called from behind, “Star! Starwish, wait up for a klik!”</p>
<p>Starwish went rigid, spark suddenly pounding in her throat tubing at the familiar voice of Jazz, not daring to turn around as he came steadily closer and inwardly wondering when the hallway had become utterly empty of anyone else. <em>Don’t turn around, be civil, don’t cry, don’t turn around, be civil, don’t cry.</em> Jazz’s pedesteps came to a halt a short yet distinctly polite distance from her, his voice lowering as he asked softly, “May Ah approach?”</p>
<p>Starwish ground her denta together. According to what Hardwire had, very reluctantly, told her, Jazz hadn’t said anywhere near as many hurtful things as Chromia, Ironhide, and Ratchet had. But that didn’t change the facts that he hadn’t made any move to stop the others from their accusations and had, in fact, agreed with their assessments. Her spark throbbed in its chamber hard enough to feel like it was twisting painfully as she silently gave a curt nod to Jazz’s question, deciding to hear him out before she lost her composure.</p>
<p>Jazz approached until he was about arm’s-length away, moving around her so that he was in front of her, fingers twitching subtly as he said, “Look, Star, Ah’m sorry. Ah really, really am. Ah shouldn’t have let Ratch’ and the others say those things an’ Ah shouldn’t have…”</p>
<p>Starwish hissed softly, her voice coming out surprisingly firm and cold as her optics stared at the floor, “Agreed with them?”</p>
<p>Jazz shifted back and forth, she could see the motion at the top of her vision by way of his twitching pedes and ankle armor, “Look, my point is, Ah’m really, sincerely sorry. None of us had any right ta say those things and if somebot had said those things ta me, Ah know Ah’d have done much worse than just yelling at tha bot. Ah … Ah’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her spark pulse with something other than pain, felt it reach out with the sudden urge to forgive Jazz even though she was still mad at him, but then she remembered the look in Hardwire’s optics when he’d dragged her off to the observatory and the urge vanished under the weight of her still-simmering hurt, “Do you believe me? Believe us? Or are you just trying to get back in the good graces of some poor deranged bots who need to be healed from their ‘delusions’?”</p>
<p>She heard Jazz stutter in surprise and she forced herself to look up, cold anger temporarily staving off her tears, “Well?” She watched for a few kliks as his armor fluffed then smoothed and he scrambled for a response. Something inside her keened in a way she couldn’t understand as she cut him off, “Don’t. Don’t try to lie, or cover up the truth. You either believe us or you don’t. Just … leave me alone. Leave us all alone.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s posture seemed to droop and he took a hesitant step forward, “Star, I really am sorry.”</p>
<p>Starwish sharply noticed the drop of his accent and suddenly her cold anger wasn’t enough to hold back her tears. Squeezing her optics shut preemptively to keep Jazz from seeing the tears, she hissed, “Go away. Just … go away until…” <em>until my spark stops hurting so much.</em> She thought she heard a faint hiccuping noise from Jazz, possibly his vents resetting after too sharp an intake, but didn’t bother trying to confirm. She just stood there, stiff and silent in the corridor until she heard Jazz’s pedesteps receding reluctantly into the distance.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus nudged her spark over their bond gently, silently asking what was wrong. Starwish sent back a curt, and painfully false, <em>“I’m fine, Opi.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sounded stern and concerned all at once, <em>“You can’t lie over our bond, Little One. What is wrong? Do you need help?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm sharply, wiping her optics with a furious motion of her servo as she broke into a sprint for the medbay and the potential safety of Cogwheel’s lessons, <em>“I just … Jazz tried to apologize just now. He dropped his accent and … I think he was serious but it just … it hurts too much! I can’t- It </em><b><em>hurts</em></b><em>, Opi!”</em></p>
<p>Some part of Ultra Magnus’s spark curled away from their bond, as if hiding a particularly private thought even as he projected comfort to her and murmured, <em>“Do you need to reschedule your medical lesson with Cogwheel?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish skidded to a stop in front of the medbay doors, stepping hastily aside for a pair of mechs hurriedly leaving the medbay with pieces of fresh, unpainted armor, <em>“No. I need a distraction.”</em> Ultra Magnus reluctantly consented and retracted from their bond as she darted into the medbay itself, sprinting past Ratchet so quickly she almost missed the fact that his paint scheme was no longer orange and white but was instead comprised of a still-dripping chartreuse paint that looked more like it had been unceremoniously dumped on him than painted on.</p>
<p>Her thoughts stuttered at that and she glanced over her shoulder just before passing out of the main medbay room to check if her optics had truly seen that. They had, and if Ratchet’s sullen growling and wrench prepping as he left the medbay were any indication, it was not a voluntary repainting. Part of her found it funny while another part of her vindictively thought it served him right. The door slid shut just before Ratchet could turn around and see her staring and she decided not to press her luck. She was in no mood for another confrontation and maybe-sincere apology.</p>
<p>Trotting down the halls of the medical wing as fast as she could, she blinked rapidly to conquer the newest threatening wave of tears, knowing she had to get them under control before she met Cogwheel for her lessons. <em>Act professional, act professional, don’t cry or she’ll know something’s wrong and I really don’t want her to do … something. Especially not talk to Ratchet, she and Hoist are already suspicious enough about my transferring from Ratchet’s teaching.</em></p>
<p>Pushing those thoughts away as best she could, Starwish took one last deep vent as she stopped in front of Cogwheel’s office door and knocked politely on it. A voice from inside immediately told her to enter, which Starwish did as meekly and politely as possible. Cogwheel looked up from arranging datapads on her desk with two of her smaller optics as Starwish entered, “Ah, good cycle, Starwish. Did you finish the next chapter of study material I gave you?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “Good cycle, Ma’am. Yes, I read the study material. It … was fascinating, I had no idea there were so many parts and functions influenced by the T-Cog. Or that the T-Cog itself was so intrinsically complex.” Internally, Starwish was immediately thankful that vocalizers were not so prone to wavering under stress as human voice boxes. Despite her still-rampant and unstable emotions, she sounded normal and calm … if a bit on the quiet side, but Cogwheel probably wouldn’t notice that because of Starwish’s natural shyness.</p>
<p>Cogwheel finished her current task and looked up fully, all of her optics swiveling to focus on Starwish as she gave a tiny yet warm smile, “Most don’t. That is why most bots are not qualified to perform surgery. Among other reasons. One mistake or unknown fact can permanently alter or even destroy a patient’s life.” Starwish nodded quietly again, trying not to be intimidated by that phrase and the memories it brought up. She already operated on several Autobots with only her medical program to guide her, it was disconcerting to know just how strange and potentially harmful her medical program was. The more she learned about Cybertronian anatomy and medical procedures, the more terrified she was of the thought of repairing somebot without a supervisor and only her medical program to set her straight.</p>
<p>Cogwheel walked around her desk and moved slowly and gracefully for the door. Starwish hastily stepped to one side to let her pass, waiting for her newly appointed teacher to tell her what their lesson would be for the cycle. Cogwheel’s smallest pair of optics twitched down to watch Starwish as she signaled for the medical apprentice to follow her, “There are no current patients in the medbay that require surgery, thankfully. However, that means we will have to postpone your observation and apprentice participation in a surgery until one comes in. For now, we will be running maintenance and working on identifying the interlocking systems contained within the torso area of an average ground-bound mech.”</p>
<p><em>Participate in a surgery? No thank you!</em> Venting slowly to withhold her potentially loud reaction to Cogwheel’s absentminded statement, Starwish simply gave a meek acknowledgement as she followed Cogwheel down the halls of the private wing, internally wondering which patient they would be visiting that cycle and using for Cogwheel’s lessons. Cogwheel, like Ratchet, was very servos-on when it came to teaching, believing a few tutored experiences in the real thing to be much more useful than joors of memorizing diagrams. <em>She’s already taken me to see several patients, most of whom I didn’t know. I wonder if Arcee is next? I remember Hardwire mentioning that she was in the Iacon medical facility recovering. Maybe she’s been discharged already?</em></p>
<p>Casting a covert optic at Cogwheel’s spidery and generally unnerving frame appearance, Starwish came to the conclusion that even if Arcee hadn’t been released from the medbay yet, there was no way she was meeting the femme while Cogwheel was her teacher. The surgeon was, despite helm shape and coloration differences, disturbingly similar in appearance to Airachnid and Starwish didn’t think anyone on the scant medical staff was dumb enough not to see the potential for a PTSD-induced fit that Cogwheel’s and Arcee’s meeting would hold.</p>
<p>Wherever their intended destination was, it was abruptly postponed when a door to their left opened and a large mech lumbered out, a dark, hooded look in his blue optics. Cogwheel stiffened in something akin to indignation and Starwish froze as her new teacher fearlessly moved to block the much, much bigger mech’s progress down the hall, “Where do you think you’re going? You’re supposed to be here in the medbay resting for another two-”</p>
<p>The big mech drew himself up higher, armor flaring to show off the chipped red and yellow highlight lines, “I’m going to the <b>pub</b> for some <b>proper</b> energon. I’ve been resting for metacycles now, I feel <b>fine</b>.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s prosthetics snapped out of their resting positions to spread threateningly, enlarging her profile as she retorted coolly, “You’re spark was transferred to an entirely different frame class, you need time to properly ensure motor integration and balance adjustment-”</p>
<p>The mech interrupted her again, apparently not caring how rudely he was behaving, “How am I supposed to ensure or adjust anything when I spend all my time lying on a fragging berth trying to miraculously regain my lost memory files?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s optics, all of them, narrowed dangerously, “Autobot Slag. Get back in your room.” Starwish watched tensely as the mech, Slag apparently, simply snorted through his vents and crossed his massive arms over his chest plates in a show of stubbornness. <em>This won’t end well.</em> Timidly, Starwish spoke up, “Excuse me, Cogwheel, but … how much longer was he supposed to stay in the medbay? What is his medical condition?”</p>
<p>A pair of Cogwheel’s smaller optics shifted to blink at Starwish briefly before she replied cooly, “Two more cycles at the very least. His previous frame was destroyed and his spark was transferred to an S.P.C. on the battlefield. His spark has been integrating fairly well with to its new frame but there are risks that must be taken into account before releasing him from the medbay.” <em>S.P.C.? Where have I heard of that before? Wait …</em></p>
<p>Slag was saying something in retort, his tone irritated, but the words washed over Starwish without comprehension, her mind too busy reliving a snippet of her first time on the battlefield.</p>
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  <em>Forgoing her welders or scalpels, Starwish reached for the mech’s chest plates with her prosthetics, her servos holding an unsubspaced Spark Preserving Canister ready as she was forced to rip aside the crumpled chest plates in order to reach the spark chamber. The mech wailed shrilly through a static filled vocalizer as she tore aside the plating.</em>
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<p>Starwish felt her vents start to work faster, <em>S.P.C., Spark Preserving Canister. I used one. I found that mech and-</em></p>
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<p>
  <em>Exposing the spark chamber, she reached for the latch that would open it and reveal its precious cargo to the world, her prosthetic pincers moving with a confidence that almost didn’t seem to be her own.</em>
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<p>Cogwheel had noticed her reaction and had forgone lecturing Slag in favor of grabbing Starwish and shaking her lightly. In between the flashes of memories so strong they overrode reality, Starwish was aware of the Surgeon’s attempts to snap her out of it and Ultra Magnus’s rising concern. Her servos shook as the memory files suddenly glitched, unable to recall something, a part of the situation she was remembering that was critical to what had happened.</p>
<p><em>Confidence not my own … how did I know what to do? Why-?</em> The glitch was enough to drag Starwish shakily back to reality, her optics flickering up to stare at Slag as she blurted out in a hushed whisper, “That was you… You were the one I found and…” Cogwheel went rigid at her whisper, all eight optics widening in realization several kliks before Slag’s did the same.</p>
<p>Slag’s face morphed into something intense and unreadable, “You … you were the medic who … who did this to me.” His deep voice was flat yet filled to the brim with tension.</p>
<p>Starwish felt her jaw gears grind a little with how hard she was clenching them as she nodded shakily, “I … I think … yes.”</p>
<p>Slag vented deeply, his optics snapping shut as his servos clenched tightly into fists. Part of Starwish’s processor not-so-helpfully reminded her about his bitter comment of trying to regain his memory files and she felt her spark thud painfully in its chamber. <em>I saved his spark but I didn’t get any data from his memory core. I left his frame behind without a second thought. Did I even have the equipment necessary to copy his memory core? Shouldn’t I have at least grabbed his helm? Now he has no memories and it’s all my fault.</em></p>
<p>A part of her realized that even if she had grabbed his helm for future data copying, it would have been futile as right after that she’d been captured by the Decepticons. But the rest of her could only concentrate on the horror of her oversight and the repercussions it had wrought on this mech. Starwish lowered her optics, the shame and guilt swelling inside her making it impossible to look the much taller mech in the optics. His agonized screams from that cycle flickered through her processor and she flinched against her will.</p>
<p>Slag’s voice finally broke the tense silence, “What happened to me?” Starwish twitched and it took her a moment to realize what he meant. Cogwheel started to answer, but Slag held up a servo to stop her, his burning blue optics focusing with uncomfortable intensity on Starwish, “You weren’t there. She was. So What. Happened. To. Me?”</p>
<p>Starwish vented deeply, absently wondering if she was ever again going to have a normal or relaxed cycle in her life and also wondering why she hadn’t burst into tears yet. <em>Maybe I’m out. I have a robot body now, so maybe it has a smaller reserve of tears. Not that that’s important right now, </em>“You were on the outskirts of Algol when I found you. You … your frame as beyond repair, let alone field patching.” She paused for a moment to remember the report her medical program had given her, “Your lower legs and torso were missing, main energon pump was ruptured and practically gone, secondary one cracked and failing fast, and your main energon tank was punctured… I transferred your spark to an S.P.C. and … and I tried to get you to a medical bay as quickly as possible.”</p>
<p>Slag’s armor was slowly smoothing down from its bristled position, but his voice had a hard edge as he spoke, “What about my memories? My helm? Why’d you just <b>leave</b> it? If you’re allowed to carry an S.P.C. you should’ve known to-”</p>
<p>Cogwheel stepped in smoothly, her prosthetics twitching faintly in concordance to some unknown thought or emotion as she interjected, “Starwish was captured by the Decepticons breems after performing the S.P.C. procedure. She barely had enough time get your spark to a relatively safe place for later pickup when she was taken.”</p>
<p>Starwish and Slag both looked at Cogwheel incredulously, <em>How did-? She knows? Why hasn’t she said anything? Does that mean it’s common knowledge?</em> Starwish felt her faceplates pull into a frown silently, <em>but I didn’t take Slag’s spark anywhere, I gave it to Bumblebee for safe keeping after bargaining my willing surrender in exchange for Bumblebee’s and Slag’s safety. Why did she say otherwise?</em> Her mental flood of questions was briefly stemmed as Slag’s voice broke through it, his deep intonations much softer and more contemplative than before, “I … well. That … yeah.” His voice trailed off for a few kliks before he shook himself lightly and added in a gruff tone to Cogwheel, “I’m still going to the pub for a proper drink of energon.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel bristled again, clearly ready to protest, when Starwish stepped forward, guilt for the irreparable damage she had inadvertently done to Slag’s life causing her speak up, “Do you promise not to drink any high-grade and to consent to a medical escort?”</p>
<p>Both Slag and Cogwheel looked at her sharply before Slag nodded curtly and Cogwheel scowled darkly, “Now wait just a breem!”</p>
<p>Starwish hunched her shoulders at Cogwheel’s scolding tone but pushed on, stubbornly paraphrasing something Ratchet had taught her, “He only has two cycles left of his estimated medical stay, right? Than he should fully qualify for escorted medbay leave. As long as he doesn’t exert himself, has a medical escort at all times in case his condition abruptly worsens, doesn’t consume any high-grade or illegal substances, and returns to the medbay within three joors, he’s good. It’s in the code of medical operations and conduct.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel raised an optic ridge, “That was part of the code <b>before</b> the War started and mechs began recklessly disobeying their medics en masse for who knows what reason. Besides, who of the medical staff is going to be his escort? We’re short on staff as it is and <b>you</b> are in too much need of medical training.”</p>
<p>Starwish bowed her helm, feeling a flash of embarrassment for her outburst and for being scolded. Slowly, she tilted her helm to peek at Cogwheel with one shy optic, vaguely noting Slag watching the argument intently. After several seconds of her one-opticed stare being hopelessly outmatched by eight skeptical ones, Cogwheel finally hissed between her denta and said, “Very well, I will inquire as to whether or not either Jolt or Hoist can escort him. But <b>only</b> to the pub and back and <b>only</b> because I am not in the mood to wrestle a Brute-Class mech into submission. We do not have enough staff to spare for following patients about aimlessly.”</p>
<p>As Starwish immediately thanked Cogwheel, Slag rumbled low but clearly audible in the background, “Well, thank you, oh ‘gift of Primus’ for the suffering you endure.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s prosthetics clicked back into their dormant position as she barked, “I heard that. Now, get back in your room and wait for Jolt to come escort you.”</p>
<p>Slag looked at her with blatant skepticism but at her impatient shooing motion and gruff reassurance that she wasn’t simply tricking him into going back into his room, he stomped back through the door. Just as he was halfway through, he paused and looked over his shoulder at Starwish, his gaze … conflicted. Another wave of guilt crashed over Starwish and she lowered her optics to the floor, unable to meet the gaze of the mech she had failed, “I’m sorry,” she mouthed silently, not wanting Cogwheel to overhear … maybe not even wanting Slag to know what she was saying. Sorry couldn’t fix him, after all.</p>
<p>Not giving any indication as to whether he’d understood her or not, Slag reentered his room completely, letting the door slide shut behind him. For a moment, Cogwheel and Starwish stood there in silence before Cogwheel’s solemn voice broke the quiet, “Do not feel guilty. You can’t save everyone, no matter how much you want to. Autobot Slag is very, very fortunate to be online … his memories are not the heaviest price he could have been forced to pay for that fact. Now, come. We have a lesson to get to and a patient to treat.”</p>
<p>Starwish numbly followed Cogwheel as they resumed their walk down the halls. One thought nipping traitorously at her while her own, recently contested, memories circled dimly in the background. <em>Memories may not have been the heaviest price … but it is one of the cruelest. And it’s my fault that he had to pay it.</em></p>
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<p>Jazz’s backplates slammed against the floor of the simulation room with a heavy thud. Before the sound and faint pulse of pain even finished registering in his processor, instinct had already caused him to roll away from the drop kick the digital Decepticon had aimed at his helm. Flipping onto his servos, he swung his pedes up one after the other in a backflip-double kick hybrid that sent one of his digital opponents sprawling.</p>
<p>Flipping to his pedes, Jazz yanked an ordinary dagger out of his subspace and threw it with a viciousness he didn’t normally possess. It slammed into the optic of the Decepticon who was about to shoot him hard enough to trigger the offlining sequence. It shattered into pixels even as Jazz whirled on the next one, deflecting an overhelm sword strike to his right before twisting his wrist joint around to grab the digital mech’s outstretched sword arm.</p>
<p>Using it as leverage, he yanked down as he jumped, his weight forcing the holoform to stumble and bend over enough that Jazz’s flexible legs could wrap around his opponent’s neck. With a lock and twist of his weight, he redistributed not only his own weight to the left, but also the momentum of the falling enemy, effectively ripping and snapping various vital components and cables within the neck of his opponent turned victim, triggering yet another offlining sequence as he hit the ground and rolled to avoid the pot shots a newly spawned Decepticon aimed in his direction.</p>
<p>His frame flowed through the motions of the simulated fight with a rapid fluidity that only came from vorns of actual experience, his instincts and majority of his processor occupied with fighting off wave after wave of Decepticons. But no matter how many he fought and took down, a traitorous, tortuous little part of his processor kept replaying Starwish’s whisper over and over again, <em>“Just … just go away … until my spark stops hurting so much…”</em> The last part, the quietest, most horrible last part of that sentence stood out to him cruelly, making his spark slam in its casing in ways he hadn’t been aware it could do.</p>
<p>He had hurt Starwish’s spark. The spark of his One, his only potential spark mate, the spark of an innocent, sweet, compassionate femme … and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know if he <b>could</b> fix it. The lack of knowing what to do to fix his horrible mistake was almost worse than the constant throb that had entered his spark once he’d realized just how bad he’d hurt her. Almost.</p>
<p>He snap kicked the blaster out of one Decepticon’s servos while shooting another through the helm as it charged him from the right, <em>stupid, inconsiderate, </em>he dropped into a low crouch to avoid a horizontal sword swipe from behind as he shot the weaponless Decepticon in front of him through the chest plates, <em>over-analytical, sparkless,</em> he twisted around with a snarl and sprinted behind the sword-mech, leaping up to slam another plain dagger up to its hilt in the back of the digital sword-wielder’s helm, using the falling and rapidly disintegrating frame as a springboard to gain distance from the next wave, <em>pit-spawned glitch!</em></p>
<p>His rage and guilt fueled his rampage in the simulation room, although the term rampage may have been inappropriate as it indicated collateral damage and loss of control. His frame was perfectly controlled, every blow finding its intended target and none of his blaster-shots or daggers hitting anything aside from what he wanted them to. Still, his unceasing fight was easily brutal and one-sided enough to count as a rampage against the holographic Decepticons.</p>
<p>Leaping behind simulated cover as a Brute-Class Decepticon was spawned, a part of him continued to berate himself, <em>all those vorns learning to read mechs and femmes, to know what they were feeling and understand their thought processes and then you turn around and act so sparkless to a young, homeless mech who doesn’t know what’s going on anymore than you do! All those vorns of training and experience and you fail completely with the family unit of the femme who matters most!</em></p>
<p>He leaped out from behind his cover just as the Brute slammed a simulated EMP wave into the floor, normal blaster shifting out for his acid blaster in midair so that he could successfully shoot the mech’s helm before flipping over the Brute and shooting the construct in its weak-point, <em>so what if their memories seem impossible, illogical, and most likely horrible for them. It’s all they’ve got and you just … took their trust and crushed it! Stupid, inefficient, meltdown, glitchy-!</em></p>
<p>The broken whisper, one he was certain Starwish hadn’t meant for him to hear, floated through his processor again and Jazz let loose a feral yell as he bodily tackled the closest holoform, ripping out its exposed motor functions and wires with a terrible speed and efficiency. His spark and his processor warred wildly as he did so, his spark howling out that Jazz should be the one currently getting his parts ripped out for what he’d done, and allowed others to do, while his processor pointed out just how pointless and needlessly damaging the act would be.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the screaming holoform under him vanished along with the others who had been inflicting damage on his artificial armor durability bar with their blasters. Dropping onto the ground on all four limbs like a cyber-cat, he whipped his helm around to glare dangerously in the direction of the intruder, physical cues hinting at imminent attack even though he knew he would never follow through.</p>
<p>The mech who had turned off the simulation didn’t even twitch at Jazz’s bristling frame, feral posture, and visor-glare, he simply raised an optic ridge. Standing up slowly, Jazz did his best to suppress the snarling in his engine, accent nonexistent under the pressure of his roiling temper, “What do you want?”</p>
<p>Prowl barely twitched a doorwing, “You are late. You were supposed to be in your office reading your department’s reports and assigning missions thirty breems ago.”</p>
<p>Jazz glanced briefly at his chronometer, noting apathetically that Prowl was right. As usual. Flexing his claw-like fingers as his frame tried to settle from its emotion-fueled combat high, he muttered, “I see. I’ll be right there, Prowl. Just lost track of time.”</p>
<p>Prowl raised on optic ridge at the simulation room, “So I see.” There was no real damage on the walls, but Jazz knew that Prowl could, and probably had, accessed the most recent recorded files of the room, thus witnessing his brutal fight. Prowl made no move to leave as Jazz focused on venting deeply as he retrieved his thrown daggers. Trying to cool his frame and, hopefully, settle his processor. He noted with growing frustration that the latter wasn’t really happening.</p>
<p>Prowl’s voice was completely neutral as he interjected into Jazz’s methodical collection of thrown daggers, “You attempted to apologize to Starwish. You were given orders from Optimus to keep your distance.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt his armor flare again as he snapped, consciously forcing his accent so as to keep Prowl from seeing just how distressed he was, “He told us ta keep our distance ‘till we were ready ta apologize an’ they were willing ta listen. Ah asked Starwish if Ah could approach and she said yes.”</p>
<p>Prowl didn’t seem to be fooled by his use of accent, “She wasn’t ready to forgive.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s fingers twitched dangerously as he turned to face Prowl, expression dangerous as he silently warned his praxian friend to back off and leave the subject alone. Prowl’s cool demeanor, while usually appreciated, was most unwelcome at the moment. Prowl’s doorwings flicked with simultaneous signals of contemplation and sympathy as he fell silent for another breem. Jazz gathered his daggers intentionally slowly, carefully using the time afforded him to rebuild his emotional walls. It wouldn’t do for his subordinates to see him acting agitated, it would just make them agitated on the field and that could be a fatal mistake.</p>
<p>“She is your One.” Jazz’s joints locked up at Prowl’s sudden statement, spark stuttering with surprise and pain as his jaw gears ground tight to prevent him from saying anything he’d regret. <em>How does he know? I haven’t told anyone!</em></p>
<p>Slowly, Jazz turned to face Prowl, gauging the praxian’s posture to see if Prowl was making an assumption or if he truly knew what was causing Jazz such distress. From the position of Prowl’s wings and warily patient look in his optics, Jazz could tell that Prowl was truly convinced of his statement.</p>
<p>Jazz felt his rebuilt emotional shield quaver slightly before he shored it up, barely summoning the willpower to answer softly, “Yeah. She is.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings dipped low for a klik, a sign of intense sympathy in the stoic praxian, before raising to a neutral position. For several kliks, neither spoke, Jazz unwilling to say more and Prowl no doubt calculating what to say when comfort and romantic advice were two topics completely beyond the scope of his normal abilities. Finally Prowl gusted faintly through his vents, “I cannot tell you what to do, Jazz, aside from have faith in her and believe that she is who and what she claims to be. I am … inadequately experienced in these matters to tell you how to earn her forgiveness and trust beyond demonstrating that faith to her. But…”</p>
<p>Prowl unsubspaced a datachip and tossed it lightly across the training room to Jazz, who caught it with one servo, “This is an activity proposed by Cliffjumper and Vibes that was approved by Optimus and myself on behalf of Starwish, her family unit, and the rest of Iacon main base. All the data they gave and what I was able to gather upon the subject are on that datachip. It may be of some use to you. It will be taking place two metacycles from now. The exact time is on the datachip.”</p>
<p>Jazz stared down at the datachip, curiosity and thin tendrils of hope worming their way into his spark. Looking back up at Prowl, he took a deep vent and released it slowly before murmuring, “Thanks, Prowl. I … I’ll look into it.” Prowl nodded stiffly, clearly unsure how to help further, and left. Jazz spent a few more kliks staring down at the datachip before reluctantly subspacing it and striding out of the simulation room. He had a job to do, no matter what personal issues threatened to plague his processor.</p>
<p>Starwish’s whisper floated through his processor once more and Jazz felt his spark clench again. <em>I hope this “activity” Cliffjumper’s planning has a miracle or two included … cause I’m gonna need at least one to fix this.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. Changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hardwire let his optics drift silently over the various camera feeds showing different sections of the Iacon Main Base as well as the readings of various proximity sensors, motion sensors, and energy detectors set up all around inside the areas shown by the cameras. He tried his hardest not to flinch and whirl when he sensed another security mech, Tyre probably, shifting and grunting in boredom from behind Hardwire, unintentionally triggering his newfound phobia of mechs moving behind him.</p>
<p>Noiselessly, Hardwire sighed as he forced himself to relax. <em>Just a few more joors, just a few more joors and then I can leave.</em> Pointedly, he turned his attention back to the twenty-five monitors that recorded and kept track of the west wing of Iacon’s Main Base. This was only his fifth time on monitor duty, but by now Hardwire had come to the firm conclusion that Red Alert was fairly well entitled to his security-centered paranoia. There were somewhere around nine hundred and fifty monitors of varying sizes in the Iacon Security Hub, each showing a different area of Iacon via camera and a host of different sensors. Also, should a chase ever ensue within Iacon, the monitors were programmed to enlarge certain camera views to maximize surveillance and set off alerts whenever the pursued subject slipped out of one monitor cluster’s camera grid and into a different one.</p>
<p>And that wasn’t even counting the other, smaller rooms in the security wing with cameras, sensors, and who knew what else that kept track of specific rooms in the Main Base, The Vaults, The Docks, the old spaceport, The Hall of Records, and Hardwire didn’t know how many other locations.</p>
<p>It caused him to feel alternately mind-numbingly bored and hideously nervous just to keep track of his measly twenty-five assigned monitors, afraid that the one time he didn’t pay attention would be the one time something slipped by. Considering that Red Alert was in charge of all the security in Iacon and, from what he’d overheard, something of an overseer for the security standards of <b>every single Autobot base</b> on Cybertron, Red Alert’s unique psychosis revolving around all things security suddenly made a lot more sense.</p>
<p>The facts that Hardwire had to interact with Autobots he’d never met before and that there was no position he could be in that would enable him to watch his assigned monitors and <b>not</b> have his back to said strange mechs only made Hardwire all the more twitchy and sympathetic to the paranoid Red Alert.</p>
<p>“Hey, Hardwire.” Hardwire jerked a bit before glancing quickly over his shoulder at the speaker. He immediately suppressed a noise of irritation that threatened to escape his vocalizer. Tyre leaned back in his chair, folding his servos behind his helm as he continued to speak, “Wanna grab a High-Grade with me and some of the others after our shifts are done? Maybe find some entertainment?”</p>
<p>Hardwire kept his voice carefully neutral and inflectionless as he responded, “No thanks, Tyre, I’ve got something planned already for after my shift.”</p>
<p>Tyre made a noise of exasperation, “Again? That’s what you said the last time! And the times before that, too!”</p>
<p>Hardwire pointedly resumed watching his monitors, “That’s because I had something already planned the last times too. Just like this time.” <em>Especially since they don’t involve you.</em></p>
<p>Ever since being assigned monitor duty, Tyre had ceaselessly tried to drag Hardwire off somewhere to have “fun” with him and a couple of his “friends”. Each time, Hardwire turned him down as politely as possible, but Tyre appeared to be persistent. This was the fifth time in as many shifts that Tyre had started to pester Hardwire whenever Red Alert wasn’t around. Perhaps Tyre honestly meant well and wanted to befriend Hardwire, but not only was Hardwire in no mood to try trusting someone so soon after Ironhide’s, Chromia’s, Ratchet’s, and Jazz’s betrayal of trust, he also did like the impression Tyre gave him.</p>
<p>Tyre felt … off, to Hardwire. Not evil or twisted by any means, he just didn’t feel like the kind of person Hardwire should associate with. Tyre felt like trouble. The kind of trouble that on Earth led to drunken parties, broken windows, and being escorted home by police officers. The near subconscious impression wasn’t eased at all by the fact that Tyre’s offers always included High-Grade, despite Hardwire telling him the first three times that he had orders from the medical staff not to consume the stuff, or the way Red Alert made it very clear that he did not like Tyre.</p>
<p><em>Then again, Red Alert doesn’t seem to like most of the mechs working the spare security shifts. He just makes it particularly clear when it comes to Tyre … at least to me.</em> His musing and periodic checking of the different sensors assigned to his monitors was interrupted yet again by Tyre’s increasingly familiar and unwanted voice, “Do these all-important plans of yours at <b>least</b> involve a gorgeous femme?”</p>
<p>Hardwire thought briefly of Firestar’s obstacle courses and physical therapy lessons and barely succeeded in not snorting at Tyre’s question. Hoping to get Tyre to leave him alone, Hardwire answered, “Something like that.”</p>
<p>That was apparently the wrong thing to say to buy Tyre’s silence as the mech immediately abandoned his post in favor of trotting over to Hardwire excitedly. Hardwire could hear several other mechs straightening up to listen eagerly and glowered at his screens, <em>right … the rule “never mention girls around hormonal guys if you want peace and quiet” applies to Cybertronians too. I keep forgetting.</em> Tyre forcibly spun Hardwire’s chair around to face him, prompting Hardwire to swat Tyre’s servo away and snarl, “What now, Tyre?”</p>
<p>The blue mech with red and green highlights retorted, “What now? Come on, mech! You can’t just admit you have something going on with one of the few femmes on base and not give details! How’d you ever get her attention? Which one is she? Is she that cute new one?”</p>
<p>Hardwire tried to turn back to his monitors but stopped when Tyre started leaning way over to stay in his line of sight, “I don’t see how it’s any of your’s or anyone else’s business.”</p>
<p>Tyre grinned at him in a leering manner that made something deep inside Hardwire stir balefully, “So it <b>is</b> the new one, huh? That must have taken some effort, getting a shy little thing like that femme to even talk to you! Mech, am I jealous, I’ve been checking her out over the monitors for cycles now but haven’t had a chance to meet her yet. What’s her name? Star … something? Star Dance? Star Plea? Star-”</p>
<p>Realization clicked in Hardwire’s processor and he suddenly found himself on his pedes, fist retracting from where it had lashed out and knocked Tyre to the floor. Reaching down, and ignoring the startled shouts of the other security mechs, Hardwire grabbed Tyre by the top of his chest plating and dragged him into a half-sitting position. Leaning close, he snarled dangerously in Tyre’s faceplates, “You’ve been doing <b>what</b> over the monitors?” Hardwire’s engine rumbled deeply and dangerously in his chassis as the something stirred a little more fiercely in his processor, making his optics flare a brighter red.</p>
<p>Tyre seemed to shrink back from Hardwire, clearly startled by the reaction, “U-uh … checking her out over my monitors when she goes by? What’s the problem? It’s not like I’m gonna swoop in and steal her if you two are courting…”</p>
<p>Hardwire dragged Tyre a little higher, hyper-aware that several of the other mechs were standing now, ready to intervene should things turn violent. Keeping his optics firmly on Tyre, Hardwire snarled deeply, “That little white femme is my <b>sister</b>, you stalking little-” Cybertronian swearwords failed him and Hardwire resorted to hissing the rudest expletive-type name he knew in english, then in swedish for good measure. Tyre’s armor was clamped down tightly on his frame in clear fear, optics growing wider with every word he didn’t understand coming from Hardwire’s vocalizer.</p>
<p>Rocker, another mech who had introduced himself to Hardwire on the latter’s first cycle of security duty, broke into Hardwire unintelligible tirade with a cautious, soothing tone, “Easy mechs, let’s not get something started in here or Red Alert will have all our helms. Tyre just made a harmless mistake is all, there’s no need to get physical over it…”</p>
<p><em>Little mistake? </em><b><em>Little mistake</em></b><em>? </em>Hardwire stopped swearing and swiveled his helm to glare at Rocker, who visibly flinched at the look in Hardwire’s optics. Slowly, Hardwire turned back to the mech in his grasp, aware that beating the scrap out of the digital stalker would only make him feel better temporarily and probably send him to the brig for his trouble. Plus, a tiny voice in his helm was whispering that he might be overreacting just a tiny bit. Maybe.</p>
<p>Shoving his protective rage down as much as possible, Hardwire hauled Tyre all the way to his pedes and then leaned close so that they were faceplate to faceplate. His voice came out as a low snarl as he enunciated as clearly as he could in Cyber-Standard, “If you ever ‘check out’ my sister, or <b>any</b> of the other femmes again, either over the monitors or physically, I will not only report you to Prime, Elita-1, and my <b>sister’s Guardian</b> Ultra Magnus, I will more than likely do something to you that I will regret <b>only</b> after I’ve been sent to the brig and you to the emergency wing of the medbay. Understood?”</p>
<p>Tyre’s engine stalled quietly and Hardwire raised his voice a fraction, “<b>Understood</b>?”</p>
<p>Tyre managed to stammer out an affirmative and Hardwire let him go with a disgusted noise and one last warning rev of his own engine. As Tyre scrambled back to his post, Hardwire swept his gaze over the other mechs in the room, silently challenging them to dare test the validity of his threats. The ones still seated looked away immediately while those that had risen to standing positions slowly retook their chairs, unable to meet his optics for more than a few kliks. Hardwire’s gaze fell on Rocker again, who was watching him with a surprising lack of fear. Rocker looked more contemplative than anything else.</p>
<p>However, once he realized that Hardwire’s gaze was focused on him, Rocker hurried back to his post, shoulder plating hunched but optics still flickering periodically to Hardwire. Slowly, Hardwire allowed himself to sit back down and turn back to his monitors, still internally seething at Tyre. <em>I’m probably going to get reported for that outburst too. Fraggit. Couldn’t Red Alert’s paranoia alert him to when his cameras are being used for stalking? Then again, it probably just looked like Tyre was paying attention to his job for once. Slagger. Should have punched him harder, I didn’t even dent his face plating. Not much anyway.</em></p>
<p>Deciding that if he was reported for his outburst Hardwire would simply explain to Prowl and Ultra Magnus what it was about, Hardwire resumed paying as much attention as he could to his monitors. His servos subconsciously flexed into fists before relaxing again. <em>I’m definitely going to need a spar or something after this. Hopefully Firestar has a really tricky obstacle course in mind this time.</em></p>
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<p>Rocker kept part of his attention on the com channel Tyre had opened to the other mechs in the room sans Hardwire as he carefully double-checked the infrared scanners that reported to his monitor cluster. Tyre was hissing darkly through the surprised chatter of the others, ::That mech is meltdown, I say. All I did was do a little admiring over the cameras! He never should have been let in the Security Wing. He’s a massacre waiting to happen.::</p>
<p>One of Tyre’s friends, a mech by the name of Hub, agreed fervently, ::The mechs from Algol say that he’s a Bāsākā mech, remember? They say Ratchet tried implanting some kind of control programming to keep him stable but it doesn’t seem to work very well.::</p>
<p>Rocker frowned and finally interjected in the multi-way conversation before it could grow to a frenzy again, ::Bāsākā? I heard he just had a faulty battle program that Ratchet had to partially lock down because it triggered too easily. Besides, it was his sister you so freely admitted to be checking out over the monitors, Tyre. I think he’s got a right to be overprotective in these times.::</p>
<p>Tyre made a snorting noise over the internal com somehow, ::Being the femme’s ‘overprotective’ brother is no reason to attack me for a little appreciative evaluation over the monitors. Besides, I’ve heard about the Algol battle from several mechs who were there and they all say that he went Bāsākā on the ‘cons. And even if it <b>is</b> just a faulty battle program, that still means there is something faulty in his processor.::</p>
<p>Rocker shot Tyre’s backplates a bland look, ::Then why try so hard to get him to like you?::</p>
<p>Tyre paused and Rocker could almost hear the mech sorting through his lies. Tyre wasn’t a bad mech really, but Rocker had learned a long time ago that Tyre was a mech attracted to trouble, social status, and gossip. He had probably been trying to win Hardwire over just to be able to brag about how brave he was to be friends with a mech supposedly beset with Bāsākā Syndrome. Finally, Tyre mumbled something about trying to be nice to the new mech despite nasty rumors.</p>
<p>Rocker internally scoffed before shutting off his com, Tyre would undoubtably stay away from Hardwire after the latter’s violent reaction to Tyre’s ogling over femmes, but Tyre would definitely start adding to the nasty rumors in retaliation for the punch and the threats.</p>
<p><em>Glitch should have guessed that the little new femme was Hardwire’s sibling. It isn’t like there are any other new femmes running around who supposedly have a big scary brother. </em>Rocker shook his helm silently as he idly flipped his monitor setting to a different sensor type. Even if he personally sympathized with Hardwire’s reaction, terrifying as it was, it was a bad move to make socially.</p>
<p>Mechs who worked in the security wing were automatically considered trustworthy sources of gossip, they spent jours on end watching other mechs go about their business after all. Thus, any nasty rumors Tyre started would be held in much higher consideration than whatever rumors were roaming around Iacon already and that could give Hardwire several new enemies and problems without his even realizing it.</p>
<p>Red Alert trotted in on his annual rounds of the security wing, his SiC Inferno following close behind, ready to handle the situation if something caused Red Alert to launch into one of his famous rants. Rocker made a point to keep his optics on his monitors so as to not attract Red Alert’s scrutinizing attention, <em>maybe I should report the incident first? That way the officers can help contain whatever rumors Tyre says? No, that wouldn’t help, the majority of the mechs wouldn’t dare go to an officer for clarification on this kind of thing, they’d just keep it among themselves and be suspicious of Hardwire in secret.</em></p>
<p> Out of the corner of his optics, Rocker saw Inferno give Hardwire a long, decidedly uneasy look before shifting his focus back to the silently pacing Red Alert. Rocker forced his armor not to bristle in sudden nervousness himself. Inferno was one of the most amiable officers he knew. Capable of getting along with almost anyone and keeping calm in any situation Rocker could think of. So why was he uneasy around Hardwire? <em>Except for his anti-social behavior and his temper display just now, Hardwire doesn’t seem that bad … is there something I’m missing?</em></p>
<p>A feeling of dread flickered through his spark, <em>is there something to those rumors after all?</em> Rocker shook his helm fractionally, stubbornly telling himself not to judge a fellow Autobot without good cause and plenty of evidence. Among many other things, being a career security mech meant learning to judge things by what you see yourself and not what others say. <em>Still, it wouldn’t be so hard to lean toward a favorable opinion of the mech if he would just interact with others more. Mech is far to much of a loner for his own good…</em></p>
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<p>Slag sipped his energon slowly, intending to savor both the non-medical taste of the fuel and the eternally rowdy and cheerful atmosphere of the Rec Room for as long as he could. Seated on the stool to his left, a medic designated Jolt waited patiently for Slag to finish his drink so as to escort him back to the medbay. Internally, Slag snorted and wondered how long he could drag out his moments of freedom away from the medbay without looking completely suspicious.</p>
<p>Deciding he didn’t care and would take as long as he wanted anyway, Slag briefly set his energon cube on the bar and swiveled his chair around to get a better look at the Rec Room activity. Off-duty mechs congregated in clusters of varying sizes, talking, joking, playing games, and perhaps even gambling if there were no officers in the room. All in all, it had a strong sense of familiarity that was comforting to the memory-less mech, a soothing feeling of remembrance that ran spark deep, no matter how destroyed his personal memory files currently were. However, his efforts at absorbing the atmosphere of the Rec Room and relaxing were continually ruined by the remembrance of his encounter earlier that cycle. He scowled as the memory cropped up again.</p>
<p>Slag had finally met the medic responsible for both his survival and memory loss. He had finally met the medic who had doomed him to an existence as “Slag” and not whoever he had previously been. He had finally met the medic he had fully intended on punching at the very least and hospitalizing if he could get away with it … and nothing was as he’d expected. Truthfully, Slag wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but what he’d gotten definitely wasn’t it.</p>
<p>The femme wasn’t even a full-fledged medic. She was just a medical <b>apprentice</b> trailing after Surgeon Cogwheel like a vaguely lost turbo-puppy. What kind of mentor let their apprentice handle an infamous S.P.C.? Moreover, what kind of CMO let a femme so <b>tiny </b>she looked like she could be snapped in half by a nasty look onto a battlefield with an S.P.C.? When imagining the conversation between himself and the medic who’d saved his spark but not his memories, he had anticipated five-syllable explanations and snobbish declarations on how he should be grateful he was online at all, memory-less or not.</p>
<p>But the femme hadn’t said anything like that. When he’d asked, she’d dared to give him a blunt assessment of the injuries leading up to the removal of his spark from its chamber and then helped him get out of the medbay, clearly as some kind of subtle penance for her mistake which technically wasn’t even a mistake if Cogwheel was to be believed.</p>
<p>She’d been captured by Decepticons shortly after performing a battlefield surgery he highly doubted she’d been qualified for. He snorted to himself, <em>and I thought I had glitchy luck.</em> He reached absently for his energon cube again only to have his brooding thoughts shattered by a rough bellow of, “Grader? Grader is that you, mech? The medics said you’d offlined!”</p>
<p>Looking up, startled, Slag suddenly found himself being surrounded by five mechs all roughly his height or taller and bearing identical color schemes to his frame. He started to bristle at being surrounded but was cut off when a mech almost as tall as him and much skinnier in frame caught him in a tackle-hug, “Grader!”</p>
<p>Slag hastily pried the mech off and shoved him away roughly. Sliding swiftly off the bar stool and to his pedes, he snarled with darkly, “Don’t touch me!”</p>
<p>The mech who had hugged him backed up hastily, optics widening in surprise while the others all seemed to blink in surprise, “Whoa, Grader! Take it easy! I’m just happy to see yah!”</p>
<p>Slag glared first at the mech who’d intruded his personal space, then at the others half-surrounding him and blocking off Jolt’s attempts to give aid, “Who the frag is Grader?”</p>
<p>One of the mechs in the half-circle said slowly, “Uh … you are. You’re on our team.”</p>
<p>Slag started to snap at the mech that he wasn’t Grader and had no idea what they were talking about when realization filtered through and his mouth plates snapped shut wordlessly, <em>this isn’t my original frame. I was transferred to it just after a battle. They obviously wouldn’t have had the time or resources to build me an entirely new frame so they … used one that didn’t have an owner anymore.</em></p>
<p>Slag struggled to quell the sick feeling in his tanks that threatened to make him purge his energon as he forcibly shoved his way out of the circle of mechs to loom over Jolt. Jolt took a tiny step back as Slag stated in a low emotionless voice, “You put me in another mech’s frame.”</p>
<p>Jolt nodded once, optics showing the fright he was carefully keeping out of his voice, “You … we didn’t have a choice. It was the nearest and only option we had at the time…”</p>
<p>Slag closed his optics and vented deeply, trying to fight down the feeling of intense revulsion that fluctuated through his spark. True, he’d always had a vague inkling that since this frame wasn’t originally his, it had to come from somewhere on short notice. But to suddenly come faceplate to faceplate with the knowledge that not only was he the <b>second</b> spark to live in that particular frame, but that the previous owner’s friends were still around to see him and get false hopes…</p>
<p>The tallest of the mechs rumbled questioningly, “Yo, Grader. What’s the matter with you?” Slag flinched minutely at the question. <em>I don’t belong in this frame. The mech named Grader does. First I lose my old name and memories, now I can’t even have a frame of my own…</em></p>
<p>Slag’s servos clenched into fists as he half-turned and said gruffly, “I’m not Grader. My designation is Slag.”</p>
<p>The shortest of the strange mechs cocked his helm to one side in confusion, “Huh? What do you mean you’re not Grader? Of course you are-”</p>
<p>Slag cut him off with loud rev of his engine, “I’m not Grader! Grader offlined.”</p>
<p>Silence fell, not just over the five strange mechs, but over most of the Rec Room as well as others turned to see what the shouting was about. Slag felt his armor, armor that used to be someone else’s, clamp down tightly at being stared at by so many. The tallest of the strange mechs watched him for a moment from behind his red visor before whirling to glare and snarl at the rest of the Rec Room. Hastily, those who had stopped to stare returned to their own activities, obviously not wanting to anger the huge mech.</p>
<p>Turning back to Slag, the tallest one grunted, “Frame transfer?” Slag nodded curtly in answer and waited warily for a reaction. The mech crossed his massive arms over his chest plates, “Well isn’t that just fragging typical. Grader was the demolitions expert on my team. Good one too.”</p>
<p>Slag shifted briefly, not sure what to make of the statement, “Sorry for your loss then.”</p>
<p>If the mech hadn’t been wearing a red visor, Slag would have sworn he exchanged a glance with his looming and color-identical comrades, “You know anything about demolitions?”</p>
<p>The question was as blankly delivered as it was blunt, surprising Slag into shaking his helm truthfully, “No. I was…” his vocalizer trailed off as his HUD unhelpfully pinged him with a notice that his personal memory files were corrupt beyond repair. He could easily pull up factual data on weapons, basic grenade types, combat techniques, and low-level strategies, but how that correlated to his previous profession within the Autobot army was unclear. With a low huff, Slag glared at Jolt, “Do you medics <b>at least</b> know what my class was before this scrapheap of a mess started?”</p>
<p>Jolt’s optics gained a faraway quality before refocusing nervously on him, “You were a front-liner. A Sergeant.” <em>Does that mean I had a team? They probably all offlined didn’t they? Or simply weren’t told that my spark survived. Glitchy medics.</em> Slag returned his attention to the ringleader of the mechs, “You heard him.”</p>
<p>The tall one responded, “You couldn’t just tell us that yourself? Or are you glitched in the helm?”</p>
<p>Slag stepped closer to the mech fearlessly, bitter anger sending caution out the window as he crossed his arms over his chest plates, mirroring the other mech’s posture, “Why don’t you try getting your old frame ripped into roughly ten different pieces then come and tell me?”</p>
<p>The other mechs unanimously stepped back from their seeming leader, apparently afraid of his potential reaction. Slag idly noted that the rec room had gone totally silent again and that Jolt looked ready to run away as fast as he could. Slowly, the mech everyone appeared afraid of stepped forward, intentionally towering over Slag as much as he could as he rumbled, “Are you looking to pick a fight with me, <b>Slag</b>?”</p>
<p>Slag huffed flatly, refusing to be intimidated even as his armor flattened a bit in a submissive gesture, “No. I just want to drink my non-medical energon in peace and enjoy my time out of the pit-hole they call a medbay around here. But if you <b>want</b> a fight, I’ll sure as frag deliver.”</p>
<p>Several kliks of total silence passed during which no one dared move. Suddenly, a loud snort emitted from the tallest mech in the room, followed swiftly by a single booming laugh, “I think you just might fit in, Slag. Designation’s Grimlock. Now come sit and have a drink with us.”</p>
<p>Slag raised an optic ridge slowly at Grimlock even as his processor was helpful for once in providing memories of rumors and random facts about the titan Autobot designated Grimlock, “Why would I do that?”</p>
<p>Grimlock cocked his helm to one side as he signaled the bartender for a drink and sat down heavily on a nearby stool, “You’d rather have the medic for company?”</p>
<p>Slag considered that for a moment before shrugging and sitting next to Grimlock, moving his drink to rest closer to his new position as the other mechs sat on either side of him and Grimlock, forcing Jolt to sit on the far end of the bar irritatedly. Grimlock and the others began chattering and talking rowdily, their noisy conversation and abrasive personalities serving to shove Slag’s identity issues temporarily to the back of his processor.</p>
<p>As he swigged on his energon and easily returned any verbal barb thrown his way, Slag suppressed a rueful grin. He couldn’t remember what kind of mechs he’d fit in with before, but these ones seemed to fit him well enough now. He idly interrupted Swoop’s story in the middle of a wild gesticulation from the skinniest of the mechs, “Lightning Strike Coalition Force? What kind of name is that?”</p>
<p>Grimlock, his battle mask lowered to reveal a badly scarred lower faceplate, smiled, the welding scars pulling and twisting the expression into something gruesome and intimidating, “A name for the best of the best, obviously.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. Sensei</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yoketron smiled faintly at Starwish as he led her into his dojo, noting how the small femme glanced once more over her shoulder plate at her Guardian, clearly seeking reassurance, before following him through the doors. Looking forward again, Yoketron said, “You have nothing to fear here, young one, for this is a place of learning, not danger.”</p>
<p>His audios, tuned over many vorns to pick up telltale sounds that indicated another’s mood, heard the faint shifting of metal plates rising then falling again in nervousness, “Yes … Master Yoketron. Sir.”</p>
<p>Only many, many vorns of control kept him from chuckling at the awkward address. He knew that laughter would not help her calm down at the moment, “You may address me by either Master or Master Yoketron, young one. Sir is an unnecessary adage.”</p>
<p>Again, her only response was a meek, “Yes, Master Yoketron,” and internally Yoketron frowned at her timidity. It was something he would have to address sooner than he anticipated it would seem. He reached out and soundlessly slid open the door to one of his dojo’s rooms as he mused how best to go about overcoming her timid nature.</p>
<p>The room was plain and empty of everything save a thin padding that would help cushion falls during sparring practices, with silver walls contrasting the darker material of the floor. Stepping inside with his newest apprentice-to-be following close on his pedes, Yoketron stated calmly, “I have been informed by your Guardian that you have been given previous tutelage in the art of servo-to-servo as well as the operation of firearms. Is that correct?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “Yes, sir- I mean, Master Yoketron.”</p>
<p>Yoketron made a low noise of acknowledgment as he settled cross-legged on the ground, easily motioning for her to settle down across from him. After she had done so, he continued, “Then the first thing you must do as my apprentice is forget everything you have been previously taught in those areas.”</p>
<p>He waited for the usual outburst of surprise, the outraged demands to know why he would order such a ridiculous thing. Instead, he received simply a surprised look that quickly gave way to one of contemplation. <em>She is willing to give words consideration despite their seeming irregularity. That is good. </em>He watched her think on his order for another klik or two before she asked hesitantly, “May I ask, uh, Master Yoketron, why?”</p>
<p>Yoketron dipped his helm fractionally, “You may. However, I believe it would be more productive for you to formulate a theory of your own first.”</p>
<p>Starwish dipped her helm silently, studying her lap tensely as she obviously thought hard on his words, unintentionally allowing him to study her and glean more information on her character and subconscious habits. Such things would be crucial at a later time should she pass his later tests.</p>
<p>Neutrally, he observed how her audio amplifiers twitched back and forth in concordance to some thought pattern, indicating a trainable potential for hyper-awareness of sound even while deep in her thoughts. Her helm tilted fractionally to one side as she weighed a new concept, hinting at the natural urge find a new angle from which to observe things when puzzled.</p>
<p>Her fingers twitched in her lap, an urge to fiddle with things while contemplating perhaps? Finally, after a brief blink that seemed to indicate coming to a conclusion, Starwish looked up at Yoketron again, “I should forget my previous training because … it is a different style that requires different moves and stances which might conflict with your teachings and lead to confusion and bad habits if mingled?”</p>
<p>Yoketron was unable to keep his right optic ridge from rising in surprise, this was only the second time an apprentice or a student had been able to think the matter through and come to the correct conclusion on their first cycle of training, “That is correct. In order to teach you properly, we must start at the very beginning and create a firm base upon which the other lessons will be built. For that to happen, you must abandon your preconceptions. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded firmly, servos clenching briefly together in her lap before relaxing again, “Yes, Master Yoketron.”</p>
<p>Yoketron gave her a brief, approving look before moving on to the next required topic, “Tell me, young one, what is it you hope to gain from my training.”</p>
<p>The answer came without hesitation or deceit, “I want to learn to be strong. Strong enough to protect myself, my family unit, and those under my care. I,” her vocalizer faltered for a klik before she pressed on, “never, ever want to be helpless again. I never want the Decepticons to- to…” Yoketron tilted his helm silently, urging her to finish. Starwish fidgeted in her seated position on the padded floor, optics flickering around the room as if searching for Decepticons in the near non-existent shadows. Finally, she managed to finish her sentence, if only in a whisper, “I never want to go back there. To those cells … and the quiet … and the <b>watching</b>. I never want to go back … and I never want any of my family to end up there either.”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded slowly, considering her words carefully before asking, “And if you encountered any Decepticons? Would you end their lives using the things I have taught you?”</p>
<p>Starwish locked gazes with him, an expression flickering across her faceplates that hinted at her dawning comprehension of what he was doing, “Only if I had to.”</p>
<p>“What circumstances would constitute as ‘necessary’?” His question came out a touch sharply, but only because it was a crucial point. Depending upon her answer, she might lose her apprenticeship before it even began.</p>
<p>Again, her nervousness receded briefly under the force of her conviction, “Trying to kill me, my family, any of the Autobots, or an innocent party. Trying to capture any of us, or trying to torture us.”</p>
<p>Yoketron studied her critically, carefully extending his magnetic field to brush against hers subtly in a rarely-used technique of gauging her honesty, “If, hypothetically, you discovered an injured Decepticon attempting to surrender while participating in an Autobot mission and your superior officer ordered you to offline him, what would you do?”</p>
<p>The look she gave him this time showed clear, if brief revulsion as the question. Still, she answered it seriously, “I … I wouldn’t do it. It would be wrong. If he’s trying to surrender, than he should be taken prisoner and moved to a … a secure location until Optimus makes a decision on what to do with him. If he’s injured, then I have a duty as a medic to treat his injuries, not kill him. It would be wrong to do anything else.”</p>
<p>Yoketron cocked his helm to one side, “What if it was the Prime who was ordering you to terminate the Decepticon?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s entire body rocked back a bit as if Yoketron had just slapped her, her audio-amplifiers folding backward as she blurted loudly, “He would never do that!” Yoketron raised an optic ridge at her skeptically, silently questioning her absolute faith in the Prime. Seeing his look, Starwish’s optics lit with a muted fire, “Optimus Prime would never order the death of a helpless individual! Especially one that was injured and trying to surrender!”</p>
<p>Yoketron made a noncommittal noise, “You hold a great deal of faith in the morality of the Primes.”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm, “Not the Primes. Optimus.”</p>
<p>He pushed, testing her reactions to his neutral words of doubt, listening to her voice, mannerisms and magnetic field the entire time, “Why? He is a leader in a long, terrible war, and even the most good-sparked of mechs can be darkened and tainted by the horrors of such a role over time.”</p>
<p>“<em>Because I’ve seen it</em>!” The sounds exploded from her vocalizer passionately, their general meaning conveyed even if Yoketron could not begin to comprehend the actual words. Startled despite himself, Yoketron leaned back a bit, processor rushing to find or remember a translation of what must have been words and coming up blank. He had no idea what she had just spoken besides it’s obvious tone of denial to his own statements.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics went wide as she appeared to realize her sudden break from Cyber-Standard, servos flying up to her mouth as if to snatch back the words and hide them behind her denta again. Her helm immediately dipped, optics refusing to meet his as she stammered, “I-I’m sorry! I d-didn’t mean to-!”</p>
<p>Yoketron held up a servo, causing her to go quiet even as her shoulders started to shake subtly and her magnetic field fluctuate with the symptoms of coming tears, “No. Do not apologize, young one. It was my fault for continuing to test you on that topic. For that, I am the one who needs apologize.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s servos slowly lowered from her mouth to clasp over her chest defensively, “Test? Test of what?”</p>
<p>Yoketron folded his servos in his lap, “It was a test of both your integrity, loyalty, and capacity to think beyond the orders of your superior. All necessary things in the profession of a Cyber-Ninja.” Seeing the shyly confused glance she shot him, Yoketron elaborated, “Natural integrity is essential to understanding and upholding the honor of the Cyber-Ninja Corps. A mission may be far from easy or pleasant, but it’s success should never be gained at the complete loss of morality. Loyalty and trust are crucial among comrades as well as between officer and subordinate, but blind faith leads to mistakes and the potential for corruption on the side of the officer. It is up to his subordinates to both trust his abilities and question his motives, to force him to remember and maintain his own integrity.”</p>
<p>Yoketron trailed off briefly, almost lost in the rising tide of old memories his own words brought about, before he returned to the present, “On a mission, it is the duty of the leader to remain focused upon the overall objective and give orders that will help achieve that objective. But a Cyber-Ninja who blindly follows orders, never considering the consequences or wisdom of those orders, is certain to come to harm.”</p>
<p>Sensing through their touching magnetic fields that Starwish was becoming calmer and no longer about to cry, he carefully retracted his magnetic field, falling back on the more common methods of observation to gain information about his newest apprentice. Unaware of his actions, Starwish tentatively asked, “You don’t trust Optimus?” <em>Once more, she uses the Prime’s name. I would think her overly familiar were it not for how I was first directed to her. Alpha Trion would not take note of just any femling. It is undoubtably her connection to the Prime that first attracted his attention to her.</em></p>
<p>He considered his answer carefully before speaking, “It is not that I do not trust in the Prime, but that I do not hold absolute faith in him. Any mech can fall to darkness, young one, and it is often those who appear unconquerable that fall the farthest.”</p>
<p>Starwish was shaking her helm again, “He won’t fall. Not like that.”</p>
<p>Yoketron tilted his helm fractionally as he asked carefully, “What makes you so sure, young one?”</p>
<p>She hesitated, optics flicking from her lap to him and back again as she clearly struggled with her answer, her servos unclasped, one fluttering over her spark as she murmured, “I just … I just know.” Hints of blue spread across her faceplates as she clearly realized how youngling-like her words must sound to him.</p>
<p>Unbeknownst to her, however, they didn’t sound childish at all. Not when coupled with his growing suspicions and everything he had gathered about her. Yoketron revved his engine almost imperceptibly, “You have strong instincts, young one, that is a good thing. Continue to listen to them, they could very well save your life and the lives of your family unit. Now come, I will show you the proper position for meditation.”</p>
<p>The blue tint faded as surprise overrode it, “Wait, does that mean I … I passed your test?”</p>
<p>Yoketron gave her a faintly amused look, “Yes,” <em>the first of them,</em> “Now, adjust your pedes like so. The way you are sitting, your cables will lose tension within a joor and become unresponsive.” Though clearly baffled as to what was going on, the little white femme obediently tried to further mirror Yoketron’s seated position. She listened attentively to his instructions and, once he had deemed her posture satisfactory, he carefully unsubspaced the tool of his first lesson to her.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics went immediately wide in shock at the sight of the servo-sized object Yoketron carefully set between them, “That looks like one of the crystals of the Praxus Crystal Gardens!”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded calmly, “As it should. This is a very small crystal of the same kind that was grown in the Praxus Crystal Gardens. Before Praxus fell, one of its main exports were small crystals such as this one. They are particularly useful for beginners in the art of meditation.” He paused then added neutrally, “I would have thought you too young to remember the Praxus Crystal Gardens.”</p>
<p>Starwish ducked her helm, “I am, but my Guardian showed me a memory file of them once…” Yoketron immediately filed that fact away, it was a good indicator of how strong her sparkbond with her Guardian was. Such details were important when training a particularly young apprentice.</p>
<p>“Indeed. Then you should be able to recall the harmonic frequencies these crystals naturally emit.” Starwish nodded and Yoketron gently brushed the tiny crystal sitting innocently in its holding pot with a finger, “At this size, the crystal’s frequency is exceptionally high and hard to hear unless you are concentrating. In order to fully hear its frequency, its natural harmonics and tones, you must clear your thought processes of unnecessary contemplation. You must become receptive to the subtlest of sounds, without the natural filter your thought processes place on your interpretation of sound.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned slightly, “How do I that?”</p>
<p>Yoketron gave her a tiny smile as he reached out and gently adjusted her servos into the proper meditative position, “Close your optics, be still, and listen. Feel the sound waves as they emit from the crystal and into the air.”</p>
<p>The look she gave him clearly revealed her doubt and nervousness as well as her withheld question as to why meditation was the first of his teachings. Still, she obediently closed her optics and attempted to go still save for her soft vents. A few kliks later, her audio amplifiers started to twitch and flick in an effort to locate the crystal’s frequency, but went reluctantly still at Yoketron’s soft reprimand.</p>
<p>Closing his own optics, Yoketron easily pinpointed the frequency of the crystal by way of long practice, splitting his attention between listening to its delicate melody and keeping his sensors on Starwish to keep track of her potential progress. Breems crawled past with the little femme occasionally starting move only to go still again, audio amplifiers locked in an attentive upright position. After ten breems, Starwish sighed and shifted, “Master Yoketron? I don’t think I’m doing this correctly.”</p>
<p>Yoketron didn’t bother opening his optics, “You are correct. Speech is not a part of the meditative process.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a low noise of irritation, “I mean, I can’t hear the crystal. I … I keep listening for it, but I can’t pick it up.”</p>
<p>“That is because you are not listening correctly. You are still so busy thinking on how to hear the crystal that you are drowning it out.” He sensed that Starwish, like so many younglings before her, was going to protest and hushed her preemptively, “Try again. Listen for the melody, focus solely on the crystal. Nothing else matters, nothing else exists, there is only the crystal and its song.”</p>
<p>“Song…?” He waited for her to continue her seeming question, but instead, his sensors picked up her settling down once more. Five more breems passed before a tiny sigh of frustration pierced the air. Yoketron finally cracked open his optics, ready to patiently guide her around her self-inflicted problem of over-analyzation just as he had so many others many, many vorns ago.</p>
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<p>Que looked up from his worktable at the sound of his lab door swishing open and pedesteps sounding in the main room. Hurriedly, he turned off his welder and set it down, making sure to place his tool well away from his project to help prevent another explosion. Only once he was marginally certain that his progress wasn’t going to spontaneously undo itself did he stand up and hurry out of his work area and into the cluttered main room of the lab, “Cliffjumper, is that you? I don’t remember asking for any supplies-” His sentence stopped abruptly as he rounded the corner and saw who was standing there, “Jazz?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s helm swiveled away from studying one of Que’s many miscellaneous piles of building material and gadgets, “Ah want in.”</p>
<p>Que blinked once, “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>Jazz huffed once, “Ah said, Ah want in on your project. Ah know Cliffjumper dragged you into doing somethin’ for Star, Hardwire, an’ tha Twinlings.”</p>
<p>Que shifted a bit in place, processor still trying to catch up with the unexpected appearance of the Autobot First Lieutenant, “Well … uh … sure. What do you want to do? I’m the one making most of the decorations, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have been helping me with the designs. Cliffjumper might need some help with gathering supplies … Vibes and a few of the other femmes are in charge of procuring the refreshments…”</p>
<p>Jazz crossed his servos over his chest plates, “Where’s this gonna happen? Who’s in charge of setting thah up?”</p>
<p>Que rubbed the back of his helm contemplatively, “Cliffjumper maybe? I assumed we were going to have it in the rec room. It’s the most popular area for this kind of thing.”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned, “Too crowded. Star an’ tha others are too shy for thah big a gathering an’ it wouldn’t be fair ta ban other autobots from tha rec room like thah.”</p>
<p>Que shrugged helplessly as he idly grabbed a gadget from its pile that he thought he could use for his latest project, “Where would you suggest we hold it then?”</p>
<p>Jazz revved his engine thoughtfully before answering, “Observatory. It’s big enough, but hardly anybot goes there, make it a private thing, invitation only. We can hold a second, open-to-all party in tha rec room for everybot else.”</p>
<p>Que blinked once more before agreeing, “That makes sense. Uh … you should probably get in contact with Cliffjumper to make sure that is all arranged. He seems to be in charge of this project overall.”</p>
<p>Jazz revved his engine in nonverbal agreement before launching another question at the inventor, “Who’s on tha guest list?”</p>
<p>“Guest list?” Que’s blank words and accompanying puzzled light flashes had Jazz sighing heavily through his vents.</p>
<p>Propping his servos on his hips, Jazz muttered, “Guess Ah’ll be helpin’ with thah part too. How are tha decorations coming along?”</p>
<p>Que immediately perked up at the broaching of a familiar topic, “Oh! They’re coming along wonderfully! Only a few explosions and plenty of progress. Like I said earlier, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have been most helpful in the designing process, especially Sunstreaker’s paintings! Would you like to come see some of the completed decorations?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s faceplates flickered into a nervous frown that the inventor had seen many times on many other mechs before smoothing out, “Sure. So long as they ain’t gonna blow up in my faceplate.”</p>
<p>Que laughed a bit as he promptly began leading Jazz to the section of his lab that he had cordoned off specifically for his completed and safety tested decorations. It was well away from any other tools, gadgets, piles of material, power outlets, and the sometimes-defunct energon dispenser he had rescued from the rec room of a base at which he’d been previously stationed. The cordoning idea had worked wonders for preserving the integrity of his completed works, he’d only had to replace three bulbs on one of the light strands over the course of a metacycle!</p>
<p>Reaching the cordoned off area, Que motioned to the completed decorations, including the largest and most recently finished piece, “There they are! I did my best to make them resemble Sunstreaker’s designs as closely as possible, but since I don’t have the same materials as was used in the pictures, I couldn’t get them quite exact. That shade of green for instance is-”</p>
<p>Jazz interrupted Que as he frowned thoughtfully at the biggest decoration, “Thah’s tha third time you’ve mentioned Sunstreaker designs. Where on Cybertron did he get ideas for … all this?” Jazz motioned helplessly to the rather disorganized shelf and floorspace containing the various completed items.</p>
<p>Que crossed his arms over his chest plates amiably, “Hmm? Oh, I think he and Sideswipe have been asking their charges about their celebratory traditions. This party is all based on something their family unit traditionally did, after all. I asked him once how he could make such detailed pictures to show me, but all he did was mutter something about memories and sparkbonds before glaring at me so I stopped asking.”</p>
<p>If Jazz had any more understanding of the relayed information than Que did, he gave no sign of it. He simply tapped the fingers of his left servo against his leg for a klik or two before asking another question, “You’re really gonna be able ta have everything finished an’ safety tested in two metacycles?”</p>
<p>Que nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, most definitely! I’m almost finished as it is, just a few more adjustments to make and then a few cycles of testing and then it will be all complete with time to spare!”</p>
<p>“Enough spare time ta make a few more o’ those light strands? No sense in holding a party for tha rest of tha base if they don’t get any decorations.”</p>
<p>Que nodded eagerly again and Jazz seemed to be satisfied with his answer. With a quick goodbye, Jazz suddenly spun on his heel strut and escorted himself out of the lab, leaving Que to blink after him once or twice before shrugging and moving back to his workspace. As he mentally compiled an estimation of how many light strands he could make with the materials and time he had left, Que sat down to finish up what he’d been working on.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>Hmm, taking testing time into account, I’ll only have just enough to decorate part of the Rec Room. Maybe I could shorten the testing period for those light strands? After all, I’ve successfully made several already, I should think I have the process for them perfected by now. Yes, that will work, only a cycle’s worth of testing instead of three to four should be plenty. It isn’t like I’ll suddenly mess up the process and make them spontaneously-</em>
</p>
<p>A low, ominous sizzling noise brought him out of his thoughts. Que froze for a klik as he realized that in his efforts to multitask, he’d accidentally moved the welder three millimeters too far to the left, causing his welder to interact with a completely different circuit set than the one he actually needed to work on. <em>Oh. Scrap.</em> Wildly, Que flung his still active welder away from him, sending it spinning off somewhere into the supplies surrounding his workspace as he frantically made a beeline for his newly constructed blast shield and dived behind it, curling tightly into a fetal position as soon as he had arrived.</p>
<p>Total silence reigned in the lab for five kliks, ten, twenty, sixty, creeping slowly toward the full two hundred and forty kliks that would make up a breem. When first one breem, then two, had crawled by, Que finally uncurled and looked cautiously over at his workspace. The nearby area still did not explode into a fiery ball of noise, smoke, and ruined work and Que slowly relaxed, <em>must have stopped my mistake in time. Good.</em></p>
<p>Que came out from around his blast shield, heading back for his still-intact desk, <em>Good thing I removed the welder from that circuit set in time.</em> His steps faltered and his optics went wide as his processor saw fit to slap him in the faceplate with a tiny-yet-crucial detail, <em>the welder was still on!</em> His optics swiveled around frantically to look in the direction the welder had gone, trying to remember exactly what he had been storing over there. Realization arrived and Que spent exactly ten kliks trying to decide whether or not to make a mad dash to find and shut off the welder or make a mad dash back to his blast shield.</p>
<p>The self-preservation protocols firmly installed in his processor after the last explosion via Ratchet’s wrench made him pick the latter option, but only after lunging the rest of the way to his desk and snatching up his latest project. <em>Too close to completion to lose all my work again!</em> He shot across the distance to his blast shield, succeeding in getting his upper half and most of his lower frame behind it before fire, noise, and smoke filled the lab in a loud explosion.</p>
<p>Half a breem later, the ventilation system kicked into high gear, clearing out the smoke even as the sophisticated fire suppression systems installed in the walls put out the blaze. Que sat up with a faint sigh of relief, <em>that was too close.</em> He made to stand up and see if his welder had survived the blast or whether he needed to dig his newly requisitioned spare one out of his subspace when his HUD pinged him with an urgent message. Que read it and promptly whimpered a half-sparked protest to the galaxy at large. Looking down at his right leg, he scowled at the offending appendage before sweeping his gaze over the slightly sooty and foamy laboratory, <em>what trajectory did my pede take this time?</em></p>
<p>Spotting it, Que carefully crawled over to it, grabbed it, and unsubspaced his welder in preparation to fix it himself. <em>At least I can avoid a lecture from Ratchet this time.</em></p>
<p>Que’s com pinged and he accessed it absently as he began the laborious process of realigning his disconnected pede to its proper place on his leg, ::Que here.::</p>
<p>::Que, this is Ratchet. I’m coming to your lab to discuss Cliffjumper’s … project with you. I’m five breems away so your lab had better not be covered in soot again and you had <b>better</b> be in one piece.:: Que’s com clicked off, leaving him in a doom-stricken silence that stretched for several kliks.</p>
<p>Que looked from the soot and fire-suppressing foam covering a good portion of his lab, to his pede, to his leg with its automatically sealed energon lines and turned off circuitry, back to the messed up lab, then flopped onto his backplates so that his helm slammed roughly against the floor, “Aw, fraggit.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. The Greatest Gift of All...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you … alright?” Hardwire glanced down at Arcee’s hesitant question, dragged out of his unpleasant thoughts by her query.</p>
<p>Hardwire tried to smile, knowing the motion must have looked strained, before turning his optics back to the target mocking him from downrange, “No offense, but isn’t that the exact question you banned me from asking you?”</p>
<p>Arcee gave a slightly defensive huff as she raised one of her blasters and fired a quick, expert shot, “Emphasis on <b>my</b> banning <b>you</b> from asking it. Not the other way around.”</p>
<p>Hardwire finally lined up the sights of his Sniper Cannon MX-115 with the center of the target and fired once. The sound of the shot thundered through the entirety shooting range and Hardwire regretted not putting its silencer on for the umpteenth time. But, he hadn’t realized it would sound so loud in the contained space of Shooting Range 1-B and Arcee was adamant on neither of them changing or adapting their chosen weapons for the duration of the impromptu lesson-come-competition. He blinked once at his shot before raising his gaze from the elongated scope of the rifle to double check his shot without the major magnification of the sniper cannon’s scope, “Huh. I did it.”</p>
<p>Arcee looked from him to his accumulated neat group of three shots clustered right over the center of the sheet-metal, mech-sized target before shaking her helm in friendly exasperation, “Your surprise really doesn’t inspire confidence in your shooting skills, ‘Wire.”</p>
<p>Hardwire grunted, “Well, I’ve only had this thing for a few orns. Practiced with it even less. Especially since-” He stopped himself before he could finish his sentence, but couldn’t stop the reflexive glance he threw in the direction of Ironhide, who was practicing with a scatter blaster on the exact opposite side of the shooting range.</p>
<p>Arcee’s optics tracked his glance briefly before she refocused on her task and took another shot at her own target, nailing it in exactly the same spot as her first shot. Hardwire couldn’t help but be simultaneously impressed and jealous of how accurate she was. His opinions on her shooting prowess were shoved mentally to one side as Arcee said casually, “Is it trouble with your superior officers?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot another glance at Ironhide despite himself before glaring at his target and taking two impulsive shots at it. The second of his two shots went wide, hitting the outer area of the target where a mech’s shoulder would be instead of somewhere potentially vital, “Just drop it, Arcee.”</p>
<p>Arcee blinked at him, a puzzled look flickering over her features, “Drop … what?”</p>
<p>Hardwire used his free servo to lightly slap his faceplates, <em>human euphemisms that have no cybertronian counterpart strike again. At least I didn’t revert to english, </em>“Sorry. It’s a saying that means you’re supposed to stop talking about a certain subject.”</p>
<p>Arcee hummed as she took another three shots in quick succession, her overall group becoming looser as a result, but each shot hitting still in a vital area, “You do that a lot. Why?”</p>
<p>Hardwire lowered his sniper cannon in puzzlement, “Do what a lot?”</p>
<p>Arcee shrugged and glanced idly around the mostly deserted shooting range, “Use sayings or words that I’ve never heard before. Like last time when that mech startled you, you said something I didn’t understand. What was it again, <em>Hu- fa- fuu-</em>?”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a bit of energon rushing to his faceplates and hastily cut her off, “Don’t try to repeat it. I shouldn’t have said it then and <b>you</b> really shouldn’t say it now. Or ever.”</p>
<p>Arcee’s lips curled up into an inquisitive smirk, “It’s a curse word, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s engine gave an uncomfortable rev, “Something like that.”</p>
<p>Arcee placed her free servo on her hip as Hardwire took another shot. Once the audio-throbbing echo had died down, she asked, “So what’s a word I can say?”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced at her evasively, “You’re saying plenty now.”</p>
<p>Arcee huffed and rolled her optics, “I mean in that weird dialect you use occasionally. What’s something I can say in that?”</p>
<p>Unease bloomed in Hardwire’s tanks, adding to the simmering hurt that had surfaced when Ironhide had started using the same shooting range as them, even if he was on the opposite end. He didn’t want to be talking about english or anything earth related, especially not when the hulking black weapon’s specialist was near. But, this was the most relaxed Arcee had ever been in his presence since they started the informal tradition of meeting up somewhere every cycle after their shifts and he didn’t want to snap at her and make her retreat back into her shell.</p>
<p>Arcee had been released from the medbay over two metacycles ago and was restricted to light duty for at least another four cycles, much to her irritation. Hardwire, although technically able to be assigned any task now, was still receiving similar treatment. Since both had too much free time and a very short list of tolerable acquaintances at the moment, they had taken to meeting up and doing things at random.</p>
<p>Shooting, servo-to-servo sparring, and missions in the simulation room were favorites of Arcee. However, Hardwire’s love for the quiet of the observatory was beginning to rub off on her. So, the two took turns on picking the activities for their shared time, rapidly forging a friendship over the course of the past two metacycles in the process.</p>
<p>This cycle it had been Hardwire’s turn to pick, but seeing as the observatory was closed for cleaning and maintenance for the next three joors, Arcee had promptly suggested having a shooting competition to pass the time and then spend the remaining joor in the observatory as planned.</p>
<p>Sighing slightly, Hardwire vindictively shot the helm area of his target before responding, “Nothing comes to mind, Arcee … besides, I’m not a good teacher.”</p>
<p>Arcee scowled lightly, “Liar.” The scowl morphed into a more cunning look, “Hey, let’s change the competition rules a bit.”</p>
<p>Hardwire lowered his sniper cannon warily, a distinct impression of doom pressing against the back of his processor, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Arcee reached over to their booth controls and fiddled with them, making their blast-riddled targets disappear in favor of a single new one, “Nothing much, I’ll just be changing the settings from two stationaries to one moving target. Oh, and a bet to make things interesting.”</p>
<p>Hardwire eyed the new target uneasily as it started moving from one side to another at a moderately fast pace, probably the pace of an average mech if he jogged, “What kind of bet?”</p>
<p>Arcee smirked at him, “We each take turns. One shot per turn, one turn each in a round. Whoever loses a round has to answer one question asked by the winner.” <em>So … Truth or Dare only without the dare. This sounds like a terrible idea. A really, really terrible idea.</em> Hardwire shook his helm slowly, but Arcee surprised him by goading playfully, “Come on, Hardwire. I won’t ask anything embarrassing.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot her a look, “You say that as if you’d win every round.”</p>
<p>Arcee shrugged, “Maybe not <b>every</b> round, but…”</p>
<p>Her teasing tone, so easy-going and free of the guilty pain he’d heard in her voice several times before, made something in Hardwire’s spark flicker and pull. His competitive side reared up and joined forces with the flickering, pulling sensation to make him cave to her request, “We’ll just see about that.”</p>
<p>Arcee shot him a quick, half-way smile that made his spark lurch in his chest plates annoyingly, “Good. Who goes first?”</p>
<p>Hardwire motioned for her to take the first turn while he stubbornly tried to make the jumping sensation in his spark go away, <em>what the frag is wrong with me now?</em> Arcee called out professionally, “Helm,” right before her shot rang out, nailing the moving target right in the helm despite the distance and movement of the target.</p>
<p>Forcing himself to concentrate on the target and not his weirdly-acting spark, Hardwire raised his sniper cannon, struggling to sight in on the moving target through his magnified scope, “Chest plates.” Unlike Arcee, who shot mere kliks after declaring where she intended to shoot, Hardwire took a longer time to sight in and settle before risking a shot. The scope’s powerful zoom worked against him for once, making his field of vision too narrow. He shot a fraction of a klik too late, hitting the target in the shoulder instead of the chest plates for which he’d been aiming.</p>
<p>A groan escaped his vocalizer as Arcee huffed a faint laugh. Glowering, Hardwire said, “Fine. Ask away.”</p>
<p>Arcee smirked, “How do I say, let’s see … ‘hello’ in that dialect of yours?” <em>figures. At least she didn’t ask for a swear word.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire pressed his lip plates together briefly before answering, “The word is ‘<em>hello</em>’.”</p>
<p>Arcee made a face at the oddness of the word, “<em>He</em>- <em>heyo</em>?” Hardwire shook his helm and corrected her pronunciation, the word bouncing between them a few times before Arcee managed to say it correctly, if with an accent, and they started round two.</p>
<p>Arcee took the first turn again, aiming for the waist of the target but missing it completely when Ironhide’s scatter blaster misfired, causing the mech to curse loudly and startle her. Arcee scowled in Ironhide’s direction before glancing defensively at Hardwire, “You only get to ask if you hit the target.”</p>
<p>Hardwire couldn’t stop the upward quirk of his lips at her petulance, “What if I miss again?”</p>
<p>Arcee considered this for a moment before answering, “Then … both of us have to answer a question I suppose.”</p>
<p>Hardwire grunted an acknowledgement and turned to the still moving target, sighting carefully as he said, “Uh … Chest plates again.” A few moments later, his shot rang out, slamming into the target to the extreme right of what could be considered its chest area. Lowering his weapon, he looked down at Arcee, who almost looked like she was pouting. Almost.</p>
<p>With a sigh, she glanced up at him expectantly, “Go ahead and ask, you win this round.”</p>
<p>Hardwire carefully considered what to ask, he honestly hadn’t expected to win … at least not in the second round, and thus had not decided on a question. He scrambled for what to ask that wouldn’t be boring or inappropriate before blurting out the first semi-acceptable one that came to his processor, “What was you function before the war?”</p>
<p>Arcee’s optic ridges went up and she gave a huff of a laugh, “Personal stuff right off, hmm?” Her helm cocked to one side, her gaze taking on a far away quality that spoke of memories, both good and bad. After a few kliks of silence, she quietly answered, “I was part of the Enforcer Corps actually. Made a bit of a name for myself in the High-Speed Pursuit Division. Heh, good times.”</p>
<p>Hardwire blinked one, the twice, as he translated what she had said to its english equivalent, <em>Arcee was a cop? A high speed pursuit cop? </em>More to himself than anyone else, Hardwire muttered, “That … makes a lot of sense, actually.”</p>
<p>Arcee shot him a sharp look, “Are you calling me a hard-aft?”</p>
<p>Hardwire jerked away from her a bit, startled by how she assumed his words had negative connotations, “Not at all! It’s just…” <em>The way you act in a T.V. series I can’t tell you about,</em> “The way you talk or act sometimes. It’s formal and … strict. Sort of like Ultra Magnus but not that stiff. It just … made sense that you were in the Enforcer Corps after you told me. You know?”</p>
<p>Arcee continued to give him a long, searching look, as if trying to decide whether or not to buy his clumsy attempt to explain his words. Internally, Hardwire felt like slapping himself repeatedly for potentially insulting Arcee with his association of her information to the potential-maybe-foreknowledge locked away in his helm. Finally, Arcee relaxed a fraction, “Well, old habits don’t really fade. Surprised you picked up on it though, didn’t think you’d notice. Most bots just assume it’s because I’ve been an Autobot for so long.”</p>
<p>Hardwire couldn’t stop another curious question from popping out of his vocalizer, “Really? How long?”</p>
<p>Arcee shook her helm at his question, “One question per round remember? Now, on to round three.”</p>
<p>Arcee quickly proved to be the superior marksman of the two of them, not that Hardwire had ever doubted that fact, but it still meant that he was answering a lot more questions than Arcee was. Her inquiries wandered from topic to topic with seemingly no formula. Twice she asked if he’d been to one Cybertronian city or another, mostly she asked either random personal facts such as weather preference or for another word in his dialect.</p>
<p>By the end of twelve rounds, Hardwire had only learned that she was an ex-Enforcer, that she had been onlined in Iacon but had grown up in Praxus by way of her creators immigrating to the city when she was around Zipline’s and Fast Track’s age, and that she had a secret fondness for audio baubles but never wore them because of their impracticality.</p>
<p>In return however, Arcee had learned that he had never been to Praxus or Kalis, that he didn’t really care for rain, that his favorite energon flavoring was copper, and the english words for hello, goodbye, gun, target, green, and blue.</p>
<p>Before they could launch into a fourteenth round that would more than likely end up with Hardwire teaching her yet another english word, Hardwire checked his chronometer and said hopefully, “It’s been over three joors, how about we go see if the observatory is open?”</p>
<p>Arcee gave him a knowing look, “You just don’t want to lose to a femme again.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, blushing a bit, “Well, can you blame me?”</p>
<p>Arcee made a vague sighing noise at his innocent retort before subspacing her blaster, “Fine. But we <b>are</b> going to be doing this again sometime. It was fun.”</p>
<p>Hardwire subspaced his own weapon even as he muttered darkly, “Says the winner by a <em>landslide</em>.” He realized his slip just in time to wince, but too late to snatch the english word back</p>
<p>Arcee looked as if she was about to inquire, but then saw Hardwire’s distinctly uncomfortable look and mercifully decided to let the matter slide. As they walked toward the exit, Hardwire noted with some surprise that Ironhide was no longer present, he couldn’t remember hearing the black mech leave. A quiet pang rippled through his spark and Hardwire purposefully pushed thoughts of the weapon’s specialist away, he didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.</p>
<p>Instead, he asked conversationally, “Do you want to grab some energon before we check the observatory?”</p>
<p>Arcee shook her helm, “No, I’m good. Besides, it would be better to make sure the observatory is open before grabbing a cube to refuel with. No point in planning on a relaxing drink in the observatory when we don’t even know if it’s open again.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hummed in agreement to her logic, “Speaking of, I wonder why they closed it anyway? I can’t ever remember them closing the observatory for cleaning and maintenance in Algol…”</p>
<p>Arcee shrugged before folding her servos behind her backplates, “You probably weren’t on base the last time they cleaned it. It isn’t like they commission a cleaning team every orn or something.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a frown slowly form on his faceplates, “I guess so … but why would they do it at all? Don’t the base cleaning drones take care of the observatory just like the rest of the base? It seems … I don’t know, suspicious to close the room off completely for ‘cleaning’ now that I think about it.”</p>
<p>For a moment, Arcee almost looked uneasy, but the expression was wiped away by her scoff before Hardwire could confirm its presence, “I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one of us, ‘Wire.”</p>
<p>Hardwire playfully nudged her shoulder with the back of his servo, allowing his sudden worry to be wiped away by Arcee’s company and banter, “I guess that means you’re rubbing off on me.”</p>
<p>Arcee blinked, faceplates shifting from confusion to suspicion and back again, “I’m doing <b>what</b> on you?”</p>
<p>Hardwire tried to resist the urge to face-palm, failed, and then did his best to explain, “It’s just a saying, Arcee. It means that … by being around you so much, I’m starting to adopt some of your habits, ideas, or traits.”</p>
<p>Arcee relaxed again, “Oh. I thought it had something to do with interfacing.”</p>
<p>Now it was Hardwire’s turn to give a look of confusion, <em>interfacing? What does plugging something into a computer have to do with…</em> his processor helpfully supplied him with possible innuendos and what they would translate to for “robots” and Hardwire immediately recoiled, “No! That’s not what I meant at all!” His shout attracted some attention from passersby, but Hardwire’s focus remained on the now-laughing Arcee.</p>
<p>Arcee made a placating motion with her servos, “Easy there, ‘Wire, I understand.” A few more chuckles escaped her at the look on his faceplates before she attempted to regain control of herself and said, “Sorry, Hardwire. That’s not the kind of subject you’re comfortable talking with a femme about, eh?”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his armor bristling defensively against his will, “<b>No</b>. It’s not.” <em>Can Cybertronians even … do that? I didn’t think … how would they even? Never mind, I’ll ask Starwish later … maybe. If I really need to know.</em></p>
<p>They stepped into a lift, Arcee still smirking slightly at Hardwire’s vaguely disturbed and distinctly mortified expression while Hardwire was too busy trying not to think on that particular subject to notice the odd looks he was getting from the other mechs in the turbolift. As soon as the turbolift came to a stop on their desired floor, Hardwire practically bolted out, aiming to reach the observatory and, hopefully, sanity in its quiet walls. Arcee followed on his heels, still looking amused at his reaction, “You have to be the most squeamish mech I’ve ever met, you know that, ‘Wire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s armor fluffed a bit more, “Just drop the subject, Arcee.”</p>
<p>Even without looking, he could just tell that Arcee had one of her rare mischievous smiles on her faceplates, “I don’t know, Hardwire. This is most fun I’ve had teasing a mech in a long time.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot her a pleading look as they reached the door of the observatory and it started to slide open for them, “<b>Please</b>, Arcee? I really, really don’t want to talk about-” His words bit off sharply as he turned to face the observatory and saw its interior, Arcee’s teasing and their previous conversation vanishing instantly from him mind. <em>What-? What is-?</em> Slowly, he shuttered his optics, shaking his helm vehemently before opening them again. Nothing had changed, the impossible was still there. “A-arcee?” He barely managed to choke out her name, unable to voice the question on whether she could see it too, unable to force more words through his vocalizer from around the huge lump forming in his throat.</p>
<p>Arcee leaned to see past him and into the observatory, a frown in her voice as she said something that made no sense to Hardwire’s shock-fogged processor, “Seriously? You bots aren’t done <b>yet</b>? I gave you the required three joors! You could have at least kept the door locked if you weren’t finished.”</p>
<p>Flareup looked up from where she was setting down a plate of what appeared to be energon goodies, “Hmm? Oh, we would be done if someone,” here Flareup shot a dark look at a mech who looked oddly like Wheeljack only with flashing lights on his helm, “hadn’t mixed up his perfectly tested light strands meant for here with his not-so-perfectly-tested light strands meant for the rec room. We had an explosion and spent a joor and a half cleaning it up and trying to replace the demolished decorations. Sorry, Arcee.”</p>
<p>Her gaze switched to Hardwire, who was still standing in the door to the observatory, staring blankly at the inside, “You might as well come in, Hardwire. We were almost finished anyway so … surprise!”</p>
<p>Hardwire swept his gaze over the room again, trying to process the … changes as well as the bots hurrying around making last breem adjustments, “I … what … what is…?”</p>
<p>At the sound of Hardwire’s voice, Cliffjumper looked away wrestling with the bulky green thing that couldn’t be what Hardwire thought it was, and called, “Hardwire! You’re here early! Oh well, come on in! We rigged this up for you and your family unit after all.”</p>
<p>Finally, at Arcee’s persistent nudging from behind, Hardwire stepped fully into the room, vents beginning to work faster, “You- This is- Is this really-?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper gave up with his wrestling match in favor of bouncing over and slapping Hardwire on the shoulder plate, “We thought after all the scrap you’ve been through the past couple metacycles, you could use something to cheer you up so … here it is! Hope we got the decorations right, we only had Sunstreaker’s artistic input and Que’s imagination to really go on so…” The lump in Hardwire’s throat-tubing grew exponentially as he realized what Cliffjumper was saying. That it was all real. His mouth worked silently as he practically spun in place to look at everything.</p>
<p>The observatory had been totally transformed. Lining the border of the ceiling’s interior, small lights of different, cheerful colors winked at him and refracted their colors off of the glittering strands of metal tinsel looping and hanging from them like garish necklaces. On the far right of the door, a large table had been set up, different kinds of mini energon dispensers surrounding a small display of what appeared to be nine tiny metal deer. Also surrounding the display were stacks of empty energon cubes, plates of energon goodies, and other metallic-like treats Hardwire had never seen before but looked suspiciously like a poor attempt at gingerbread men and candy canes. Dispersed amid the center of the spacious room were two sofas and a few cushioned armchairs amid which several Autobots all hurried back and forth, smiling as they finished up their appointed tasks.</p>
<p>However, it was the object on the far left that claimed the majority of Hardwire’s attention and disbelief. There, standing proud and nostalgically beautiful, was a Christmas tree. It was easily as tall as Optimus and made out of green-painted metal, with red, blue, and silver lights winking from amid its fake needles and glinting off of the decorations that Elita-1 and Chromia were still working on hanging up. Slowly, hesitantly, Hardwire crossed the distance between himself and the tree, reaching out tentatively to touch one of the branches once he was within reach. His servo jerked back quickly, half-afraid that it would disappear or shatter at his disbelieving touch, but when it didn’t, he reached out to touch it again.</p>
<p>His fingers gingerly brushed the fake needles, marveling at how they bent to his touch and tickled his palm, springing back into place as soon as he retracted his servo. With wide, wondering optics, Hardwire gently touched different branches as well as the ornaments hanging off of them, trying to use his sense of touch to confirm what his sight was telling him.</p>
<p>The decorations, aside from the few multi-colored balls he could spot, were varied and almost comically untraditional. Ranging from any kind of bauble or small tool that could be found on a metal world and painted vibrant, Christmasy colors. Lug nuts that had been painted red, washers dyed dark blue, bolts painted the color of molten gold, Hardwire even spotted a wrench sporting a candy cane pattern hidden amid the branches.</p>
<p>It was strange, it was impossible, and it was so very, very wonderful. Carefully, Hardwire walked all around the tree, optics sweeping up and down it frantically as his fingers reached out to brush all the different decorations that had been put up. It wasn’t until Elita-1 spoke that he was aware of how long he had been silent save for the increasingly rapid working of his vents, “Hardwire? Are you alright? If we have insulted you in some manner with our actions-”</p>
<p>Hardwire whirled to face her, interrupting her in mid-sentence hastily, “No! No, I … I just…” He looked from the tree, to the Autobots watching him anxiously, to the room, and back again, trying to find words that fit his emotions, “You did all this … for us? You…”</p>
<p>Elita-1 nodded, a hesitant smile on her faceplates, “It was Cliffjumper’s idea, truthfully. However, we all agreed to help the moment he brought it up. He said that this was a traditional holiday of your home. So we thought that, perhaps, it would help you feel a little more at home here in Iacon if you were allowed to celebrate…” here she hesitated, “<em>Chris</em>-<em> Chisma</em>-<em> Christme</em>-”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt something sting at his optics as he finished the word for her, “<em>Christmas</em>. You … you arranged a <em>Christmas</em> party. For us?”</p>
<p>Elita-1 nodded and Cliffjumper interjected, rambling almost nervously, “We didn’t really know what to make, but Sunstreaker helped with the designs and Que was up for the challenge and since you like the observatory so much Jazz thought we should hold it here and so we had Arcee distract you for three joors thinking we’d be finished setting up by then but we aren’t quite yet but here you are and so, uh, happy <em>Christmas</em>, Hardwire.” <em>Jazz? Jazz helped in this?</em></p>
<p>Hardwire glanced around, finally taking stock of exactly who was in the observatory. Chromia refused to meet his gaze for more than a klik as she shuffled to stand next to Ironhide, who had ceased his attempts to untangle the Wheeljack double from several ropes of tinsel to watch Hardwire uneasily. <em>Ironhide and Chromia are helping too? But I thought…</em> He moved his gaze, thoughts too blurry to focus on. Firestar, Flareup, and Moonracer all stood by the refreshments table with Prowl and Bulkhead just behind them, the two mechs looking distinctly confused on what to do with the wreaths they held in each servo.</p>
<p>Hound briefly looked up from fiddling with the device in his servos as he stood by the see-through observatory wall while Bumblebee wiggled his doorwings hopefully at Hardwire from where he had been attempting to adjust the position of a sofa by himself. Optimus stood not far from Hardwire and the tree, a quiet, encouraging look in his optics. Hardwire found his stare lingering on the Prime, trying to silently ask if Optimus was serious about this, about encouraging a celebration that the Prime knew must have come from another planet, from Hardwire’s past as an organic.</p>
<p>Somehow, Optimus seemed to hear Hardwire’s silent question, inclining his helm in a regal nod, an encouraging if tiny smile flitting over his faceplates for a klik as he answered just as silently. Yes.</p>
<p>Hardwire took an extra deep vent, blinking roughly several times to keep tears from falling even as he finally felt a smile creep across his lips, “It’s perfect. Thank you … all so much … I don’t- I don’t know what to say…”</p>
<p>Arcee finally spoke up from near the door, “Whatever you’re supposed to say for this celebration will work. Unless it doesn’t have a traditional greeting…”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm, still unable to quell the stammer that had formed in his vocalizer from the sheer awe and gratitude rushing through his spark “No, no it does. I…” Swallowing the stammering ramble that threatened to spill from his vocalizer, he closed his optics, took a very deep vent, and said softly, “<em>Merry Christmas</em>, everyone. <em>Merry Christmas</em>.”</p>
<p>The decorators all seemed to relax a bit, smiles breaking out onto their faceplates as they clumsily returned his words, struggling briefly over the pronunciation of foreign words before resuming whatever they’d been doing before, eagerly asking Hardwire where certain things should go or what to do now that they had an experienced Christmas decorator in their midst.</p>
<p>Forcing the tears from his optics for a little while longer, Hardwire let himself be swept up in the process of finishing up the decorating, starting first by happily aiding a rather stricken looking Prowl with the wreaths that Jazz had apparently foisted off on him before darting out of the observatory for some reason, and Bulkhead who couldn’t seem to get the wreaths to stay in their places anyway.</p>
<p>Ironhide managed to get the Wheeljack double, who introduced himself as Que, free of the tinsel and began stringing the glittering rope-like decorations around the tree carefully, Que having been banished to Optimus’s corner to avoid causing trouble while Hardwire tentatively worked with Ironhide, Chromia, and Elita-1 to finish decorating the tree.</p>
<p>Just as the unusual array of decorations had all been either strung on the tree or on the tinsel hanging from the ceiling and walls, Jazz bounded into the observatory. Unsubspacing something, Jazz held it up with the triumphant cry of, “Found it! It was on Que’s work desk! He must o’ forgot it when he left wit’ tha other stuff.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s optics zeroed in on the largest, most unusual Christmas tree topper he had ever seen. It was a large, golden, be-glittered Christmas star.</p>
<p>Made out of open-end wrenches.</p>
<p>An incredulous laugh escaped Hardwire and Jazz’s helm snapped over to him, the silver mech’s frame freezing just inside the room when he caught sight of Hardwire. Then, the mech unfroze and shot Hardwire a tiny, vaguely nervous smile before holding out the … uniquely made Christmas star to him, “Wanna put it up?”</p>
<p>Hardwire took the star from Jazz’s servos but hesitated as he turned to face the tree. Silently, he contemplated the top of the artificial pine tree. Thoughts racing through his processor as he looked from the star, to the tree, then back to the star.</p>
<p>Que spoke up from his corner, helm lights flashing a faintly pink color, “Is it incorrect? I know it looks nothing like a <b>real</b> star and I’d already made a holographic star display to go on the top but Sunstreaker insisted that it had to be a physical item of that shape and those were the only materials I had on such short notice.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm absently, “No, it looks … fine. It’s just…” He closed his optics tightly as memories washed over him of Earth at Christmas time. Of his guardians Rodney and Laura. He was ashamed to realize that of all the things he thought about when missing Earth, they hadn’t been the most frequent thing. He’d loved them, and still did, but for some reason he hadn’t thought about them as much as the more mundane things like human food or houses or scenery. He’d even thought of Nadine more than them.</p>
<p>A very deep pang of pain hit his spark and he realized that maybe he hadn’t been thinking about them because of how much it hurt to do so. But there was no forgetting them at Christmas, they were too integral to the memories. Too important.</p>
<p>He couldn’t remember a Christmas without them. Without Laura’s hot chocolate stuffed to the overflowing with marshmallows, or Rodney good-naturedly complaining about how big their tree was. Laura had always organized the decorating of the house and selected which day would be their official Christmas tree decorating day, but Rodney was the one who actually helped make sure everything went smoothly during preparations for Christmas Day.</p>
<p>His lips twitched into a sad smile as he remembered Laura leaving cookies out for the town carolers instead of Santa and the one time Rodney had picked up Melody and placed her precariously on his shoulders so that she could be the one to place their Christmas star on the top of the tree.</p>
<p>Finally finding his voice again, he worked past the emotion-bred static in it to say, “This is going to be our first Christmas without our Guardians.”</p>
<p>Silence fell as everyone stopped what they were doing to look at Hardwire, who was now rolling the makeshift star over and over in his servos contemplatively. Finally, he raised his gaze and said softly, “We can’t put the star up yet. Not without Star and the twinlings. They … it’s tradition for the whole family to be there when-” His vocalizer sudden failed him again and he looked down at the floor with a touch of embarrassment and a lot of sadness.</p>
<p>Optimus spoke up quietly, “Then we shall wait for them before placing the star. Is there anything else we need to know about your family unit’s traditions, Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced all around the room, slowly shaking his helm, “No I … I think you’ve covered everything that can be done without Star and the twinlings here except…” He looked at the base of the Christmas tree, there weren’t any presents underneath it. A sigh escaped him as he realized aloud, “There are no gifts for the twinlings or Starwish under the tree.”</p>
<p>Que piped up immediately, “Is <b>that</b> what those colorful boxes were in Sunstreaker’s pictures?”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper grinned at Hardwire, “Don’t worry about that, ‘Wire, we’ve already got a solution.” To prove his point, Cliffjumper unsubspaced a stack of three metal boxes of varying sizes, “I thought we were supposed to give them to you personally, but if your traditions say to put them under this <em>Christmas tree</em>, then that’s what we’ll do.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper crouched down and easily placed his small stack of boxes underneath the artificial branches of the tree, his actions being quickly mimicked by every other cybertronian in the room, even Optimus and Elita-1. Hardwire stood, optics wide, mind stuttering in surprise, and spark filling slowly with a tight emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time as the number of varying sized boxes underneath the tree kept growing. His engine gave a choked noise as Ironhide carefully slid a ridiculously long box partway under the tree before raising his optics to meet Hardwire’s as he stood up.</p>
<p><em>Why? I thought … you think we’re crazy … so why are you-?</em> Ironhide averted his optics and moved to stand with Chromia on the other side of the room without a word. Hardwire looked down at the makeshift star in his servos again, <em>they’re helping set up a holiday they have to know is from the memories they kept insisting were fake. Does this mean…? Is this … is this their way of apologizing?</em></p>
<p>He was drawn out of his thoughts by Optimus’s gentle rumble, “Is there anything else we must do to prepare, Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire jerked his gaze away from the makeshift star to blink at Optimus, “Hmm? Oh,” he glanced around the room to double-check everything, “no. It’s … it’s perfect.”</p>
<p>Optimus’s faceplates twitched into a gentle smile for the briefest klik before he nodded, “Very well. I have informed Ultra Magnus and the Twins to bring their charges to the observatory. Am I correct in assuming that surprising them with the fact that there is a <em>Christmas</em> celebration taking place here is permissible?”</p>
<p>Hardwire, still mostly overwhelmed by the feeling in his spark as the fact that, yes, this was really happening and wasn’t a hopeless dream, gave Optimus a tiny return smile, “Oh yeah. It’s fine.” Hardwire gave a shaky laugh, “I can’t wait to see the twinlings faces…”</p>
<p>Arcee piped up calmly from were she was leaning against a wall, “The reaction can’t possibly be better than yours.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm, “You’ve never seen a youngling at <em>Christmas</em> time.”</p>
<p>Conversation halted as everyone waited, eagerly yet awkwardly, for the rest of Hardwire’s family to arrive. Finally, Hardwire’s straining audios picked up the sound of pedesteps approaching the observatory door and the twinlings excited voices chattering indistinctly through the wall. Hardwire swallowed hard, a useless human action, but it was the only thing he could think of to help combat the tense ball of emotions growing in his spark.</p>
<p>The door slid open, allowing Ultra Magnus to stride in, followed swiftly by a baffled Starwish and a smug Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who were each carrying a twinling. Starwish froze in place the moment her Guardian stepped aside and granted her view of the inside of the observatory, the twinlings chatter becoming instantly nonexistent as they too caught sight of what was inside the room.</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics were flicking from corner to corner, faceplate to faceplate, item to item, with a kind of desperate intensity that indicated immense disbelief. Hardwire revved his engine softly to get her attention, instantly becoming the center of the entire room’s attention as well. Smiling lopsidedly, Hardwire said softly in english, “It’s real, Melody. It’s … it’s Christmas. They made … they made it Christmas. Just for us.”</p>
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<p>Starwish felt her world spin, right itself, and then spin again as she looked around the room once more, Hardwire’s words echoing loudly in her mind. Finally, her frantic gaze settled on Ultra Magnus, “Opi?” The word was choked, quiet, as if she was afraid that speaking would cause the entire sight before her to shatter like a million fragments of glass. Probably because she was afraid of just that.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus soothed her over their bond even as he swept a servo toward the, metal, artificial, yet oh-so-wonderfully real Christmas tree and said, “I believe the phrase is, <em>Merry Christmas</em>, Little One.” His english was accented, so amusingly, preciously accented, but it served it’s purpose perfectly. <em>This is real.</em> The thought solidified in her mind, blowing away all of her previous thoughts of suspicion that had arisen from Ratchet insisting she end her medical work shift early and go see her Guardian.</p>
<p>Behind her, the twinlings were squealing with joy at the top of their vocalizers, practically teleporting out of Sunstreaker’s and Sideswipe’s arms in their excitement to run up to the tree and babble over its ornaments and colors. Something wet slid down her right cheek and Starwish realized that she was crying again. But for the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, it wasn’t because she was sad.</p>
<p>Fast Track looked up from where he was cooing over the many plain grey boxes sitting innocently underneath the tree, “Star! Star! Come on! Presents! We need to open the presents!” Starwish hastily wiped a servo over her faceplate, clearing away the tear that had escaped her optics as well as the ones that had still been forming. She started to step past her Opi to help Zipline and Fast Track with the present they were attempting to drag out from under the tree when Hardwire interrupted, “Hold on, you two. We can’t open the presents yet. Can’t you see something’s missing from the tree?”</p>
<p>Starwish scanned the tree again automatically, her gaze finally landing on the conspicuously bare top, “The top…”</p>
<p>The twinlings, hearing her murmur, darted out from under the makeshift tree and to an angle where they could see the top of it. Zipline blinked almost indignantly, “Where’s the star?”</p>
<p>Hardwire held it up, “Right here.” He hesitated for a klik, optics seeking out Starwish’s for a moment, silently asking who should be the one to put the star on the top of the tree since Rodney wasn’t there. Starwish bit her bottom lip lightly at the regret that stabbed her spark at that thought. This was their first Christmas without Rodney and Laura … <em>but</em>, whispered a little voice in her helm, <em>at least we’re having Christmas at all.</em> Zipline and Fast Track were bouncing up and down, yelling at Hardwire to hurry up and put the star on the tree, eager to get on with the much overdue family holiday.</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged helplessly and motioned to Hardwire in a silent signal that she had no idea who should do it, but any choice of his would be fine. Hardwire looked from her, to the star, to the tree, then back before suddenly stepping forward and holding it out to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker went rigid while Sideswipe blurted in surprise “Us?”</p>
<p>Hardwire answered in a calm tone of voice that Starwish was certain she couldn’t have used in his place, not with the words he was saying, “You two are the twinlings <em>dads </em>now. I can think of no one better.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both just stared at Hardwire for several kliks, oblivious to Zipline and Fast Track cheerfully clamoring at their pedes to place the star on the tree already, the elder twins’ expressions unreadable. Finally, the two elder twins relaxed and nodded, Sideswipe taking the star with something akin to reverence in his optics while Sunstreaker moved to stand next to the tree. With a silent, unplanned kind of ceremony, Sideswipe carried the star to the tree, standing next to his twin as they grabbed either side of the star in its exact middle and in perfect unison reached up to place it on the pointed tip of the artificial tree.</p>
<p>The twinlings cheered loudly and Starwish giddily gave in to the urge to clap, Hardwire and the others slowly joining in the clapping activity as Sunstreaker looked vaguely embarrassed at the kind of attention he was receiving and Sideswipe bowed melodramatically. Starwish felt a smile form as she was swept up into the most unusual, unique, and unexpected Christmas party she had ever experienced. Snacks were passed out as Starwish, Hardwire, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe were seated on the center sofa while the twinlings made a competitive game of who could grab a gift box and bring it to the couch. The twinlings by far got the most gifts, but Starwish found herself overwhelmingly touched by the fact that each person there had gotten or made something for both herself and Hardwire as well.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker had quietly presented her with a painting of the twinlings recharging on a high shelf, which he explained had happened during a game of <em>hide-and-seek</em>. Sideswipe had offered her a datachip and though she didn’t know what was on it yet, the look Sunstreaker and Ultra Magnus were giving the red mech made her more than a little wary as to its contents.</p>
<p>The gifts she received from the others were generally more practical, a medical tool of some kind, a polishing kit, Flareup had somehow gotten spare armor pieces for her, but by far the greatest gift Starwish had received so far was simply watching how utterly ecstatic her little brothers were over each new toy or trinket they received.</p>
<p>Eventually, Starwish got up to grab another small snack, moving away from the couch and the wonderfully unique Christmas tree to the table of refreshments set up on the far side of the room. Behind her, the twinlings had claimed the attention of everyone in the room with their excitement, running from bot to bot to show off their latest dual toys.</p>
<p>“Star?” Well, the attention of everyone save one mech, apparently.</p>
<p>Starwish tensed minutely and turned so that her back was toward the refreshments table, “Jazz,” she murmured coolly.</p>
<p>The silver mech stood at arm’s length, fingers twitching fractionally as he seemed to study her from beneath his visor. Starwish held still, fighting down the nervousness and hurt that threatened to rise at seeing him. She was internally surprised to realize that even though Ironhide, Chromia, and briefly Ratchet had all been openly visible at the party, she hadn’t felt angry with them, not when the twinlings and Hardwire and she were so busy with presents and conversation and much missed Christmas cheer.</p>
<p>But now that she wasn’t absorbed with cooing over her brothers’ presents or thanking bots for her own and Jazz was standing right there, the hurt threatened to come flooding back. <em>Remember what Master Yoketron has been teaching you. Still frame, calm mind. Still frame, calm mind. </em>Keeping her voice as neutral as possible, she asked softly, “Am I in your way?”</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, “No, Ah…” His voice trailed off and Jazz vented slowly, falling silent for almost a full breem as he looked over at the Christmas tree and the party surrounding it in silence. Starwish was almost ready to simply walk away from the growing tension in her spark and the increased hurt she was certain would come if she stayed, when Jazz’s words stumbled hastily into the silence between them.</p>
<p>“Ah was wrong about your memories.” Starwish blinked once, audio amplifiers twitching backward in shock as she forced herself not to shout in surprise at his abrupt sentence.</p>
<p>Taking a deep vent instead, Starwish intoned carefully, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Jazz looked back at her, his frame clearly tense but not in the aggressive way she was half-expecting, “Ah-” He cut himself off, muttering something to himself too low for her hear and too fast for her amplifiers to catch in time before looking up and resuming, “<b>I</b>, was wrong about your memories being false. I was wrong to assume that they were fake and I was wrong to insist on it when all the evidence we had pointed to the contrary. I was wrong to confront your brother about it and I was wrong to let the others confront him too. I … I was wrong and I am so, so, sorry Star.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt the world freeze for all of ten kliks as she struggled to process that Jazz had truly just said that, without his accent, meaning he … <em>he means it? He really, really means it?</em> “You believe me now? <b>Why</b>?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded immediately to her first question and motioned vaguely toward the Christmas gathering across the room at her second, “Because you can’t fake this. I helped with setting up the party and saw Sunstreaker’s designs and … and seeing the four of you, seeing this…” he shook his helm, “no one on Cybertron could have thought up something like this and no faked memories would be able to give so much meaning to an event like this even if someone from this planet really did invent it. This … this is real to you, real to all of you. Which makes it real to me.”</p>
<p>Jazz looked down at the floor, his voice raw, unshielded, and pained in a way that she realized she’d never heard from him before, “So, I’m sorry for everything I said earlier. I am so very, <b>very</b> sorry.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt something loosen in her spark and reach out toward the silver mech without her conscious decision even as a conviction solidified in her spark, strong and unyielding to the hurt that wanted to push it away. <em>He means it. He believes me. He believes me and he’s sorry he didn’t before.</em> Starwish struggled with the realization for a moment, striving to understand why the pain that had been clenching her spark was now starting to evaporate because of a simple, honest apology.</p>
<p>Jazz and the others had hurt her so much when she’d found out about their confrontation with Hardwire, it had hurt so much to know just how they thought of organics and the possibility of an organic turning into a cybertronian. It had hurt and that pain, when added to the already large amounts of stress and fear she felt had caused an agony she didn’t think she could ever forgive them for.</p>
<p>Yet now, with Jazz fidgeting slightly in front of her, a sparkfelt apology hovering in the air between them … she wanted to try to forgive him anyway. Taking a slow, deep vent in, Starwish asked softly, “Do the others believe too now?” Jazz nodded once, but didn’t seem to have anything to say in addition to his previous words.</p>
<p>The something in her spark uncurled a little more and caused her to reach out and gently grab Jazz’s left wrist. Jazz jerked slightly at her touch, helm tilting down to look at the point of contact as Starwish hesitantly slid her grip down to hold his servo and pull it toward her a little bit, “I … I should be so angry at you right now. It hurt so much when- when you- But…” Her optics flickered briefly to the Christmas tree and the gathering around it. The twinlings were laughing as their adoptive fathers helped them play with their new toys and Hardwire was talking happily with Arcee, truly relaxed for the first time in cycles.</p>
<p>A little voice whispered to her from her spark, reminding her of a lesson all children learned and something she had once been told by a close friend. <em>Christmas is a time for giving … and forgiveness is something that only exists when you give it away.</em> Turning her gaze back to Jazz, she gently squeezed his servo with hers, “But I forgive you.”</p>
<p>Jazz visibly relaxed, a surprisingly shy smile forming as he slowly returned the squeeze, “Thank you, Star.” The thing in her spark, the part that had so easily forgiven Jazz and coaxed the rest of her into doing so as well, leapt in her chest plates, seeming to sing for several moments before she finally managed to get it to settle down. Starwish pulled her servo away, feeling suddenly shy and unsure of what to say. She’d just forgiven him, but that didn’t mean that her memories of what had happened would just disappear. What did she say now? How did she talk to him without accidentally bringing up past hurt and getting into a fight with him?</p>
<p>Trying to buy time for her thoughts, Starwish started to turn back to the refreshments table when a servo reached out and grabbed hers again, “Wait, Star!” Starwish twisted her helm sharply to look at Jazz, who had just grabbed her servo. He glanced down at their once again linked servos and promptly let go now that he had her attention, “I … I just…” Jazz seemed to shake himself, his accent abruptly returning as he unsubspaced something and held it out to her, “Ah didn’t wanna put it under tha tree until Ah’d had a chance ta talk ta you. But since you're here … uh, Ah think tha phrase is ‘<em>Merry Christmas</em>’?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at Jazz in shock for a moment before looking down at the slender rectangular package in his right servo. Taking it from him, she hesitantly rolled it over in her servos, noting the old fashioned, highly primitive lock on the tiny box and the way she could feel something shifting faintly inside as she fiddled with the box. Glancing up at Jazz briefly, she carefully righted it and opened the box at his wordless encouraging gesture.</p>
<p>She carefully lifted the lid and immediately gasped at what was inside. It was a helmpiece, the like of which she’d only seen once when Elita-1 had been polishing her own. Cybertronian helmpieces were jewelry items that could be magnetized to the helm of the wearer, offering a way to decorate one’s self for a party or ceremony of some kind without resorting to a complicated repaint.</p>
<p>Elita-1’s had been comprised of a tiara-like frame from which several glittering silver dangles hung down beautifully in an austere, graceful sort of way. The one lying innocently in the box was simpler but much, much more beautiful in Starwish’s opinion.</p>
<p>The helmpiece was a dual-plated affair about the length of her servo from wrist to finger-tip. It was comprised of one plate of pure, gleaming white and a smaller plate overlaid on top of it colored a shining chrome blue. Both plates were shaped like diamonds, with the top points extending farther than the other points.</p>
<p>The smaller blue plate was nestled overtop of the bottom of the larger white one, making it seem as if there was only the blue diamond with a long white tip extending from underneath it unless you looked at just the right angle to spot the rest of the white diamond. The design was simple but beautiful in and of itself, but the most breathtaking of all was the engraving in the exact center of the blue diamond.</p>
<p>It was an eight pointed star, with four long compass points and four much smaller points extending from between the four larger points. The star was a shimmering white, but unlike the white diamond plate, it wasn’t because of well-maintained paint and polish. The star was a softly singing white gemstone. A pure ivory Praxus crystal carved expertly into the shape of the romanticized north star.</p>
<p>Starwish exhaled slowly as she gingerly picked up the helmpiece and cradled it gently in her left servo, “Oh, Jazz … it’s so beautiful… where- how-?” Slowly she raised her gaze from the helmpiece, “Where did you get this?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged softly, “Ah’ve had it for vorns now. It was an heirloom from my mech creator, something he got durin’ his travels. Ah held on ta it ever since he … anyway, Ah just … Ah want you ta have it.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked back down at the helmpiece reverently, spark throbbing with something she couldn’t name as she whispered, “Thank you so much, Jazz. I … I don’t know what else to say. Or d-do. I had no idea that you were all throwing a <em>Christmas</em> party s-so I don’t have a gift to give t-to you in return. I-”</p>
<p>Jazz held up a servo to halt the stumbling flow of her words, “Do you really forgive me for what Ah said an’ did earlier?” Starwish nodded tentatively and Jazz smiled down at her gently, “Then thah’s your gift ta me, an’ its tha only one Ah wanted.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at him, slightly stunned and more then a little overwhelmed by the strange ball of emotions wreaking giddy havoc in her spark as Jazz reached out and carefully took the helmpiece from her servo. With gentle fingers, he aligned the helmpiece to the center of her forehelm and triggered the magnetization mechanism hidden in the underside of the helmpiece. Starwish jumped at the slight tingle the magnetism sent through her forehelm before the feeling settled and she reached up to gingerly feel the helmpiece.</p>
<p>Starwish found herself smiling shyly, “How … how do I look?”</p>
<p>Jazz stepped closer, servos clasping her own and lowering them so that he had an unimpeded view of her faceplate and helm. His answer was spine-tinglingly reverent and clean of the accent he had previously hidden behind, “You look perfect.” Starwish felt a blush crawl up her faceplates in perfect unison with the smile she just couldn’t seem to stop from growing.</p>
<p>Ducking her helm slightly to the side, she felt herself start to speak. What words she intended to say, she had no clue, but before she could find out Zipline and Fast Track screamed excitedly in unison from across the room, “Star! Wire! Come quick! It’s <em>snowing</em>! It’s <b><em>snowing</em></b>!”</p>
<p>Starwish jolted, jerking away from Jazz as her helm whipped around to look in the direction of the twinlings. Both younglings were practically flattening themselves against the observatory see-through walls in order to get closer to the focus of their excitement. Starwish’s spark froze then lunged into over-excited pounding as she found herself running to the twinlings’ sides. Her servos pressed against the glass as she watched thousands of large, fluffy, totally impossible snowflakes drift slowly down past the window, coating the city of Iacon around and below them in a thin blanket of pure white snow.</p>
<p><em>How?</em> For a moment, Starwish thought about asking, about opening a comlink to Optimus or Cliffjumper or even just asking her Opi over their bond how Cybertron, metal, inorganic <b>Cybertron</b> was getting <b>snow</b>. But then she suddenly realized that she didn’t want to know. She didn’t care how it was happening, or what kind of trick was being used to make it look like it was happening; it was Christmas and it was snowing and Jazz believed her and suddenly the world was so brightly wondrous she felt tears of joy rising to her optics.</p>
<p>One servo left the glass to cover her mouth as she blinked rapidly, <em>it’s snowing, it’s snowing, I don’t know how, I don’t care how, but it’s snowing and I … I’m home. </em>The last thought startled her for a klik before she realized that it was true. She was home. She was standing next to her brothers, listening to the twinlings squeal and bounce on their toes over the falling snow, with her Opi standing reassuringly close at her back and all the friends she had made over the past few orns standing around smiling at the joy they had given Starwish and her family.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Earth and it never would be, but when she had all of those things, all of those people who cared, it didn’t really matter where or what planet she was on, did it? All that mattered was that her loved ones were with her on the most precious Christmas she had ever experienced.</p>
<p>Her feelings echoed and sang across her bond with Ultra Magnus and she felt his deep-seated contentment at her happiness in return. Swallowing the last of the tears that threatened to spill over, Starwish started laughing instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire jumped a bit at the giggling laughter that came from his right but felt his dazed smile grow even bigger when he realized that Starwish was laughing for joy. Tearing his gaze briefly away from the snow, he looked back over at Ironhide and Chromia, who were still standing a little ways off, watching him nervously to see how he would react to the conversation they’d just been having.</p>
<p>His smile faded a bit as he considered their agitated countenances and remembered the words of sparkfelt apology they had offered right before the twinlings had distracted Hardwire with the discovery of falling snow on Cybertron.</p>
<p>Almost against his will, his optics flickered to the Christmas tree he’d seen Ironhide help set up, then back to the snow he knew had to be an illusion somehow set up in order to make his family and him happy. His gaze then drifted down Zipline and Fast Track, who were bouncing so hard that the legs of their Prowl and Soundwave plush toys were actually flopping up and down in sync with them. Finally, he let his gaze settle on Starwish, on how her optics were glowing with more happiness than he had seen in her since coming to Cybertron.</p>
<p>They had helped make his family happy again. They had admitted to being wrong about him and his family and had helped in all this just to try to ease the pain they had inflicted with their callous words. According to Ironhide, even Ratchet had helped set it up and was not present to offer his own apologies only because he had a patient to tend to.</p>
<p>Returning his gaze to Ironhide and Chromia, Hardwire nodded once curtly in silent acceptance of their apologies before swiftly returning his attention to the fluffy, no doubt artificial snowflakes drifting lazily past the observatory. He couldn’t trust them again, not yet, not so easily. But for what they had done to make his family happy again, he could forgive them.</p>
<p>It was Christmas after all.</p>
<p>Hardwire relished in the joy radiating off of his siblings for several breems before finally turning to Starwish, “Star.” Starwish reluctantly looked away from the snowfall to blink at him curiously. Hardwire smiled, “I think it’s time for <em>caroling</em>, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics widened as she suddenly remembered what was arguably the most memorable and important of their Christmas traditions, “Oh!”</p>
<p>The twinlings looked away from the snow as soon as his words registered, “But, Hardwire! We haven’t watched a <em>Christmas </em>movie yet!”</p>
<p>Hardwire reached down and patted their helms idly, “We didn’t bring them with us, remember? I think we’ll just have to skip straight to the singing.”</p>
<p>Starwish was starting to blush, “I … I don’t know if I can…”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked at her encouragingly, silently asking for her not to give in to her shyness as he pointed out in english, “It’s not Christmas without it, Melody. Besides, I’ll sing too if you want.”</p>
<p>Starwish giggled despite herself at Hardwire’s offer and, after one more uncertain glance at the other cybertronians in the observatory, sighed back in the same language, “Fine. But you are <b>so</b> doing the Ghost of Christmas Present’s song.”</p>
<p>Hardwire winced and shrugged, “Fair enough.”</p>
<p>The twinlings cheered and ran back to the couch, their adoptive fathers’ following close behind with expressions of confusion. Sideswipe looked at Starwish, “We’re doing what now?”</p>
<p>Hardwire considered how to describe the activity before answering, “We have songs we always listen to or sing at <em>Christmas</em>. Well, Starwish does most of our singing. But the twinlings and I join in too.” Sideswipe nodded slowly and the others in the room gathered a bit closer.</p>
<p>Starwish glanced nervously around at the crowd for a moment, audio amplifiers flicking back in clear nervousness before she stilled and looked over at Ultra Magnus. Hardwire watched patiently as Starwish held a silent conversation with her large Guardian, internally marveling at the fact that his sister could communicate with someone over a sparkbond. <em>I wonder what it feels like. To have your … well, to be tied to someone on that level.</em> He’d never asked, it looked too private to be questioned, but he did wonder sometimes.</p>
<p>Finally, Starwish relaxed again, shooting her Guardian a small smile before settling straight-backed on the couch, servos folded neatly in her lap in preparation to sing, “What should I start with?”</p>
<p>Before Hardwire could even start to suggest something classic, Fast Track piped up from where he was not seated in Sunstreaker’s lap, “The Tiny Tim song? Please?” Zipline pouted a bit, but one exchanged look between him and Fast Track made the green youngling nod agreeably to the request.</p>
<p>Starwish glanced at Hardwire, who frowned a bit before answering, “Why don’t we save that one for last? It is the prettiest one.”</p>
<p>Fast Track whined but, after a bit of discussion and coaxing, it was agreed that the song Fast Track had stubbornly named “The Tiny Tim Song” would be saved for last. Instead, Starwish closed her optics tight and started them off with a soft soprano rendition of “Carol of the Bells”. When the last note trailed off and faded, Starwish opened her optics and blinked timidly at her audience.</p>
<p>Hardwire just took one look at the slightly slack-jawed and decidedly over-awed appearance of most of them and started laughing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the strangest thing he’d ever seen and, coming from a mech with his past and current profession, that was saying a lot. Yet at the same time, it had to be one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. As Starwish spun in happy circles and pirouetted around the wildly prancing twinlings in time to Hardwire’s rowdy song of how <em>Christmas</em> should feel, Jazz decided that it was made all the more beautiful by just how happy it made his One.</p>
<p>The songs were unusual and could only be clumsily translated most of the time. However, they were light-sparked and happy and Jazz was not the only one who volunteered to be taught how to sing them and join in. Jazz withheld a snicker as he recalled the twinlings forcing everyone, Optimus Prime and Prowl included, to sing a song called “<em>Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer</em>” completely in english. It had been a particularly interesting experience to say the least.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s short song was already wrapping up, his ending line almost overridden by the cheering twinlings as they happily spun in mad circles around Starwish.</p>
<p>“It feels like … <em>Christmas</em>…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The twinlings bounced back to the couch, panting slightly through their vents from all of the activity they’d been doing over the course of the party, “Again! Again!”</p>
<p>Hardwire rolled his optics, “No. I’ve already done that song three times now. In a row. It’s Starwish’s turn.” The twinlings turned to look at Starwish, who slowly sat down on the couch in thought. Her helm tilted to one side and Jazz felt a small thrill run through him at the way a beam of light played off of the helmpiece she was wearing. The helmpiece he had given her.</p>
<p>The helmpiece she hadn’t taken off for the entirety of the party since she’d received it.</p>
<p>He had a dim idea that he shouldn’t be so pleased by that fact, but he was. It was, in his mind, a conclusive yet silent sign that she had really, truly forgiven him.</p>
<p>Jazz was dragged out of his thoughts by Optimus’s voice, “Perhaps now would be a good time to acquiesce to Fast Track’s earlier request. The … ‘Tiny <em>Timu</em> Song’?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s soft tinkling laugh stroked Jazz’s audios from his position leaning against the back of the center couch, “It’s the ‘Tiny <b>Tim</b> Song’ and … what do you think, Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked briefly out of the observatory at the sight of Iacon, his gaze seeming to follow one of the holographic <em>snowflakes</em> Hound had programmed into existence as he considered Starwish’s question. Finally, he looked back at Starwish and smiled, “Alright. Let’s do it.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “Who starts?” Hardwire gave Starwish a flat look that Jazz had no time to translate before Starwish laughed in a sheepish way, “Right, of course.” <em>Do they take turns in this one? What was the term they used again? Oh right, a ‘duet’.</em> A request to join them rose in his vocalizer but died when he noticed just how quiet the twinlings had become. Unlike with the other songs, when they had bounced, cheered, and danced to almost every one, they were now being perfectly quiet and still.</p>
<p>Starwish took a deep vent inward, optics drifting shut briefly before the opened and focused on the Christmas tree. She started softly humming a mostly descending scale, clearly the opening bars of whatever music should have accompanied the designated singer.</p>
<p>Everyone else in the observatory fell obediently silent, eager to hear yet another example of Starwish’s singing. They were not disappointed. The song was high and sweet, holding an innocence in its words that had been absent from their lives, from all of Cybertron really, for so long that it made Jazz suddenly feel like he’d been slapped over the helm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Life is full of sweet surprises,”</p>
<p>“Every <em>day’s</em> a gift.”</p>
<p>“The sun comes up and I can feel it lift my spirit.”</p>
<p>“Fills me up with laughter,”</p>
<p>“Fills me up with song.”</p>
<p>“I look into, the <em>eyes</em> of love,”</p>
<p>“And know that I belong…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz went still, spark fluttering faintly at the pleasure in Starwish’s voice as she sang, the sincerity that wove through it like a melody all its own. He started silently a bit when the twinlings suddenly joined on the third stanza, their voices much sweeter and softer than when they’d been belting out silly youngling ditties earlier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bless us all, that as we live,”</p>
<p>“We always comfort and forgive.”</p>
<p>“We have so much,”</p>
<p>“That we can share.”</p>
<p>“With those in need we see around us everywhere…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the very last line of the third stanza, Hardwire’s low voice joined in, weaving the final part in what was clearly a traditional family harmony. Jazz discreetly double-checked that he was successfully recording everything as Hardwire and the twinlings took turns dropping out of the song and coming back in on certain lines even as Starwish’s voice remained soft yet strong. There was no way he was going to let this go un-captured for posterity.</p>
<p>Like most of the Christmas songs they’d heard, this one came to an end much, much too soon for Jazz’s liking, with Hardwire and the twinlings dropping out of the song just in time for Starwish to solo the very last verses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We reach for you…”</p>
<p>“And we stand tall…”</p>
<p>“And in our prayer’s and dreams we ask you,”</p>
<p>“Bless us all…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as the last note had faded into non-existence, clapping and cries of appreciation broke out among the listeners, making all four singers jump in surprise. Starwish looked around at them, a blush starting to form on her faceplates again while Hardwire just blinked and shrugged sheepishly. Jazz leaned backward slightly on the couch so that his helm was closer to Starwish’s audio amplifier, “No need ta blush, Star, thah was tha most beautiful one yet.”</p>
<p>Starwish started fractionally before twisting her helm around to look at Jazz hopefully, unintentionally bringing their faceplates in extremely close proximity, “Really?”</p>
<p>Jazz idly heard himself reassure Starwish even as his spark started rushing and flipping and a part of his processor started screaming hysterically at how close his lip plates were to hers. All it would take is for him to lean forward just a bit…</p>
<p>The low ominous growls of two engines had him straightening up as fast as he could while still looking casual. Underneath his visor, Jazz’s optics sought out the owners of the two growls. Ultra Magnus’s bright blue optics seared into his helm from one side knowingly while vibrant red threatened to rip him apart from the other.</p>
<p>Jazz quickly weighed the risks of either staying where he was or moving. The problem with moving was, because of the angle of Ultra Magnus’s location, if he moved to a different location it would place him closer to either one or the other of the threatening parties.</p>
<p>Still, staying in place was quickly losing its potency as an option because the growling wasn’t stopping and if he didn’t move soon Starwish would stop talking to Flareup and notice the sounds. If she noticed the growling, she would inevitably ask and that could potentially ruin the happy, semi-confident mood she had gained during the course of the Christmas party.</p>
<p>So, the question was who did he want to move closer to? The hulking, overprotective Guardian who was also his superior officer and could potentially demote him and throw him in the brig for vorns? Or the looming, overprotective big brother who could, and previously had, physically knock down a combined gestalt and proceed to rip it apart when angered?</p>
<p>Keeping his movements and expression completely innocent, Jazz pushed himself away from the back of the couch and toward a stretch of observatory wall a moderately short distance from Ultra Magnus. The low growling sounds stopped and Jazz patiently counted down the kliks while his optics idly watched the holographic snowflakes fall languidly past his line of sight.</p>
<p>Fifty kliks later, Ultra Magnus shifted subtly closer to Jazz and spoke in a very low voice, “Starwish is still in her second frame.”</p>
<p>Jazz kept his tone respectful and his volume just as low as Ultra Magnus’s, “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>The sheer lack of any emotion in Ultra Magnus’s tone was actually more intimidating than if his voice had been filled with fury, “Courting and the behaviors displayed in courtship cannot be initiated until she has entered her third frame and given full consent to it.”</p>
<p>Not so much as twitching, Jazz replied, “I know, sir.”</p>
<p>“Then I can trust you to avoid in engaging in those behaviors prematurely, and to understand the consequences should you fail to do so.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Very good.” With that, Ultra Magnus moved away to talk to Optimus about something, leaving Jazz to subtly relax in relief. At least until he sensed someone’s gaze on him and checked the reflections in the observatory walls to see who it was.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s reflection seemed to hold his gaze menacingly for several kliks from across the room before he allowed himself to be distracted by Arcee. The several klik stare had communicated far more that Ultra Magnus’s stern words. If Jazz did one inappropriate thing around Starwish, he wouldn’t live to suffer through Ultra Magnus’s version of consequences.</p>
<p>Jazz sighed heavily, getting permission to court Starwish when the time came was going to be a very long, very painful process wasn’t it? <em>Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to deal with that when the time comes.</em> Moving away from the observatory window, Jazz went to stand next to Prowl, who was essentially hiding in a corner away from the festivities for fear of getting lured into something illogical.</p>
<p>As soon as Jazz had settled against the wall next to Prowl, the praxian asked neutrally, “Is it not a long-standing Cybertronian custom for a mech to offer the femme he intends to court a lavish gift, most commonly a helmpiece, in order to announce his intentions? The acceptance of the gift signifying the simultaneous acceptance of the suitor who offered it?”</p>
<p>Jazz groaned faintly and smacked the back of his helm against the wall, “Not you too, Prowler.”</p>
<p>Prowl blinked at him flatly, “I was merely inquiring.”</p>
<p>Jazz rolled his optics from behind the safety of his visor. Of the two of them, it was Prowl who was more likely to know all of the long-standing traditions and customs that had evolved on Cybertron, “You already know tha answer ta those questions, Prowler.”</p>
<p>“Does Starwish?” Prowl’s tone wasn’t accusing, but the dryness hinted at an underlying irritation at something.</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm and answered in a firm tone that discouraged further questions, “Probably not. But it doesn’t matter, Ah gave it ta her as a <em>Christmas</em> gift, not a courtship offering.”</p>
<p>Prowl ignored Jazz’s subtle hints to drop the subject, “So the fact that every mech in this room who is aware of the custom will now refrain from seeking to court Starwish when she comes of age, and will also discourage others from doing so, is just a … bonus coincidence?”</p>
<p>Jazz bit back a smirk at Prowl’s all-too-accurate guess even as he snapped softly, “Change tha subject, Prowl.”</p>
<p>Prowl fell silent for almost a breem, his next words having dutifully changed the subject to something else that Jazz immediately found amusing, “That helmpiece looks remarkably similar to the ancient heirloom of the highest noble clan in Praxus.”</p>
<p>Jazz chuckled faintly, “Like Ah told Star, my mech creator got it during his travels. It’s probably a replica.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s left doorwing flicked in a way Jazz had long ago learned meant exasperated amusement, “A replica that has a genuine, fully matured, rare pearlescent breed of Praxus Crystal carved into the shape of a star imbedded in it? Just like the original article that is reported to have been stolen vorns before the start of the war?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged loosely, “What can Ah say? My mech creator knew where ta find tha good stuff.”</p>
<p>Jazz snickered faintly as Prowl rubbed his forehelm and groaned something about how he would prefer to remain ignorant. Settling back a little more firmly on the wall, Jazz watched Starwish as the Christmas party slowly came to an end. She was thanking everyone for having gone to all the trouble of making the party and for the gifts that had been given, her different-colored optics sparkling with a light that had been missing for far too long in Jazz’s opinion.</p>
<p>He noted with amusement that she was also apologizing for not having any gifts to give the others in return. She didn’t seem to realize that she and her family had already given them the gift they had all wanted. Starwish and her brothers were happy again. They were happy and laughing and on speaking terms with the ones who had so grievously hurt them, even though the hurt had been accidental.</p>
<p>For Jazz, the gift was even greater. His One was happy, she had indulged them with singing and dancing, and she had <b>forgiven</b> him.</p>
<p>And to Jazz, that forgiveness was the greatest gift she could have given him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish stepped back, vents panting faintly with relief as she closed up the frontal plating of her patient and moved to attend to the next patient only to find that there were none. She blinked once in surprise before her narrowed focus expanded and she realized that the emergency wing had finally gone quiet.</p>
<p>There were no screams of agony from patients as they were laid on the emergency foldable berths, no barking of Ratchet’s or Cogwheel’s voices over the chaos as one or the other called for a part of some kind to stabilize their own rows of patients.</p>
<p>The chaos of the past, three joors? Ten? she’d stopped checking her chronometer at least twenty patients ago, was finally over. In it’s wake was an exhausted quiet broken only by the harmonized beeps of the spark monitors, the low hum of the life-support systems intravenously pumping much needed energon into beleaguered frames, and the soft groans of the surgeons as they finished last-klik checks and finally relaxed.</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s prosthetics settled back into their dormant position with a low whirr as she turned to survey the emergency wing of the medbay, “What are our losses?”</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced around the long room briefly as he no doubt filtered reports through his processor. His optics shuttered briefly at the numbers before he opened them, “Less than what we logically should have with how short on staff we are.”</p>
<p>Starwish vented slowly, trying to keep her emotions from rising out of their little, imaginary lockbox, “Ratchet, I’m sensing a ‘however’ in your next sentence.”</p>
<p>Ratchet shook his helm and murmured a number that sent Starwish’s spark plummeting. <em>So many … Too many.</em> Closing her optics, she turned her attention inward briefly, focusing on the pulse of her own sparkbeat and that of those nearest her as Master Yoketron had taught her in order to maintain her calm. She opened her optics again when Cogwheel aired another query, “And Triphosphate City?”</p>
<p>Ratchet was shaking his helm, “No official reports on the channels yet, for all we know the battle is still ongoing.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel narrowed two pairs of her optics at the notion, but didn’t verbally comment on it. Instead, she turned to Starwish and asked softly, “How are you feeling, Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish paused, taking the question seriously, “My self-diagnostics are clear. I’m just … tired.” Her gaze drifted idly downward and she accidentally found herself staring at the energon and bodily fluids coating her servos. She had no doubt that her prosthetics were coated in it too. Somewhere amid the stains, a grim part of her processor reminded her, were droplets of energon from five mechs that might not recover despite her best efforts. As well as droplets from other mechs she’d already been too late to save.</p>
<p><em>Don’t think about that. Don’t think about who you lost and might still lose. Think about who you saved.</em> Starwish shook her helm faintly to banish the images of a frame offlining under her servos despite her best efforts, she had seen too many of those over the vorns already. Lingering over the images would only hurt.</p>
<p>Her processor drifted without her consent, reminding her of how things had changed over the vorns. How she had changed. She was an official field medic and surgeon for the Autobots now, with a small medical insignia branded on her left shoulder plate to prove it. While still technically Ratchet’s apprentice, she was experienced enough in medical procedures that her medical program no longer had to override her processor functions and force her to do things in tense situations.</p>
<p>Twelve vorns. That might not have sounded so long to the cybertronians she now lived and worked among, but to her it sometimes felt like an eternity. Twelve vorns of living the Great War, listening to the reports of the struggles outside of Iacon, trying to save as many lives as possible and hold on to hope even though in the back of her mind, she already knew how it would end. Cybertron was dying internally. Not that anyone besides herself, Hardwire, and the twinlings knew that yet, and there was no way to stop it. Still, on the cycles she was sent onto the field, the destruction she saw only compounded her memories of the Autobots mourning a fallen home-world.</p>
<p>After twelve vorns living on it, seeing its beauty and the love its inhabitants held for it, Starwish knew that she would end up mourning it as well when the time came.</p>
<p>A light touch on her shoulder jolted her out of her increasingly dark musings, “Starwish?”</p>
<p>She looked up into Ratchet’s concerned optics and tried to smile, “I’m fine, Ratchet. Really.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel made a disapproving noise, “Perhaps physically and statistically, however, you should not strain your frame so much. Not when the time for your transfer is so near.”</p>
<p>Starwish suppressed the flinch that threatened to rise at Cogwheel’s words while also doing her best to continue ignoring the steady ache that had developed in her chest for the past three metacycles, “I was needed here. It’s my duty now.”</p>
<p>Ratchet gently began herding her out of the room, the look of concern in his optics steadily increasing even as it shared space with darker emotions, “Your help <b>has</b> been invaluable during the past two metacycles. Just make sure you aren’t neglecting yourself just because the finalization of your new frame has been delayed.”</p>
<p>Starwish quietly hummed an acknowledgement to Ratchet’s words, idly aware of how her passive responses were only serving to worry Cogwheel and him more. Not that she really blamed them for their worry. Apparently, one of the side-effects to her spark maturing enough to be transferred into its final frame was mood swings. As in, she went from actually having moods to having almost none at all.</p>
<p>The delay caused by the sudden outbreak of fierce fighting and consequent flood of patients had only served to increase the severity of the swings as well as make it hard to control her bond with Ultra Magnus. Her ability to regulate what emotions or thoughts were transmitted to her Opi had become steadily more erratic, leading to quite a few random, unplanned conversations and distractions.</p>
<p>Her currently tired, passive responses probably made them think she was about to slip into an emotionless state again. Which wasn’t far off the mark, admittedly. She could feel her emotions dribbling farther and farther away from her grasp even as she contemplated the problem, her exhaustion only aiding in her slide to being incapable of expressing any feelings. It was a curious feeling that probably should have been scary … if her fear wasn’t always one of the first emotions to become inaccessible to her.</p>
<p>As they stepped into the main room of the medbay, Starwish automatically swept her gaze over everyone inside, checking for any injuries that may have been overlooked before moving over to the row of sinks set in the wall and washing her servos. Ratchet and Cogwheel did the same before separating, Cogwheel presumably back to her office and Ratchet to go speak to an exhausted looking First Aid, Jolt, and Hoist.</p>
<p>Just as she was considering going to the washracks to clean her prosthetics before going back to her quarters for some recharge, the medbay doors slid open to admit a limping figure. Starwish’s audio-receptors snapped fully upright and she bolted across the medbay, her slipping emotions snapping back into place with a jolt, “Jazz!”</p>
<p>Jazz held up his servos placatingly as she approached, “Easy Star, Ah’m alright. Jus’ got nicked on my way out is all.” Starwish scowled, scanning him repeatedly to confirm his words before looking around for a spare berth to which to herd him.</p>
<p>Seeing that they were all filled with mechs either recharging or watching her and Jazz’s exchange curiously, Starwish instead began shooing Jazz to Ratchet’s office, “Let a medic be the judge of your condition. Come on, Ratchet has spare chairs in his office.”</p>
<p>Jazz chuckled as he obediently limped in the direction of Ratchet’s office, throwing a cocky salute to the glowering CMO in question as he spoke to Starwish, “Hello ta you too, Star. Ah jus’ came in ta check up on you, you know. No need ta-”</p>
<p>Starwish huffed a bit, “Jazz, your paint is scuffed in most places, gone in some, you have at least five dents on your shoulder, waist, chest plates, and arms, and all that isn’t taking in your <b>limp</b>. Do you really think that I, or any other medic in this medbay, would just let you walk back out without a checkup?”</p>
<p>The door to Ratchet’s office slid open and Jazz crossed through it as he shrugged, “They’re just scratches, Star. Really. My self repair systems can take care o’ them without problems.”</p>
<p>Starwish ignored Jazz’s protest as she motioned him into a chair and pulled up one for herself. She felt Ratchet’s biting bedside manner, which was surprisingly contagious after twelve vorns of dealing with mechs pretending they were “fine”, rising to the fore, “Sit. Quiet. No excuses.”</p>
<p>Jazz actually had the audacity to laugh for a klik or two before falling silent and obediently letting Starwish poke and prod him with medical tools. After several breems of carefully smoothing out dents and repairing the fractured gear in Jazz’s leg, Starwish finally straightened up and put away her medical tools, “There, that should be fine as long as you don’t do anything too strenuous for the next three cycles.”</p>
<p>Jazz chuckled again as he lazily saluted her and stood up, “Understood, Star. Ah’ll be extra careful next time too.”</p>
<p>Starwish very carefully suppressed a flinch at the thought of there being a “next time”. She knew there would be, just as she knew that “next time” would entail something as dangerous or more than “last time”. Such as infiltrating some Decepticon base for information, or mapping out enemy lines up close and personal. Glancing at the paint scuffs marring Jazz’s frame, Starwish said slowly, “You’re back earlier than I thought you would be. You missions lately have been taking three metacycles or more with only a metacycle in between to rest and review reports.”</p>
<p>Jazz sidled closer to her, one of his servos idly capturing one of hers and rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he answered, “Ah managed ta finish up early. Didn’t wanna miss your final upgrade, after all. Is thah still scheduled for next cycle?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, her gaze focused on his slowly moving thumb and the size difference of their servos as she answered automatically, “Ratchet says it will have to be. Putting it off any longer than that risks damage to my emotional hardline coding and spark casing.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s thumb added just a bit more pressure to its circling, the only indication that her words had alarmed him. That was another change that had happened over the past twelve vorns; her ability to read the First Lieutenant’s moods from the most subtle signs. It was a side-effect of them interacting so often between their respective duties in combination with her training with Master Yoketron.</p>
<p>Jazz was a hard mech to read. For all of his seeming openness and laid-back personality, he could actually be quite devious at hiding his real feelings on any given subject. Something she supposed was useful for his position in the Autobot forces, but it made it hard to tell what he was really thinking a lot of the time. However, she’d gotten fairly good at reading the tiny tells in his mannerisms for when he was feeling certain things.</p>
<p>Jazz’s voice dragged her out of her contemplations, “Are you excited about it?”</p>
<p>Starwish briefly bit her bottom lip before answering, “I … suppose so. I understand that it’s necessary, and the frame Ratchet’s built for me is truly pretty, but…” <em>But I’m still afraid. It still feels wrong to transfer into a new frame. A new </em><b><em>body</em></b><em>. It isn’t natural.</em></p>
<p>The servo holding hers tugged Starwish closer and Jazz’s other servo came up to caress her cheek and chin gently, “Hey, it’s alright, Star. Everyone gets nervous durin’ an upgrade. But it will be fine, Ah promise. Ratch’ has done tha procedure hundreds o’ times before an’ if he says you’ll be fine, then you will be.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up at Jazz’s faceplates to discover that he had retracted his visor. She smiled despite herself, it was rare for him to remove his visor, and his optics were a very unique shade of aquamarine blue. Jazz smiled back at her, his exposed optics brightening faintly in accompaniment to his smile.</p>
<p>Just as he started to say something else, Starwish heard loud pedesteps stomping toward the office door. She turned her helm to look at the door, audio amplifiers flicking forward attentively and Jazz’s visor immediately snapped back into place.</p>
<p>Jazz had just let go of her servo and stepped back when the door opened and Ratchet loomed there, looking even more grouchy and menacing than when he’d gotten the proper amount of recharge, “What are you two still doing in here? His injuries had better not be serious enough to warrant so much time!”</p>
<p>Jazz raised his servos placatingly, but Ratchet only unsubspaced a wrench and shook it at him warningly, “If you were trying to talk Starwish into letting you out of the medbay while still injured again…”</p>
<p>Jazz whined comically, “Thah was one time, Ratchet! One time!”</p>
<p>Ratchet growled at Jazz before turning to Starwish, “What’s his status?”</p>
<p>Starwish waved her right servo easily, “He’s fine. Just a few dents and a mildly fractured gear. We were just talking-”</p>
<p>Ratchet waved the wrench under her nose like it was a weapon instead of a tool, “Ep-ep-ep-ep! You need recharge far more than standing around talking to this glitch. Go wash down and then go to your quarters for some recharge. That’s an order.” Seeing the look Starwish was giving him, he waved the wrench a touch more emphatically, “I’ll com you if your needed, now <b>go</b>.”</p>
<p>Giving in, Starwish shot an apologetic look at Jazz and slipped out of Ratchet’s office, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see Ratchet prevent Jazz from leaving before the door slid shut and locked the two mechs in. <em>Probably wants to check on Jazz himself. </em>Nodding an absent farewell to First Aid and Jolt, Starwish left the medbay for the first time in joors.</p>
<p>The halls were unusually empty, just as they always were when there was a sudden outbreak of conflicts. Iacon, being the only Autobot base to have a groundbridge, was a central hub for ferrying mechs to whatever location needed reinforcements, with the mechs stationed in Iacon often getting shipped out first to the battlefronts because they were the first to report to the groundbridge.</p>
<p>After the outcome of a battle, the remaining Autobots would return to Iacon until it was their turn to be rotated to one of the outer bases or they were needed on the field again.</p>
<p>Since all the mechs still in Iacon main base at the moment were either already at their posts, in their quarters recharging, or in the medbay, the corridors were decidedly deserted, making it easy for Starwish to head straight to the femmes’ wash racks and scrub down her armor and prosthetics. Drying herself off with quick, practiced motions that expended no unnecessary effort or thought, Starwish left the wash racks and headed to her shared quarters with Ultra Magnus.</p>
<p>After the “Capture Incident” as it was now called, and then later the arrival of more femmes in Iacon, Starwish had never been reassigned femme roommates. Instead, she had continued to stay in her Opi’s officer’s quarters while her roommate status with Flareup and Moonracer had been given instead to a new femme named Roulette. Not that she particularly minded, she dearly loved her Opi after all.</p>
<p>After taking the turbolift to the correct floor of the base, Starwish padded a straight line to her quarters. Stepping inside, she double-checking that the door was in fact locked and not tampered with by the twinlings again, and promptly crawled under her blanket to get some well deserved recharge. Joors of non-stop surgery, an act which required not only mental fortitude and lots of training but intense, unrelenting focus as well, was much more draining than most of the mechs on base gave it credit for. It didn’t help that she was overdue for her final upgrade, which placed a natural strain on her systems as they supported a spark now too large for them.</p>
<p>She had just enough time to muse over two things before her recharge protocols fully activated and sent her into blissful rest. One was the dryly humorous fact that Jazz was probably getting yet another distinct lesson in what happened when someone attracted the attention of a tired medic who was already predisposed to being cranky. The other was the puzzling feeling of warmth that blossomed in her spark whenever she thought on the fact that Jazz had rushed his mission completion in order to be in Iacon in time for her final upgrade.</p>
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<p>A figure moved rapidly in the corner of his vision, causing Hardwire to twist sharply to the right and shoot it, processor not even fully analyzing anymore how he knew it was a Decepticon and not an Autobot. Twelve vorns of war had formed and honed the ability to identify friend from foe in an instant, without having to fully process the visual cues such as different colored armor, brazen Decepticon symbol, or the blatant observation of who was shooting at him and who wasn’t.</p>
<p>The shot from his Kaonian sniper cannon, meant to cross vast distances while still having enough velocity to offline a target, easily punctured through the enemy’s armor at such close range, sending the lifeless frame sailing backwards almost two meters before it collapsed on the ground.</p>
<p>A short bark of laughter echoed over the com, ::And so many Autobots wonder why that Decepticon-made rifle is one of your favorites despite the others in your collection.:: The tone of the voice was light and teasing in a way that should have been distinctly out of place on the battlefield. Instead, it only made Hardwire flash a grim smile to himself as he resumed crossing the debris-littered field in search of a new sniper spot, his partner flitting from shadow to shadow on point ahead of him.</p>
<p>He spotted a Decepticon creeping up on an Autobot from behind while another ‘Con kept him distracted and fired without hesitation once again, obliterating the helm of the creeping Decepticon without so much as slowing his pace. Glanced at his partner as he dived behind cover to avoid a strafing seeker, Hardwire replied a little dryly, ::Well, they’re the ones who are always complaining about how the Decepticons get all the best weaponry. I’m just using the best resource in my arsenal.::</p>
<p>His smaller, much more maneuverable partner gave a soft audible laugh that was almost lost in the howl of blaster fire and the scream of the seekers’ engines as they passed overhelm. As soon as the seeker turned a corner and disappeared, they set off again, Hardwire keeping a sharp optic on their flanks while his partner made sure their path was clear.</p>
<p>Stray blaster shots whipped past her, causing her to dive into cover again and Hardwire bit back the low growl that wanted to form in his engine. Stubbornly stamping down on the angry stirrings in the back of his mind, Hardwire fired a wild shot in the direction of the stray blaster fire, hoping to distract or scare off any Decepticon that might have been firing intentionally at his partner.</p>
<p>They jumped through a gaping hole in the wall of a building and paused there, taking a moment to rest their panting frames in the stillness of the blessedly uncontested location. Straightening up a bit, Arcee glanced cautiously around the edge of a blown-out window, her voice a low hiss of annoyance as she spoke, “I thought the reports said we were winning and that the fighting was slowing down?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged fractionally before turning the majority of his attention to the long molten scratch etched across his lower right leg, “We probably are, but ‘winning’ a battle like this just means we’ve held or recaptured most sectors of the city and that the fighting has stopped in <b>those</b> sectors. This was their insertion point, and is also, by rote, their extraction point. Makes sense that they’d try hardest to hold this sector in particular.”</p>
<p><em>Hmm,</em> the wound hadn’t felt particularly painful when he was running around and his HUD wasn’t pinging him with impending death notices, but he hadn’t had time in the middle of the field to check if it was leaking energon or not and it was better to be safe than sorry. Tilting his leg this way and that so he could look at the wound from different angles, he came to the conclusion that it would be fine until he got back to Iacon just as Arcee scoffed and came to stand next to him, “Huh, you’re pretty knowledgable of tactics and looking at the overall strategy for a rookie.”</p>
<p>Hardwire huffed with exasperated humor and nudged her idly as he stood up again, “Hey. I’ve been at this for twelve vorns now, you can’t call me a ‘rookie’ anymore.”</p>
<p>Arcee gave him a distinctly smug look as she retorted, “Twelve vorns to my <b>fifty plus</b>. You’re still a rookie, <b>Rookie</b>.”</p>
<p>A part of Hardwire still wondered when the topic of how long they had been fighting and killing had become a reoccurring joke between them, but the rest of him just rolled with it. Innocent humor was an extinct concept in war, especially one that had been going on for well over a hundred vorns. Shaking his helm, Hardwire listened to the rumbling and blaster fire going on outside before tilting his helm to look at the ceiling, “Really think we’ll find a good spot in this building?”</p>
<p>Arcee nodded, her dual blasters exchanging for the serrated wrist-mounted blades Hardwire had given her for the fifth annual Iacon Christmas party, “Mostly. The seekers have been blowing holes in these buildings since the start of the fight. That makes lots of openings to exploit and rubble to hide behind.”</p>
<p>Both of them pointedly avoided mentioning the fact that a lot of the “rubble” would also be the bodies of fallen neutrals who had been caught off guard by the sudden Decepticon blitz assault. There was no time to think on such things, they had to protect those who were still living. They had to protect their comrades who were on the ground and in other buildings doing the same thing. Hardwire carefully subspaced his sniper cannon, unsubspacing it again from his left-side subspace pocket before unsubspacing his small energon mace to rest in his right servo.</p>
<p>The mace was a gift from Chromia after it became painfully evident that his talent for using his energon short sword in his berserk rages did not cross over to the times when he was in control of himself. Thus, she had given him a weapon that required a lot less finesse and a lot more brute swinging strength.</p>
<p>From the top of its spiked head to the bottom of the shaft it was only as long as his lower arm from fingertip to elbow. However, the weight of the mace’s head as well as the razor-sharp energon spikes liberally protruding from the round top more than made up for its smaller size. Plus, its size granted Hardwire the ability to use it with only one servo, an ability which had saved Hardwire’s life more times over the vorns than he was comfortable admitting.</p>
<p>Nodding his readiness to Arcee, they made their way deeper into the building, searching for a way to reach the upper floors. Hardwire felt his Guardian Mode stir more insistently in the back of his processor as it became evident that the building in which they were moving had been an apartment complex.</p>
<p>They walked carefully through doorways and down shattered halls, gingerly going around severed limbs and offlined frames of those who had been unlucky enough to be caught in first attack wave. As they did, a part of Hardwire mused grimly over how, in a twisted way, it was a good thing that there were so few femmes left on Cybertron. It meant that the chances of finding an offline femme frame amid the scattered rubble that would trigger his Guardian Mode were low to non-existent.</p>
<p>He shoved that thought away as soon as it formed. There were no femme frames to be found in the building because Megatron and his Decepticons had already slaughtered most of them before Hardwire ever came to Cybertron. That thought made him growl subconsciously before quieting and shoving those contemplations out of his mind altogether. Outside, there were muffled thumps and explosions of battle, reminding Hardwire constantly that he had to hurry as best he could.</p>
<p>The turbolifts were completely ruined, not that Hardwire was surprised by that, but there were still emergency stairs and convenient piles of rubble that made good makeshift platforms from which to climb through holes in the upper floors. Arcee darted gracefully ahead of him, her smaller frame making it much easier for her to jump from rubble to floor or visa versa. She was like a blue and silver shadow, flitting from corner to corner and place to place with the expertise born of experience.</p>
<p>Hardwire kept up with her as best he could, senses trained for any signs of Decepticon presence in the halls or rooms around them as they made their way for an upper floor of the tall building. Their path was zig-zagged at best, and utterly erratic at worst. Collapsed hallways and blocked-off stairs often forcing them to detour into the apartments themselves to get around the latest obstruction.</p>
<p>It was just after reentering the hallways from one of said detours when Arcee subtly stiffened and looked around with increased intensity. Hardwire idly twirled his mace in one servo, sniper cannon rising from its normal position of pointing at the floor to pointing at a random wall instead, ::Contact?::</p>
<p>Arcee inched further into the hallway, optics never ceasing their movements as she responded, ::Don’t know. But something doesn’t feel right. I think we’re being stalked.::</p>
<p>Hardwire quietly took an intake with his vents as he shifted his position in relation to Arcee, ready to cover her flanks if they were suddenly ambushed, ::For how long?::</p>
<p>Arcee didn’t move any further into the hallway, her gaze now fixated on the turn up ahead of them, ::A breem, maybe more. I thought it was just my paranoia about how quiet it was compared to outside, but now I’m positive I heard another mech moving around in here.::</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded despite Arcee not being in a position to see it, ::Plan?::</p>
<p>::I’d say stop here and wait him out, but we don’t have time for that. Prime needs all the snipers he can get right now to finish up the fighting, so I guess we’ll just-:: There was a flash of purplish red color from Arcee’s left and a concussive whine as the plasma shot slammed into the wall behind where she’d just been standing, ::Cloakers!::</p>
<p>Hardwire snapped off a shot in retaliation even as he lunged to one side, holding still while being ambushed by Decepticons Cloakers, or any Decepticon really, was just asking to be shot through the spark. <em>Frag! Of course it couldn’t go right! Nothing ever does on the field!</em></p>
<p>Arcee’s wrist blades subspaced with a faint chime, her dual blasters making a rapid reappearance as the two stood instinctively back to back, optics wide and audios straining. Several low cackles filled the air, too quiet and identical to pinpoint where they were coming from, “Looks like two little Autobots got lost … too bad, so sad!” <em>From the right!</em></p>
<p>The barrel of Hardwire’s miniature cannon flickered right and fired at the glow of plasma that had just started to materialize. His shot slammed into something and sent it crashing into the nearest wall before it slid down to the ground, cloaking device deactivating to reveal a Decepticon Cloaker with a gaping hole in his chest plates.</p>
<p>For a moment, there was something akin to stunned silence from their invisible ambushers. Then all pit broke loose in the form of shrieking, blurred distortions, and wild firing. Hardwire and Arcee stubbornly stuck together, refusing to be divided by the unknown number of attackers as they were hounded from all sides.</p>
<p>Spinning and twisting around each other in a synchronized fighting style that had only come from vorns of practice in life-or-death scenarios, they aggressively pushed further out into the hallway. Arcee repeatedly fired off wounding shots that made their ambushers’ cloaks falter just long enough for Hardwire to blow holes through them with his higher-powered gun. Something slammed into Hardwire’s left side, invisible clawed fingers stabbing and slicing at any exposed wiring that could be reached, “Smelt in the Pit, Auto-scum!”</p>
<p>Hardwire snarled in pain and lashed out with his mace, aiming for roughly where the mech’s middle would have to be in order to reach so far up his frame. The energon spikes temporarily disappeared as they were embedded into invisible metal. Whipping the mace out and ignoring the energon spray that followed it, he slammed it back in again, shouting inarticulately at the invisible claws getting far too close to his neck for comfort. The Cloaker who had jumped on him screeched with each blow, his cloak glitching repeatedly and revealing him in erratic flashes that enabled Hardwire to get a better idea of where his opponent was.</p>
<p>Shifting his grip on his mace, Hardwire brought it crashing down in a vicious overhelm swing right where he’d seen the mech’s neck and helm during the glitching. Metal shrieked as it was warped and punctured, energon flying as his mark went mostly true and pain stinging through his arm as one of the mace spikes missed and dug into his own armor instead.</p>
<p>Ripping the mace out of his opponent yet again, Hardwire shook his left arm to dislodge the now unmoving frame, energon lines thrumming with something akin to adrenaline. His gun arm now free, he started firing again, taking off the helm of one cloaker who had been idiotic enough to drop his cloak within Hardwire’s line of sight and injuring another that had revealed himself via the glow of the plasma shot he’d been aiming at Arcee.</p>
<p>A quick glance in Arcee’s direction revealed a whirlwind of icy fury, her blasters firing rapid salvos at any signs of their ambushers. Curses echoed around them followed by disturbed cackles and Hardwire was distantly relieved to notice that they sounded much fewer in number than before. <em>Crazy glitches, this is a really big pack. Did they know someone was going to come here?</em> It didn’t seem likely, but then again, he wasn’t even going to attempt figuring out how a Decepticon’s thought process worked, especially not a Cloaker.</p>
<p>Unlike Autobot Cloakers, who’s cloaking mechanism had its controls integrated into a panel on one of their arms, Decepticon Cloakers had their cloaking controls, and most of the mechanism itself, wired directly into their helms. Ratchet had once ranted on how unstable the integration must make their processors, something about the amount of energy syphoning through their hard drives, and Hardwire had never seen any evidence to disprove Ratchet’s words. Decepticon Cloakers were unpredictable, stupid or vindictively genius at random turns, and always stalked the battlefield in groups.</p>
<p>Arcee gave a cursing yelp and Hardwire’s Guardian Mode lurched angrily in his helm. Red flickered dangerously through his vision like static as he whirled, a roar far more animalistic than Cybertronian surging from his vocalizer as he broke formation and lunged at the distorted figure darting away from Arcee’s now leaking side. His sniper cannon subspaced with a faint chime that he didn’t hear, his restored left servo lashing out to catch the retreating figure by the ankle, fingers clenching hard enough to fracture the slender joint in his grip.</p>
<p>The Cloaker’s yell of pained outrage was cut off abruptly as Hardwire smashed his mace through the mech’s helm. Spinning, offlined frame still in servo, he flung it at a random section of the wall and felt a vicious surge of satisfaction as the projectile crashed into something other than wall. Time blitzed in and out of perspective, leaving only sparse moments of clarity that revealed flying energon, yowls of terrified enemies, and the destruction of anything that stood between him and eliminating the threat to Arcee.</p>
<p>Glancing blows of plasma rounds stung his frame, adding to the scorched dents that already littered it while the foolish few of the remaining Cloakers who chose to engage in close combat with Hardwire quickly found themselves flung, crushed, or beaten into scrap metal by the snarling mech.</p>
<p>The red static grew a bit thicker as silence fell, threatening to swallow his rationality whole until a voice broke through the thrumming in his audios, “Hardwire? Hardwire, can you hear me? Tell me you haven’t gone <em>berserk</em> again…”</p>
<p>Hardwire swiveled his helm in the direction of the voice, squinting through the red static until he made out the shape of the femme slowly approaching him. <em>Arcee?</em> The static receded a bit and Hardwire blinked once, twice, then a third time before shaking his helm emphatically to clear away the last of the red haze, “Arcee? What … what just…?”</p>
<p>Arcee’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief, “Oh thank the AllSpark. I wasn’t in the mood to herd you to your station. As for what just happened? No clue. I thought your Guardian Mode had activated but you’ve already come out of it so…”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a chill go down his spinal strut and suppressed a shudder as he realized it had happened again. Over the vorns, it had been inevitable that he’d be separated from Optimus during battle and after somehow ending up as Arcee’s partner, it was unsurprising that his Guardian Mode had kicked in more than a few times. But those moments were always proceeded by alerts on his HUD and always lasted until either Optimus ordered him to stand down or he had returned Arcee and any other femme in the area safely to base.</p>
<p>With Ratchet’s, Arcee’s, Ironhide’s, and Chromia’s help and lots of practice, Hardwire had learned how to suppress the program. How to force it into dormancy so that he could concentrate and keep a tactical view of the battlefield. It worked most of the time and the times it didn’t Arcee always quickly reported to Optimus to settle the situation.</p>
<p>But four times over the past vorn, something else had happened. Without any HUD alerts or other warnings, Hardwire would abruptly slip into a state very similar to his Guardian Mode. However, in the … battle haze as he’d privately dubbed it, he could still feel pain and still strategize to a certain point. Plus, it was much easier to snap out of, usually only taking a familiar voice or a few breems of quiet for it to fade.</p>
<p>This made the fifth time total for the strange appearance of his battle haze and the fourth time it was triggered by a cry of pain from Arcee. <em>Wait, pain! She was injured!</em> His optics widened and he glanced down hastily at Arcee’s middle, “Are you alright?” His engine gave a choked noise as he spotted the gash on her side, “You’re side!”</p>
<p>Arcee waved him off with an exasperated look, “It’s nothing that I haven’t gotten a million times before. I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>Hardwire vented slowly, deciding not to point out that she had ended up in the medbay for serious injuries about a million times before. Saying it out loud or dwelling on it would only risk triggering his Guardian Mode, “You’d better. Is the battle still ongoing?”</p>
<p>Arcee cocked her helm, silently checking the com frequencies, “Yeah, we’re pushing them back, but they’ve still got that barricade up to prevent us from expelling them completely. Let’s go.” Stubbornly ignoring the worried look Hardwire gave her, Arcee pushed past him and led the way to the room she had picked out on the building schematics. It was thirty floors up with the wall facing the city outskirts completely demolished, probably during the first attack wave.</p>
<p>Picking his way through the living room, Hardwire dropped down behind a particularly large chunk of rubble that was close enough to the edge that he could see the battlefield below. Far below, Hardwire could see that the seething battlefield had died down. The Autobots having taken what cover they could while still taking the occasional shot at the Decepticons who huddled safely behind the massive barricade they had set up to prevent losing their foothold in the city.</p>
<p>Hardwire huffed slightly as he unsubspaced his sniper cannon once more and took aim at the swarm of stubbornly fighting Decepticons below, ::Hardwire to the rest of Ghost Team, I’m in position.::</p>
<p>Moonracer’s voice chirped irritably over the com, ::About time! They’ve pulled up an artillery piece and have Bluestreak and me pinned down!::</p>
<p>Hardwire sighted through his scope and shifted the focus point to the artillery piece occasionally firing from its position at the far back of the Decepticon’s last holding place in the city, ::On it.::</p>
<p>Hardwire considered it a testament to his improved concentration abilities that he didn’t even blink when Bluestreak broke the no-inane-chatter rule of Ghost Team’s private com channel, ::That’s one of those weird phrases you use right? Because I don’t see you down there and it wouldn’t make sense for you to have reached a new sniping position while at the same time actually be standing on the artillery piece. Even if you were standing on the artillery piece and somehow none of the Decepticons noticed, wouldn’t it be bad to blow up the thing you’re standing on? That seems like it would be suicidal or at least really painful and since you don’t like pain and aren’t suicidal, unless you’ve gone Bāsākā, I don’t see you doing that sort of thing-::</p>
<p>Hardwire’s crosshairs finally drifted over the exposed corner of the artillery piece’s fuel tank and he fired, his armor-piercing shot flashing across the sizable distance and smashing through the fuel tank’s armor like it was tin. The artillery piece instantly turned into a massive ball of fire and shrapnel, the fragmented pieces of the artillery piece slicing into the backs of Decepticons that had moments earlier been relying on it for protection.</p>
<p>Moonracer gave a cheer, ::Alright, Hardwire! We’ll turn you into a decent sniper yet!::</p>
<p>Hardwire resisted the urge to roll his optics as he swept his gaze over the muddled mass of Decepticons, searching for a target worth using an armor piercing shot on, ::I’ve been on this team for five vorns now, Moon. I’d like to think I already <b>am</b> a decent sniper.::</p>
<p>Bluestreak piped up just as a Decepticon officer huddled out of sight of the ground forces flopped over, a hole in the side of his helm, ::Well there was that time two vorns ago you couldn’t hit a building from a fourth of a kilometer away, which was really kind of funny if it hadn’t been so important to shoot that-::</p>
<p>Hardwire heard Arcee’s muffled laughter in the background even as he cut off Bluestreak with a protest, ::That doesn’t count! I’d just been nearly hit by a mortar round and my equilibrium sensors were still rebooting!::</p>
<p>A third voice, cold and feminine, broke into the good-natured banter, ::Ghost Team, focus on the task at servo. Hardwire, new target as these coordinates. Moonracer, relocate immediately, you’ve taken too many shots from that position already. Bluestreak, keep the chatter to a minimum and focus on targets of opportunity.::</p>
<p>Hardwire did roll his optics this time even as he chorused obediently along with Bluestreak and Moonracer, ::Understood, Beta.::</p>
<p>Arcee snorted faintly from where she was monitoring their surroundings, ensuring that Hardwire wouldn’t be ambushed while concentrating on his sniper work, “She makes Ultra Magnus look laid-back.”</p>
<p>Hardwire grunted faintly in agreement as he carefully scoped out the coordinates Beta had sent him, “Probably because she’s about a million vorns older than he is.” <em>Now where is the target? Oh, there. Not a good place to set up an officer’s meeting, mechs.</em></p>
<p>Arcee sounded almost puzzled, “What does age have to do with it?”</p>
<p>Hardwire lined up a shot at the seeker commander, who was not Starscream or any of his trine, Hardwire noted dryly, <em>pity, I’ve always wanted to see if his aft is as durable as it looks on the show</em>. Carefully, he angled his sights so that it was aimed at the seeker’s helm. He fired, watching as his shot obliterated the seeker’s helm and kept going. It ripped through the chest plates of the officer standing next to the seeker before exploding against the leg of the ground-bound officer’s bodyguard.</p>
<p>A shot from another direction, presumably another member of Ghost Team, ended the existence of the panicking third officer, and Hardwire turned his attention to Arcee’s question, “Patience is finite. The older people get, the more patience they’ve expended on life. Thus, she probably ran out of patience vorns ago.”</p>
<p>There was a long pause of silence in which Hardwire carefully scoped out and shot two more targets before Arcee asked matter-of-factly, “How is it that every time I think you’ve run out of weird things to say, you prove me wrong?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged as he crawled away from the rubble piece and stood up next to Arcee, “My family unit are unconventional thinkers. Let’s move to another location, my shots are easier to track than Moon’s or Blue’s.” He glanced down at Arcee’s side as he made for the door, checking to see if it looked any worse than before. It didn’t look good, but it didn’t look horrible and didn’t appear to be leaking anything more than a droplet or two. <em>Glancing blow then, something her auto-repair systems can manage.</em></p>
<p>Arcee lightly smacked his arm, a reproving gaze in her optics, “Hey, I’m <b>fine</b>. Focus on the mission.”</p>
<p>Hardwire returned the reproving gaze flatly for a moment before moving out into the hallway and towards another room, “I am. Part of my mission is to make sure my partner stays online.”</p>
<p>Arcee gave a low sound of irritation at his perceived fussing as she slipped into formation with him, staying at an angle where she could watch his flanks while still keeping an optic on what was ahead of them. Inwardly, Hardwire yet again noted how for some reason Arcee thought it alright if she fussed and grew overprotective of him, but not the other way around. Then again, Tailgate’s death probably had everything to do with that mentality. <em>Still doesn’t make it any less annoying. Even after vorns of dealing with it.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire cautiously peered through holes in the walls and doorways, checking to make sure each room was clear while also looking for another good spot from which to shoot. Eventually, he picked the room at the end of the hall that had a mech-sized hole blown through its far wall and settled down again. Beta’s voice cut across the com, ::Hardwire, report status. Why have you ceased firing?::</p>
<p>Hardwire shared an irritated look over his shoulder with the eavesdropping Arcee. Even after all of his time on Ghost Team, Beta still got on his case far more often than the other two, ::Hardwire reporting. Everything is fine. I was merely relocating to avoid retaliation.::</p>
<p>Beta gave an acknowledging click over the com before falling silent again. Hardwire shook his helm faintly to himself. Beta was an incredibly old femme, but was still acknowledged as the best sniper to walk Cybertron. As such, she had been placed in charge of Ghost Team after her reemergence in Iacon. Sighting in on the battlefield below, Hardwire took advantage of his new angle to snap off a shot at a Brute who was climbing over the barricade in an attempt to drive back the steadily encroaching Autobots.</p>
<p>The Brute fell backward and exploded, sending several smaller Decepticons fleeing for cover from hot shrapnel and thus leaving a brief hole in their barricade defense. The Autobots on the ground below exploited it immediately. Hardwire watched for a moment through his scope as Optimus stood up from behind cover, blaster-servo waving in the universal motion of “charge!” before following his own order and thundering over the barricade, a pack of roaring Autobots close on his heel struts.</p>
<p>Beta snapped out an order less than two kliks later, ::Ghost Team, provide covering fire for the Prime!::</p>
<p>Hardwire absently called out an acknowledgement even as he started picking off Decepticons at the far end of the barricade, preventing them from joining the effort to staunch the flow of Autobots into their last holding of Triphosphate City. From hidden areas in other wrecked buildings, Bluestreak and Moonracer began firing directly into the fray, keeping Decepticons from surrounding Optimus and in general helping their fellow Autobots push the last Decepticon resistance out of the city.</p>
<p>Hardwire took another shot, blowing open a medium-sized Decepticon with a rocket launcher and wounding two more with the shrapnel his shot produced. It was too risky to shoot Decepticons already in the thick of the fight with the Autobots because of how much power his sniper cannon held. The chances of it wounding a friendly with either shrapnel or energy backlash was too high.</p>
<p>However, there was something to be said for ensuring that some Decepticons never even made it to the fight. Plus, the damage to enemy morale when their fellows were being knocked off their pedes, a hole blown in their chassis, by an unknown assailant with a <b>cannon</b> could be just as tide turning as making sure that Optimus came out of the fight mostly unscathed.</p>
<p>Pausing in his rapid selection and decimation of targets, Hardwire checked on Optimus through his scope. The red and blue mech was a whirlwind of power, his blasters having been exchanged for a double-edged battle-ax that could literally send mechs flying. On Optimus’s right, cheerfully forming craters and obliterating nearby targets, was the familiar black frame of Ironhide, his twin cannons spinning with plasma charges. A minute shift in scope positioning revealed Optimus’s left flank adequately protected by Prowl and his deathly accurate acid blaster.</p>
<p>The rest of the Autobots were spreading out in a roughly arrowhead shaped formation, steadily pushing back the Decepticons and protecting each other’s flanks with a unity that their enemies eternally lacked. Hardwire scanned the rest of the field with his scope, biting back a sigh when he realized that all of the available targets were now too close to the close-quarters conflict to risk shooting at. <em>By the time I get down there, the fight will probably already be-</em> ::Moonracer to Ghost Team, we’ve got seekers inbound!::</p>
<p><em>Those mechs? I thought they’d already retreated after we took out their officer in charge!</em> Twisting around, Hardwire ceased to look through his scope and instead risked looking up. For several kliks, he couldn’t see anything. Then, the high-pitched whine of aerial engines pierced the air and three seeker trines went surging past the building from further in the city, wings tilting to spiral down toward the ground conflict.</p>
<p><em>Frag!</em> Hardwire sighted through his scope again, trying to catch one in his sights and failing miserably. Seekers were just too fast to be caught by sniper fire unless the sniper was at a perfect angle and had been warned of the seeker’s approach well before. Swearing aloud, Hardwire subspaced his sniper rifle and started looking around frantically. Arcee twitched agitatedly, obviously listening in to the general com frequency instead of Ghost Team’s, “They’ve started strafing runs, our mechs are getting scattered.”</p>
<p><em>Which will give the ground Decepticons time to regroup if it goes on for too long.</em> Hardwire stopped moving, closed his optics and concentrated briefly, forcibly reining in his rushing thoughts. <em>At this point in the battle, they’ve already lost and they know it. But instead of falling back, they’re continuing to fight, probably hoping to inflict as much damage to our forces as possible before going down. Which, considering the seekers and the fact that our Head Tactician and Prime are both down there, could be considerable.</em></p>
<p>His optics flickered open again, <em>so we need to drive off the Seekers, and fast. Moon, Blue, and Beta won’t be able to do much, not without giving away their positions and risking a missile getting dropped in their laps. Plus, their sniper positions probably aren’t at the ideal angle to deal with aerial opponents. </em>He turned toward the wall again, estimations, schematics, and memories flashing through his processor at speeds and accuracies no human mind could have managed, “Arcee?”</p>
<p>Arcee tensed from where she was standing guarding the door, “Hardwire?” Her tone had a sneaking tinge of suspicion and accusation. Hardwire almost wanted to laugh in amusement at how good she’d become at reading his tones.</p>
<p>Flashing a grimly reckless smile at her, he called, “Warning!” Before promptly launching himself out of the hole in the wall through which he’d previously been shooting, ignoring Arcee’s shriek of protest from behind.</p>
<p>Hardwire fell rapidly, arms and legs drifting into a spread-eagle formation to ensure a slightly slower fall as the ground rushed up to meet him with alarming enthusiasm. Eleven stories above an assuredly agonizing collision with Cybertron’s surface, Hardwire twisted in the air, rotating so that his helm was facing the building he had jumped out of. His servos stretched out, fingers latching onto the surface of the building, hooking on the faint creases and cracks formed during the first waves of battle. His frame jerked as his arms went taunt, the cracks he had grabbed preventing him from free falling for a nano-klik before giving way under his weight and momentum.</p>
<p>The result was his frame slamming against the surface of the building, pedes curling underneath him automatically to press against the wall he was now sliding down, ignoring the stinging pain radiating up his fingers from the friction-based abuse as he kept sliding downward. The wall abruptly gave way to a large hole were a window used to be and Hardwire found himself slinging into it pedes first by virtue of his momentum and the sudden lack of surface under his pedes to counteract his sliding fingers.</p>
<p>Twisting again, Hardwire hit the ground rolling, coming out of it facing the hole through which he had come. His vents panted, cooling fans kicking off a soft whirring noise as they balanced out the heat in his frame. Running back to the hole, Hardwire looked out of it to gauge his position, <em>third floor, not bad.</em> Jumping out again, Hardwire hit the uneven ground in a practiced combat roll, leaping to his feet and diving for cover the moment he could so as to avoid the notice of the seekers circling around for another strafing run on the barricade area.</p>
<p>Finally where he wanted to be, Hardwire took a quick look around to check that he wasn’t being flanked by some random Decepticon, and dropped on all fours. His back-mounted cannon unfolded from subspace, whirring and clunking as the pieces fit together with eager speed. His HUD pinged, shifted, and opened a viewing window over his right optic that showed where the cannon was aiming. Using the cannon’s “line of sight”, Hardwire adjusted his stance more to the right, aimed, and let loose a blast that rocked him briefly onto his pedes. <em>Take that, ‘Cons!</em></p>
<p>The shot slammed into a seeker just pulling out of a strafing run, obliterating half of his side and sending the remnants of frame crashing into one of his wing-mates. The smoldering frame half ripped off the other mech’s wing and sent him crashing to the ground as well. Immediately, the third seeker and the other two trines separated, dropping formation to weave erratic patterns higher into the air.</p>
<p>His com pinged with the general frequency and he absently opened it to Ironhide’s roaring cheer, ::Nice shot, Hardwire!::</p>
<p>Hardwire took aim at a high section of sky as he replied, ::Couldn’t let you have all the fun now could I, Ironhide?:: Ironhide’s response was a curt laugh before they fell silent to let Prowl have free reign giving orders over the com. Hardwire tensed and waited as he watched his chosen area of sky, knowing better than to attempt following the speed of the evasive seekers. It was better to pick a spot in the air and wait for one of them to accidentally fly into it. Sure enough, five kliks later a seeker streaked into his view and he fired. The shot slammed through the seeker’s engines, sending him spiraling to the ground in a haze of fire and sparks.</p>
<p>::Moonracer to Hardwire, nice shot, but now you’ve got incoming. They’ve figured out where you are.:: <em>Of course they have,</em> Hardwire thought with an irritated roll of his optics as he temporarily subspaced his back-mounted cannon and ran for new cover.</p>
<p>Two seekers spiraled down at him, guns firing red destruction just behind his heel struts as he fled, <em>Scrap!</em> Hardwire flung himself to the left at the last second, barely escaping being shot as the seekers overtook him and streaked overhelm. Rolling back to his pedes, he pulled out his sniper cannon and snapped off a reckless shot, cursing to himself as it went wide and missed the seekers completely. <em>Need to get someplace they can’t strafe me. Then take them out with my-</em></p>
<p>His proximity sensors pinged nano-kliks before something crashed into his back and sent him tumbling. A servo grabbed his helm and slammed it against the hard metal ground, sending static through his optics as his audios rang from the high-pitched screaming going on just above him. Snarling, Hardwire twisted and bucked underneath his attacker, suppressing a howl of pain when the fingers of the attacker’s other servo dug cruelly into the gap between his shoulder and arm armor to keep from being knocked off by Hardwire’s struggles.</p>
<p>His helm crashed against the pavement again and Hardwire felt his thought processes struggle to maintain coherency. He bucked once more, struggling to get his limbs arranged in a way that would get him better leverage, but was thwarted by another harsh meeting between his helm and the unforgiving metal surface of Cybertron.</p>
<p>Somewhere near him, he could hear the whine of aerial engines and the thud of pedes hitting the ground, signifying that a seeker had deigned to land. <em>Got to get up before he shoots! Got to-!</em> The sound of metal crashing against metal heralded the sudden lack of screaming weight on his back and Hardwire instinctively clambered to his pedes. His mace dropped into his right servo as he looked hastily around, searching for the nearest threat. On his right, a seeker, presumably the one he’d heard land moments before, was taking aim with his blaster.</p>
<p>Shaking off the last of disorientation in his helm and vision, Hardwire lunged for the seeker, mace spikes searing through the mech’s left wing before he could think to take off again. The seeker’s scream of agony at the sudden damage to the sensitive appendage was abruptly cut off when Hardwire’s next blow removed his helm from his shoulders. He didn’t pause to think about his most recent kill, instead whirling to take on the threat that had moments earlier had him pinned to the ground.</p>
<p>Arcee pulled back from slicing through the seeker’s neck cables and turned around, a sour look on her faceplates, “What did I say about doing stupid scrap?”</p>
<p>Hardwire grinned in relief as he replied, “To warn you next time. Which I did.”</p>
<p>Arcee looked like she was seriously debating smacking him despite their current surroundings, “Yelling ‘warning’ right before leaping out of a <b>thirty story building</b> doesn’t count!”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged lightly, “You said to warn you next time, not to never do it again.”</p>
<p>Arcee hissed something distinctly unrepeatable as the two ran for cover, Hardwire internally wincing as his leg wound suddenly decided to voice its displeasure over his actions. Pushing aside the not-so-wonderful thought of how Ratchet was going to murder him for jumping out of buildings and using his back mounted cannon after sustaining a leg injury, he reassumed his all-fours position and resumed firing on the remaining seekers while Arcee kept any straggling ground-bound Decepticons from getting too close.</p>
<p>Five more seekers soon met their end. Three via Hardwire’s cannon, one via Ironhide’s plasma cannons, and one via a very lucky shot from Bluestreak.</p>
<p>The remaining seeker, bereft of aerial or ground-based aid, quickly fled from his onslaught of shots, darting over the shattered section of city wall and blasting off toward the Decepticon lines far away. With their last seeker already retreating, facing down Autobots led by the Prime and his over-enthusiastic bodyguard, and more Autobots doubtlessly on the way, the Decepticons finally lost their nerve and fled. Chimes of transformation ringing in the air as they drove off in the direction the seeker had taken with curses and promises for revenge.</p>
<p>Hardwire straightened up, his back-mounted cannon disappearing back into his personal pocket dimension known as subspace, and smiled grimly. <em>That takes care of that.</em> He glanced over at Arcee, who was perched agilely on a piece of rubble, wrist blades still at the ready, “You probably shouldn’t be crouched over like that, you know. Ratchet will throw an even bigger fit if you open that gash any further because of acrobatics.”</p>
<p>Arcee snorted harshly through her vents as she finally sheathed her blades and clambered down to lightly smack his arm, “Well, he’s not going to know about my acrobatics, is he? Not unless you want him to know about the building jump stunt you did with an injured leg.”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced down at the injury in question, saw what looked suspiciously like a small dribble of energon leaking out of it that hadn’t been there before, and looked away nervously, “Understood.”</p>
<p>Arcee shot him a knowing look before turning her gaze forward as they moved toward where Optimus and Prowl were giving last-klik orders and receiving the latest reports. Optimus looked away from Prowl as they approached, “Hardwire, Arcee, what is your status?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged neutrally, “Nothing bad. Arcee needs that gash welded shut and my leg needs treatment … again, but other than that and some dents, we’re good.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded briefly, something akin to relief flickering through his gaze at hearing Hardwire give the report. There was always a risk of Hardwire losing control over his Guardian Program in the midst of battle and getting it to shut down was never a pleasant process for either party. Hearing Hardwire speak fluently assured Optimus that he hadn’t gone berserk without having to actually mention the touchy subject. Optimus turned back to Prowl, who was distractedly giving orders to what sounded like twenty different mechs at once. Or maybe more, Prowl’s multitasking skills were just that comprehensive.</p>
<p>Ironhide strode over, one servo slapping Hardwire easily on the shoulder as he laughed, “Nice shooting back there, ‘Wire! Even if you did miss the last one.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hummed in mock irritation, “Hey now, you only shot down one seeker, I shot down six.”</p>
<p>They traded jibes for a few more breems while other Autobots swept the perimeter and everyone waited for instructions on how they would get back to Iacon. The groundbridge was a possibility, but what with the increasing scarcity of energon, it was more common for them to be shipped to emergency areas of the front lines via groundbridge and then come back via gunship. Hardwire was always skeptical on how fueling twenty or so gunships was more cost effective than fueling the large groundbridge, but he was neither an engineer nor in charge of Iacon’s inventory and so kept quiet.</p>
<p>Privately, he hoped that Optimus would consent to sending them back via groundbridge. The portal of vaguely ticklish energy was much faster than a bumpy, noisy gunship and Hardwire was looking forward to recharging in his own berth room as soon as possible. At some point during the wait and cleanup process, the rest of Ghost Team slipped over to stand next to Arcee and him. Hardwire gave an absent nod to his teammates and a quick but respectful salute to their team leader, Beta.</p>
<p>Ghost Team had originally been Prowl’s idea, a way of coordinating their few snipers to more effectively aid in turning the tides of battle. It had originally consisted of just Moonracer, Bluestreak, Hardwire, and Arcee since she was already his partner before he’d been invited to join the sniper team. Beta had turned up soon after a lack of intel had nearly gotten Bluestreak offlined and quickly took over the unit with her characteristic sass and zero-patience levels.</p>
<p>Beta, for all of her scowling attitude, knew how to run a sniper unit. She had very quickly instituted invaluable changes to the team, such as making sure every sniper had a partner to watch their backs, and forced them all to learn how to cooperate over vast distances. Hardwire had already been working with Arcee for some time, thus giving her the default position of being his partner/bodyguard. Bluestreak had been assigned Trailbreaker, who tolerated Bluestreak’s babbling tendencies surprisingly well, while Moonracer quickly became fast friends with her volunteer partner Cliffjumper.</p>
<p>Beta herself was partnered with two mini-cons named Flux and Flicker, both of whom had already been with her when Hardwire had first met her. Flicker was a quiet one, Hardwire couldn’t remember the mini-con saying more than twenty words to Hardwire since their original meeting five vorns ago. Flux on the other servo …</p>
<p>Flux criticized. A lot. About everything. Moonracer was too social, Arcee wasn’t social enough, Beta was too harsh, Hardwire was too easygoing, Bluestreak talked too much, Flicker didn’t talk enough. It seemed like Flux had an opinion about anything and everything that existed under the Cybertronian sun, and ninety-nine percent of those opinions were all negative. Even now, Hardwire could dimly hear Flux muttering low in his vocalizer about how long it was taking to go back to Iacon. <em>Is there anything he doesn’t criticize?</em> Hardwire mentally shook his helm, he had been asking himself that question off and on since meeting Flux and still hadn’t come to a positive conclusion. <em>At least Flux spends most of his time in his alternate form, or else Arcee would probably have resorted to drastic measures long ago.</em></p>
<p>Optimus and Prowl conferred over something before Optimus turned to acknowledge the waiting crowd of mechs, “Gather the remaining wounded at these coordinates, we will be returning to Iacon by way of the groundbridge.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt his shoulders slump just a bit in relief even as Prowl organized who would help the wounded through the groundbridge and who would have to wait their turn to go through. <em>Thank goodness. Sweet recharge here I come.</em> Prowl’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Hardwire, Arcee, Cliffjumper, Bluestreak, you will be part of the second wave. Report to the emergency medical station immediately upon arrival for injury assessment.”</p>
<p>Hardwire and Arcee shared pained looks, all relief vanishing as they remembered that they would have to face down an overworked medic for injury assessment before getting to wash or recharge. Also, considering their luck, said overworked medic would probably be Ratchet. <em>Please let it not be Ratchet this time. Please let it not be Ratchet this time. Please let it be First Aid, please let it be First Aid.</em></p>
<p>Eventually, everyone was in place and the huge portal of swirling energy appeared a few yards in front of the line, letting stretcher-bearers through to retrieve the wounded first, then letting the walking wounded such as Hardwire and Arcee walk to Iacon under their own power. Hurrying through as much as possible so as not to hold up the line, Hardwire ignored the familiar static feeling that pressed against his frame as he walked through the groundbridge.</p>
<p>The bright light at the end of the energy tunnel resolved into the cavernous, hangar-like room that housed the Autobot groundbridge and Hardwire eagerly limped down the steps into the seething room. Technicians of the bridge crew raced back and forth between the waves of the wounded, the airwaves teeming with comlink chatter and status updates as the bridge crew did their upmost to keep the groundbridge functioning perfectly on as little fuel as possible.</p>
<p>On the far side of the room from the groundbridge, where it would be relatively out of the way, was the emergency medical station. It was mostly a way for the medics in the medbay to know what to prepare for, as it had scanners that automatically checked the status of any mech that entered its perimeter, but it occasionally served as a surgical station for when a patient didn’t even have enough time to be taken to the medbay.</p>
<p>Hardwire and Arcee made their way toward it, unconsciously staying close together despite the crowd threatening to separate them, optics flicking alertly around in case they needed to dodge any of the unwary technicians scurrying past. The medical station’s scanner beeped authoritatively as they stepped into its perimeter, causing the medic on duty to look up with a low noise of despair. Hardwire raised his servos placatingly, “Easy, Flashpoint, we’re fine, honest. Just a few scratches.”</p>
<p>Flashpoint shot Hardwire a scathing look as she idly shooed through another pair of stretcher-bearers, “Every time a mech says that, I feel the overpowering urge to prepare my surgical tools for when the speaker drops into stasis lock.” She blinked her optics once as the station scanners uploaded Hardwire’s and Arcee’s results directly to her HUD and then scowled darkly, “You have torn leg-plating, ripped wires in several areas, energon leaks in several more, and a cracked gyroshock in your right leg. Arcee has dents all over, torn wires in her left shoulder, left hip, and right knee, as well as an abdominal injury currently leaking internally.” Her scowl intensified, “What were you saying about ‘just a few scratches’?”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked down at Arcee sharply, “You didn’t tell me you were leaking internally!”</p>
<p>Arcee shot back loudly, “Well, you didn’t tell <b>me</b> that you were about to leap out of a thirty story building with a cracked gyroshock!”</p>
<p>Hardwire crossed his arms defensively, “I didn’t have a cracked gyroshock before I jumped…”</p>
<p>Arcee rolled her optics expressively, “Like that’s supposed to reassure me? You could have broken your entire leg with that stunt!”</p>
<p>Hardwire pointed a finger at Arcee accusingly, “<em>Ditto</em> on the internal leaking! You said you were fine!”</p>
<p>Arcee started to retort when Flashpoint crankily cut through their argument, “Just get going to the medbay already! Also, I hope you realize that I’m sending an audio recording of this conversation to the medic who will be overseeing your repairs right now.”</p>
<p>Both Hardwire and Arcee flinched a bit at her declaration and started hurrying for the exit to the emergency medical station. Pausing just before they left, Hardwire asked hesitantly, “Uh … who’s going to be overseeing our repairs?”</p>
<p>Flashpoint didn’t look up from where she was viewing the next assessment, “Hoist, Jolt and he are the only ones not currently slated for the surgical wing.”</p>
<p>Hardwire felt a flicker of relief at not having to face down Ratchet and explain how he’d gained a cracked gyroshock by jumping out of a thirty-story building. The relief vanished when Flashpoint added over her shoulder, “But I forwarded your conversation with your partner to Ratchet as well, so have fun with that.”</p>
<p>Arcee groaned at that revelation and Hardwire cringed faintly. The two shared a glance as they headed for the row of turbolifts that would take them to their required floor, argument briefly forgotten in the wake of mutual sympathy. ::Well,:: he commed weakly to Arcee, ::I guess I can forget about going to Starwish’s upgrading ceremony. Ratchet is going to <b>offline</b> me.::</p>
<p>Arcee sighed and brushed his servo with her’s, ::Wrong. He’s going to offline us <b>both</b>. It’s all your fault too.::</p>
<p>Hardwire immediately retorted, demanding to know how it was his fault, and their playful argument began anew as they squeezed into the nearly full turbolift and began traveling up to their doom. Despite their morbid jokes about death via wrench and bickering over who was at fault for it, Hardwire felt a part of his spark ease.</p>
<p>They had both made it through another battle alive, and that was more than he had hoped for on several occasions over the vorns.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish examined the frame on the berth nervously, sweeping her gaze over every still line and pearly armor plate. The optic shutters were closed as if in sleep, which she knew was really because there was currently nothing in the optical sockets. It was taller than her by at least two feet or more, and it was missing back prosthetics. However, aside from those differences and a few other minor aesthetic alterations, it looked just like her.</p>
<p>It was her. Or, at least, it was going to be her very soon.</p>
<p>Ratchet hovered nearby, an expectant look on his faceplates, “Well, do you like it?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked away from the eerily still, pristine faceplate, “I do. It’s … it’s beautiful.”</p>
<p>Something in Ratchet’s frame seemed to relax, “Good. Very good. But you know, I do have spare optics. You don’t have to repurpose the ones you have. Or at least not the red one…”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm instantly, “No. I want my optic colors to stay just the way they are. I don’t … I don’t want that to change. Besides, my optics are perfectly fine, it would be frivolous to take any spares from the inventory when I already have two perfectly functional ones.” Ratchet still looked unsure at her choice, so Starwish gently reached out to touch his arm, “It’s fine, I mean it. I like having two different colored optics, it … I’ve always been that way.”</p>
<p>Ratchet studied her expression for a moment before nodding slowly and patting the servo resting on his arm, “Very well then. I have to start prepping the equipment and materials, so if you have anything left to do before you upgrade, you have a joor and a half to do it.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded and moved toward the exit, knowing that it would be better if she was out of his way, “Thank you, Ratchet. I’ll go do that.” Slipping out of the private room that had been reserved for her adult frame, Starwish strode down the all-too-familiar halls of the medbay, nodding absently to First Aid as he hurried past and automatically taking stock of the status of the main medbay room once she’d reached it. It was less full than it had been the previous cycle, but it was still crowded with mechs injured enough to warrant their staying under a medic’s care.</p>
<p>Starwish carefully suppressed the urge to scan the mechs on the berths as she walked past. She was off duty for at least the rest of the cycle, maybe more depending on how rapidly her spark integrated with her new frame and systems. Some of the awake mechs looked away from their various datapads or the ceiling to murmur friendly greetings to her, which she returned as quickly and quietly as she could as she padded past their berths.</p>
<p>A side-effect of being an Autobot medic that she’d never realized existed, was that eventually you grew to know the majority of the mechs living in the city in which you’d been posted. Faces grew familiar, voices, phrases of complaint, and even injuries became identifying monikers. Quite a few Autobot mechs had an unusual, near illogical ability to be injured in the same places, for very nearly the same reasons, every time they came into the medbay.</p>
<p>The bulkiest of the mechs currently in the main room, a cheerful blue fellow with rocket launchers on his shoulders, repeatedly overstrained his back struts from firing both of his recoil-heavy launchers at the same time so often in battle. Another prime example of locationally consistent injuries was Hot Shot, a flirtatious Autobot who lived up to his name and seemed to have a magically blaster bolt attracting aft that often took the brunt of his damages despite throwing himself repeatedly into situations that should have gotten him shot through somewhere more vital long ago.</p>
<p>Cases of cracked gears, scraped up servos, missing arms, or deafened audios could all be roughly assigned to different groups of Autobots based on their professions in the army and what kinds of situations they often found themselves in. The end result being that Starwish had become not just particularly familiar with repairing certain injuries, but also with the mechs to whom the injuries belonged. At least until one cycle their luck ran out and they didn’t come back into the medbay ever again.</p>
<p>Starwish left the medbay with a shake of her helm, banishing that line of thought before it could take her in a morbid direction. She had other things to focus on in the time left before her upgrade. Silently, she pinged Ultra Magnus with an alert as to her destination, quickly receiving a ping of approving acknowledgement in return as she took a turbolift down to one of the Iacon Main Base exits.</p>
<p>As advised by Ratchet, Ultra Magnus had carefully shielded his end of their sparkbond and both had promised to refrain from contacting the other over it until Starwish was safely upgraded. Her spark did not need the extra strain of communicating with another spark while it was in a frame too small to fully support it anymore. She could still do physical activities and transform and the like, but Ratchet had insisted on taking it easy as much as possible.</p>
<p>Starwish waved idly at Que as he bounced past her in the halls, helm-fins flashing happy colors as he went to get more supplies for his latest project. Que waved back, twisting around to call a hello over his shoulder and unaware of how fortunate he was that mechs knew to stay out of the explosion-prone inventor’s way whenever he emerged from his lab. Though, Starwish suspected that their gracious side-stepping of the absent-minded inventor was less because of polite courtesy and more because of the superstition that his explosive tendencies were touch-contagious.</p>
<p>With her thoughts wandering hither and yon, it didn’t seem to take long for her to reach her desired exit to the rest of Iacon. Transforming with a practiced ease she never could have imagined as a human, Starwish drove out onto the road and began making her way down the familiar route to the lower levels. Master Yoketron had specifically ordered her to visit him before her upgrade, but the influx of patients the previous cycle and her subsequent exhaustion had prevented her from carrying out the order until now.</p>
<p><em>I wonder why he wants to see me so soon before the upgrade? It can’t be for sparring lesson, Master Yoketron postponed those a metacycle ago because of the spark strain it could cause. Perhaps a meditative or history lesson then?</em> Starwish took the required exit off of the main road, processor balancing easily between taking the memorized route to Master Yoketron’s dojo and pondering his request. Deciding that she’d just have to wait until she arrived there to find out, she settled herself more firmly on her tires and drove on.</p>
<p>The neighborhood surrounding Yoketron’s dojo had suffered from the war, growing less populated and more rundown as the vorns went on. There was no other traffic on either the vehicle or pedestrian streets as Starwish transformed and began walking the rest of the way to her destination. There was no graffiti on the walls like in Earth movies, no creeping organic vines, and no broken down doors because of looters to make it look more run down. However, the metal of the buildings were dull, many windows were permanently dark, and the quiet was so encompassing that the faint rumbles of traffic above her helm seemed almost disrespectful.</p>
<p>It was a neighborhood of lost memories and old ghosts. A frozen tableau of how a pre-war Iacon neighborhood was constructed. A place without security patrols and little plots of land around the buildings that were unfenced and indefensible in case of invasion. A place where laughter, speech, and movement had long since faded away, leaving in their place a silence that strongly disapproved of any sound that would deny the silence’s existence.</p>
<p>Starwish gave no denial to the silence, her pedesteps ghosting over the metal road without so much as the barest whisper. The silence did not welcome her, just as she did not break the silence’s vigil with sound. One audio amplifier flicked and Starwish stilled, helm remaining still even as her optics sought out the source of the faint skittering noise she’d picked up on. A retro-rat peeked out of its hole, olfactory sensor wiggling cautiously for a moment before it scuttled across the road, never noticing the little white femme observing its passage a few yards away.</p>
<p>The source of sound identified, Starwish resumed walking, subconsciously ensuring that her pedes did not clatter forcefully against the metal road as she did so. Master Yoketron had been most thorough in instilling stealth skills into his newest apprentice and twelve vorns of his rigorous training in the various Cyber-Ninja arts had permanently ingrained the instinct of moving soundlessly into her mind. Finally, she came to a stop at the door to Yoketron’s residence-come-dojo, fingers dancing lightly over the door’s keypad to insert the entry code he had taught her five vorns ago. The door slid open and Starwish moved to step inside.</p>
<p>Only to stop in the doorway immediately, optics latching onto the conspicuously placed datapad on the floor, its glowing screen indicating its powered on status. Carefully, Starwish swiveled her helm fractionally from one side to another, optics taking in the entry hall keenly for signs of traps or a struggle. This would not be the first time Yoketron had “reminded” his student to be always aware of her surroundings.</p>
<p>The old mech had more experience in pranks than both sets of twins put together. He also had the ability to take all the potential humor out of his pranks by mildly pointing out how spilled paint could have been armor corroding acid, and lug nuts thrown at high speeds could have been poisoned shuriken. Starwish carefully examined the door for tripwires, the floor for signs of hidden pressure pads, and the ceiling and walls for motion, heat, and spark energy detectors. Finding nothing hinting of a booby trap and no signs that someone had somehow been insane enough to break into Yoketron’s home and attack him, Starwish padded inside and crouched down to read the datapad, making sure never to touch it as she did so.</p>
<p>Displayed on the glowing screen were three simple words, “come find me”.</p>
<p>Starwish straightened up, pushing down the groan of irritation that threatened to well up in her vocalizer. Apparently, her Master had decided to engage her in the most frustrating of all his tests. Hide-and-Go-Seek: Cyber-Ninja Style.</p>
<p>Like regular Hide-and-Go-Seek, there were two players, a seeker and a hider. Also like regular Hide-and-Go-Seek, the way to win the game was either for the seeker to find the hider or the hider to elude the seeker respectively.</p>
<p><b>Unlike</b> regular Hide-and-Go-Seek, both parties were expected to cheat in order to win the game.</p>
<p>The seeker could use any kind of scanner they had in order to locate the hider, or even attempt to drive the hider out of their chosen spot by any desired method short of fatal attack. The hider, on the other servo, could change locations on a whim and employ any means necessary, short of lethal retaliation, to escape the seeker should the hider be spotted. The only way for the seeker to win was to not only find but to subdue the hider for a minimum of four breems. The hider won by evading capture for a minimum of a joor and in addition to that, had only five chances to escape after being spotted. A sixth sighting would be deemed a sign of inadequate skill and automatically cede victory to the seeker.</p>
<p>Blasters set to stun were allowed for both participants. Smoke bombs, flash bangs, paint, booby traps, shuriken, kunai, and all other pointy or otherwise potentially useful objects were also allowed. Point in fact, everything was allowed in Hide-and-Go-Seek: Cyber-Ninja Style save for two rules that were never to be broken or cheated around. The first rule was that the hider could not leave the dojo to hide. The second and final rule was that neither the seeker nor the hider were to grievously harm or offline the other.</p>
<p>Starwish had yet to win a game as the hider, though she had come very close a few times, and she had never even caught a glimpse of Master Yoketron whenever she was the seeker. Now it would appear that Master Yoketron wanted her to attempt to remedy that particular skill failing. Hopefully he wouldn’t make her fight to subdue him if she somehow found him, Ratchet would throw a fit at the physical exertion if he did.</p>
<p>Taking a deep vent to steady herself, she let it out softly and settled in to her task. Her pedes touched the floor even more softly than before as she made her way down the halls, optics wary of traps and alert for any hint of Master Yoketron’s presence. With luck, Master Yoketron would call off the game after a joor of making her feel silly searching a seemingly empty dojo and she could use the last half of a joor before her transfer to find out what he wanted.</p>
<p><em>Don’t think like that. Remember what Master Yoketron says, “A hunter only hunts when he is sure he will catch his prey.”</em> Proceeding to the door at the end of the hall, Starwish checked it carefully, scanning it twice before triggering it to open. The light automatically powered on as soon as she’d stepped into the room and Starwish internally cursed. Moving across the room, optics scanning for any signs of her hiding master as she did, Starwish accessed a special control panel hidden behind a section of wall.</p>
<p>The control panel gave her access to several basic settings in the dojo, namely, the lights. With practiced fingers, she turned off the automatic light activation sequence, ensuring that the dojo rooms would stay dark even when she entered them. She might not have been able to find Master Yoketron during the previous tests, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him by listening and watching for when the lights powered on in certain areas.</p>
<p>After a moment’s consideration, Starwish decided to leave the light in the main dojo room on. He would already know she was in there, but by leaving the light on instead of it immediately turning off, she had a chance of keeping him from realizing that she had turned off the automatic light sequence. At least for a few more breems. Master Yoketron was old, but he was very, very far from senile or gullible. That task done, she returned the control panel to its originally hidden state and turned to give the room another careful scrutiny. A quick scan for life signs revealed none in the room, but the paranoia Master Yoketron had so painstakingly cultivated in her mind over the vorns refused to give up searching the main room.</p>
<p>Attentively, her audio amplifiers flicked back and forth, trying to catch the faintest of sounds that would be associated with another presence. Venting or the faint whir of gears. Perhaps even the soft scuff of armor against a wall or other surface. Nothing. The room looked completely unchanged from all the other times she had ever been there, sans Master Yoketron’s presence. With no preparation or outward sign of forethought, Starwish carefully stuttered her systems, briefly shutting down her venting and other regulatory systems before restarting them, thus disrupting her natural rhythm for a few kliks.</p>
<p>Still nothing, no briefly out-of-sync sounds that would have indicated a hidden occupant in the room disguising his own system sounds by matching the rhythm of her own. No sign that she was anything other than alone in the room. Finally, Starwish left the main room and set off down the dark corridors, the special visor Jazz had given her for the seventh annual Iacon Christmas party ensuring that her optics gave off no telltale light.</p>
<p>She didn’t tiptoe, simply hunched into a sideways half-crouch that kept her close but not touching the right wall of the halls as she moved from room to room, growing increasingly wary of potentially nasty surprises with each empty, non-booby-trapped room. The sparring rooms, the simulation room, the maze room with its programmable recessed walls in the floor, the meditation chambers, even the Sanctuary with its forbidden door and towering fire-colored Praxian Crystal. Each and every one was barren of any sign of Master Yoketron and traps alike. It was as if the entire place was abandoned.</p>
<p>Starwish stopped in the Sanctuary, staring up at the twisting colors of the red-orange crystal thoughtfully as she checked her chronometer. Around two thirds of a joor had passed.<em> Wonderful.</em> She suppressed a noisy sigh, it would do nothing but potentially hinder her if she made any noise at all. Still, she contemplated her predicament in frustration as she idly listened to the soft yet intricate wordless song of the towering crystal in front of her. <em>No traps, no sign of him, no clues, no weapons needed. What is he up to? How am I supposed to find him when he isn’t even in the dojo? </em>She corrected the last thought with a frown, <em>no. Master Yoketron would not break the first rule. He’s here in the dojo alright … but where? How am I supposed to find him…?</em></p>
<p>An idea niggled in her processor, a suspicion she couldn’t quite put into words. Her attention refocused on the crystal, listening to the frequency it naturally gave off because of the energy vibrating in its matrixes. <em>Energy…</em> Reaching out, Starwish thoughtfully put a hand against the crystal, the sound becoming all the louder to her through the physical contact. Master Yoketron loved Praxian Crystals and often included them in his training. Especially mediation. His favorite meditative exercise was to pull out the tiny crystal he had shown her on her first cycle of training and have them listen for its song-</p>
<p>The idea bloomed, strong and unshakable. <em>That’s it.</em> Turning, Starwish left the Sanctuary and moved through various hallways until she was on the opposite side of the dojo from the massive crystal. Entering one of the empty sparring rooms, Starwish knelt down into a meditative position on the edge of the mat nearest the door. Facing the exit, Starwish closed her optics and took one deep vent, then another. Her audio amplifiers folded back into a perfectly neutral position on her helm and her servos automatically folded neatly in her lap.</p>
<p>Meditating was … strange. Perhaps it was because of the differences between being cybertronian and being human, but after the first orns of practice and vorns of application, it was surprisingly easy to peel away extraneous thoughts and leave only a single clear image or mantra in its place. It was like … dividing herself and placing the unnecessary divided bits into a little lockbox in her processor, yet not.</p>
<p>She was still herself, even if startled out of meditation, so there was no actual dividing of self and locking it away, yet until her concentration was broken, that’s what it felt like. Like her whole being had narrowed down to one thing and one thing alone.Once all of those thoughts and impressions and idle flickers of idea were gone, it was much easier to hear things that she normally didn’t. The sound of Master Yoketron’s favorite crystal or the ever-present hum of mechanical life, the planet really. Sometimes, Starwish thought she heard other things too, but they were always too quiet to pick up and were irrelevant to the meditative exercise at servo, so she’d always ignored them.</p>
<p>This time, she didn’t ignore them. Instead, as she carefully folded up unnecessary thoughts and worries such as finishing up the hide-and-seek test and lingering fear over her impending upgrade, she listened intently. Her focus narrowed farther and farther, peeling away idea after thought after worry until there was just one thing left. A question. <em>Where?</em></p>
<p>One audio amplifier perked as it honed in on a faint sound from several halls and rooms away before relaxing again. <em>Praxian crystal. No. Where?</em> Machinery hummed, thousands of billions of individual cogs, gears, and pulleys all moving and scraping together to form a continuous background sound that most didn’t even notice anymore. <em>No. Where?</em></p>
<p>A hidden sound, like thousands of breathy whispers of things that were not yet there, coming from the direction of the Sanctuary. Curiosity spiked, but she resisted the urge, instead folding it and the memory of the whispers away for later. <em>No. Where?</em> Her left audio amplifier slid forward as another hidden sound reached her, this time from within. It was her spark. She moved to fold away that thought as well when something caught her attention.</p>
<p>Her spark was singing. She … had honestly never heard that before. A steady hum of energy yes, she had heard that plenty of times during meditation or moments of fear. But this was not a hum of energy, it was an actual, intricate song. The sound was mesmerizing, coaxing and lilting, singing of secret things she knew yet had forgotten, of past griefs and joys, of future trials yet to be found and overcome. It sang of beliefs and emotions, memories and curiosity, all intertwined irrevocably into just the first layers of one single song.</p>
<p><em>Is this … me?</em> She faltered, the sound of her own spark calling to her, as if asking her to follow and learn some great secret she did not yet consciously know. All she had to do was listen a little more deeply, go a little bit farther…</p>
<p>But that could take a great deal of time, and to do that was not anything Master Yoketron had covered in his training yet. It could be incredibly dangerous to delve into one’s own spark via meditation for all she knew. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Starwish pulled away from the hitherto unheard song of her own spark, resolving to listen again later. As she mentally pulled away and the song faded, she felt a prickle of disappointment before pushing it away and reaching out instead for something else, something she now knew how to look for. <em>No</em>. <b><em>Where</em></b><em>?</em></p>
<p>There was a moment of blankness, of nothing to hear, then a song bloomed into existence, followed quickly by the astounding realization that she could hear other songs farther away, faint but audible in a clashing mess of melodies and harmonies. <em>I can hear them … I can hear them!</em> Dimly, she registered that she had vented extra deeply, trying to remain calm in the face of her sudden achievement. <em>I’m doing it. Finally, I’m doing it!</em></p>
<p>Her concentration slipped and the sound of the songs wavered. Quickly, she folded that giddy realization away and listened in again, reaching out for the nearest song, audio amplifiers instinctively flicking forward to attempt to catch it more clearly.</p>
<p>Age. Age and memory, death and life, the ending of paths and the starting of them. The song she sought unraveled before her like an intricate weaving of the haunting silver notes of a flute. Each one with a different story, a different choice and consequence, all weaving into a single vibrant whole that conveyed great age and time and memories of things long vanished from the sight of the living. It sang of sadness, faded grief, warmly held joy, patience born of practice and a thousand other little things that she couldn’t quite catch because it wasn’t her song to listen to, not really. Not for very long.</p>
<p>But it was so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, that for several kliks Starwish just listened, marveling at how much she could hear yet how little she could understand, from just that glimpse into the depths of the song. Something in her reached out as if to touch the song, sing with it, but then pulled back, knowing somehow that no matter how she might try, she could never come close to harmonizing with all of the different notes. She would never hear the full depth of the song.</p>
<p>As that part of her pulled back sadly, Starwish distantly remembered her purpose, the reason for her attempting the exercise Master Yoketron had started to introduce her to a vorn ago. Her optics opened and she stood up slowly, moving without really seeing, pedes guiding her around turns more by force of habit than conscious thought as her focus remained almost entirely wrapped up in the old song.</p>
<p>Left, left, right, straight, right, right again and on until she stepped out of the dark halls and into the only lit room in the dojo. Exactly where she had started, exactly where she needed to be in order to bring the test to an end. Her audio amplifiers twitched and moved to the normally inaudible song as her optics travelled over the room until it landed on where the song was the loudest. Without hesitation, Starwishstrode over to the recessed part of the wall with its hanging inscription, knelt down, and laid her servo directly over the source of the song. <em>Right here.</em> There was a snap of connection, of knowing, but then it faded as Starwish released her hold on her own mind and let her normal thought processes come flooding back.</p>
<p>Starwish blinked, once, twice, then a third time, trying to banish the oddly light, euphoric feeling that washed over her as the unheard songs faded and normal sounds took their place once more. She blinked one more time before refocusing her optics on where her servo was pressed against something. However, it was not pressed against the wall as it should have been, or even as it felt like. Her servo was clearly pressed against something several feet away from the actual wall, something completely invisible to both her optics and her other sensors.</p>
<p>Raising her gaze to just above her natural optic level, Starwish said softly, “Found you, Master Yoketron.”</p>
<p>There was a brief pause, a moment of hushed stillness as the thing her servo was resting lightly on gave no sign of acknowledgement to her words. Then the air flickered ever so faintly, peeling away as if it was actually a curtain to reveal Master Yoketron staring at her with an intense, unreadable look on his faceplates. Starwish leaned back, removing her servo from his chest plates and bowing her helm respectfully, waiting for his assessment.</p>
<p>Instead of an immediate assessment as she expected, Master Yoketron voiced a quiet question, “How did you find me, young one?”</p>
<p>Starwish slipped into a proper sitting position, back struts straight as she sensed the seriousness of Master Yoketron’s question, “With the latest mediation exercise you’ve been introducing me to, Master. I … listened for you and then followed the … the song. Your song.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron stared at her for a long moment, his gaze still unreadable, yet not in a threatening way. Starwish considered brushing his magnetic field to get a better read on what he was thinking, but decided against it. He could still catch her in the act every time and right now did not feel like an appropriate moment to try. Finally, he spoke again, “My song?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, there was no other way to explain what she’d heard. It had been a song. Not a voice, or an impression, or an energy signature, but a infinitely complex song that she knew would haunt her memories for the rest of her cycles, “Yes, Master. It was a song but it … it was so much deeper than that. I-” Her processor drifted for a moment as she remembered it and the fainter ones she had heard outside the dojo before blinking to stop herself from getting lost in her own memories, “I don’t know how else to describe it, Master.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron tilted his chin up ever so slightly, “And you discovered this song all on your own…” The question sounded rhetorical but Starwish nodded anyway, wondering why Master Yoketron seemed so disbelieving.</p>
<p>Tentatively, Starwish asked, “Did I perform the exercise incorrectly, Master Yoketron? Did I fail the test?”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron shook his helm immediately, “No, young one. You did marvelously in both the test and the means you used to pass it.” The unreadable expression left his faceplates at last and was replaced by a gentle smile, “Do you know how I evaded you?”</p>
<p>Starwish cocked her helm faintly to one side as she thought, “I would say you used some kind of cloaking device, but there was no outline distortion and when I touched you it felt like I was touching the wall and not your chest plate.” Her voice trailed off as she thought about it a little bit more before asking tentatively, “Some kind of holographic projector? Hound’s have spectacular detail, but I’ve never seen one on a large scale that has such perfect tactile replication.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron’s smile grew fractionally as he nodded in approval of her analysis, “Autobot Hound’s holographic projector is a normal projector that has been modified to accommodate producing larger images while maintaining high visual detail. To use it to produce hard-light projections requires a significant increase in energy consumption.”</p>
<p>Reaching up to his chest plate where the autobot symbol was proudly emblazoned, he surprised her when it suddenly slid out of the way with a soft click, allowing a square cube the size of Master Yoketron’s fist to pop out and onto his waiting servo. Another cube exactly like it unsubspaced onto his other servo with a soft chime. He held out the second cube for her inspection as he explained, “These are a hard-light projectors, specifically designed to produce hard-light objects or images according to its owner’s specifications. It’s projections also mask the owner from most scanners and all but the most practiced of audios and optics.”</p>
<p>At a gesture from her Cyber-Ninja Master, Starwish carefully took the cube and examined it intently while listening to Master Yoketron continue to explain, “It’s uses are varied and many, all depending upon the natural mental preferences of the owner. Some perfect the art of disguise to the point where they can use it to artificially change their armor coloration and frame appearance. Others utilize the durability of hard-light projections to form defensive walls, and still others perfect the art of ambush using this device’s unique properties. Its systems are carefully optimized and uniquely customized for the frame of the owner in order to maximize energy efficiency.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked up from the inconspicuous cube, “Why don’t either side use this more often, Master? It sounds amazing and the tactical advantages are enormous.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron had a knowing twinkle in his optic, “Because not only are they incredibly rare, but the art of building and using effective hard-light projectors has long been a secret known only to the most talented of Cyber-Ninja. Only those who have proven themselves in certain tests are allowed to own and utilize one.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron carefully replaced the cube he had taken out of his chest plating back where it belonged and Starwish obediently made to give the second priceless device back to him. Instead of taking it, Master Yoketron shook his helm and gently curled her fingers around the cube, “I have no need for two, young one.”</p>
<p>Starwish froze for a moment, optics going wide in disbelief at the implications of what he’d just said, “M-master?”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron leaned back slightly, “Your final upgrade is in … a quarter of a joor, I believe. If a Cyber-Ninja is ever to utilize a hard-light projector to its fullest capabilities, he or she must have it integrated into their final frame upon the same cycle as their spark transference, otherwise, the projector will never truly become theirs.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared back down at the innocent, grey-colored cube in her servos, “So your summons…?”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron’s small, warm smile made a return, “Was to give you a test, yes. It is traditional for a Cyber-Ninja Master to gift his apprentice with a special tool or technique upon their final upgrade. The gift depends solely upon the abilities and temperament of the student, as well as whether or not they pass the test given them by their Master.”</p>
<p>Seeing her questioning gaze, Master Yoketron gently took the servo holding the hard-light projector in his own, “You have a strong spark, young one, and have striven to meet every test I have set before you with honor and dedication. Yet, despite the training I have given you, it is plain to me that you are not, and never will be, a willing participant in the violence of war. You’re spark is that of a healer’s, not a warrior’s, and I pray that will never change nor ever be corrupted.”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron’s optics became distant for a moment before they cleared and he continued, “There is no weapon I could give you that would be a fitting gift for your upgrade or for you. Therefore, I gave you the opportunity to earn something else, something far more fitting for a healer in the shadows.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt comprehension dawn and whispered, “A way to hide myself and my patients. A way to shield my loved ones and disguise them from unfriendly optics. A way to stay out of any unnecessary fights…”</p>
<p>Master Yoketron nodded, “And to ensure that your battles will only occur in the place and time of your choosing.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her spark swell a bit more, stinging her frame with its energies even as she bowed low at the waist to hide the tears suddenly stinging her optics, “Thank you, Master Yoketron. I can’t even- Thank you!”</p>
<p>Yoketron’s servo lightly touched her back in a comforting, accepting gesture. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. After twelve vorns of learning under his guidance, she already knew what he would have said.</p>
<p>He was proud of her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Starwish lay on the berth, trying not to panic as Ratchet attached the last of a multitude of wires to her frame and finished off by clicking a cord into the dataport in the back of her helm, connecting it to a computer which in turn was connected to the still frame on the berth next to her. She shuddered, trying to push away memories of Shockwave and helplessness. It was easier to do after twelve vorns of practice, but without being able to reach out to her Opi for additional support during her heightened nervous state, it was still hard.</p>
<p>Ratchet gave her an understanding look and gently patted her arm before turning to Cogwheel and First Aid. He had a muttered conference with them as they finished quadruple-checking the equipment and sanitization of the operation room, their medical terms and babble forming a dull background noise to her thoughts. In the corners of the large room, staying utterly silent and well out of the medics’ way under penalty of Wrenching, were her family. Ultra Magnus stood closest, a stoically unreadable look on his faceplates, an utterly immovable wall between his spark and hers for the first time since the formation of their Guardian-Ward bond.</p>
<p>According to Ratchet, having their bond open during the transfer wouldn’t be harmful to her, but the sudden disconnection from consciousness that would result when he began switching her spark from one frame to the other might trigger a responding disconnection in Ultra Magnus and cause him to spontaneously crash. Ultra Magnus had offered to keep the bond open anyway, but Starwish had insisted that risking a crash during the transfer would do nothing but make Ratchet irritable and that he should wall it off. However, now that it was almost time, Starwish found herself desperately wishing she’d let Ultra Magnus keep their bond open instead.</p>
<p>Next to Ultra Magnus, Hardwire stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest plates, optics pointedly diverted from the data-cable plugged into Starwish’s helm and his venting almost exaggeratedly measured. Starwish offered Hardwire a weak smile even though he probably couldn’t see it from the angle of his vision. He still had trouble suppressing memories of Shockwave just as she did. By the opposite wall, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stood holding the twinlings, both of the older twins still looking vaguely uncomfortable at being included in the definition of “Starwish’s close family members”. The twinlings, who had started to develop noticeable strains of maturity recently, were uncharacteristically quiet and solemn, Fast Track in particular was watching on with an oddly contemplative look on his faceplates.</p>
<p>Starwish closed her optics briefly, wishing that Master Yoketron had come with her to her upgrade. He certainly counted as close family to her after vorns of such careful, constant guidance. However, the old Cyber-Ninja rarely left his Dojo anymore and had instead insisted that he would see her once the upgrade was complete. <em>Probably didn’t want to face down Ratchet. Not even Cyber-Ninja’s enjoy facing cranky medics.</em> Ratchet had not been best pleased to have her come back with an additional part to incorporate into her new frame right before the transfer. However, once she’d explained that Master Yoketron had given it to her, he had just muttered something about glitchy Cyber-Ninja’s and set about prepping the part for insertion.</p>
<p>Ratchet carefully got her attention again, medic-to-medic courtesy causing him to explain yet again what he was going to do, “I’m going to trigger stasis now. Your frame will go into a extremely dormant state while I finish transferring and installing your optics, T-Cog, prosthetics, and Master Yoketron’s additional gift. After the installation of hardware is done, all of your processor coding and hard drive data will be downloaded into your new frame. Once that is complete and program stability is confirmed, I’ll transfer your spark to the new frame. You won’t feel a thing throughout the entire process and when you next come online, you’ll be safely in your adult frame. Understood?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded once, still tense despite herself. This entire process was foreign to her, it somehow felt wrong to even be considering it. Yet this was how cybertronians became adults, and she was cybertronian now. There was no avoiding this, so she would just have to trust that Ratchet was right and that no pieces of herself would be lost in the transfer.</p>
<p>Ratchet gave her a reassuring look even as he reached up to trigger her shutdown sequence into the computer that was now plugged into her helm. Blackness encroached her vision as the sequence registered and the world faded away, dragging her into a deep blackness that she realized was familiar only just before her thoughts dissipated into oblivion.</p>
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<p>Hardwire watched silently as Ratchet, First Aid, and Cogwheel as bustled around the two still frames, murmuring reports and instructions to each other with a swift efficiency that did nothing to reassure the former human. For a stinging moment, Hardwire wished desperately that Arcee was in the room with him, her sarcastic yet steadily down-to-earth personality would have worked wonders in keeping him calm. A moment later and he pushed that thought away aggressively. Arcee wasn’t in the room and Hardwire had better things to do than wish she was.</p>
<p>Like stare tensely at Starwish’s all-too-still faceplates while trying to simultaneously keep his Guardian Mode from rearing its helm and ignore the data-cable protruding from Starwish’s helm. <em>Yeah, right. Really important job I have here.</em> A part of him dimly wondered why he was even in the room in the first place. He couldn’t do anything to help. If anything, his glowering presence would only risk messing up the operation somehow.</p>
<p>But it was a cybertronian tradition for members of the upgraded party’s family unit to watch as the medics performed the transfer. Plus, Hardwire highly doubted he would feel any more relaxed waiting outside, not even able to see what they were doing or if something was going wrong. His com pinged quietly and Hardwire opened it reluctantly, unsure as to who would dare risk Ratchet’s wrath by talking, even over internal coms.</p>
<p>::You are very … tense. Have you never witnessed a process similar to this before?:: Hardwire raised an optic ridge faintly and briefly dragged his optics away from the operation of removing Starwish’s optics from her helm to stare at Ultra Magnus. Of all the mechs in the room, he hadn’t expected Ultra Magnus to be the one to break the silence. Even the twinlings were being totally quiet.</p>
<p>Almost grateful for a distraction, Hardwire answered, ::No. Especially not my sister.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus didn’t take his optics off of the procedure, ::Organics- my apologies, humans, do not have upgrades or upgrading ceremonies?::</p>
<p>Hardwire frowned faintly and shifted in position just a bit. He knew that Starwish had spoken to Ultra Magnus about Earth and humans occasionally, mostly because Ultra Magnus had asked first, but Hardwire had no real idea of what Starwish told him about. Apparently, human growth cycles had not been one of the touched-upon subjects, ::No. Not really. Usually when a human reaches maturity there is a … ceremony of sorts. But usually it’s just a party among family and friends to commemorate their adulthood and the cycle they onlined. No upgrades or frame transfers involved. Humans don’t need to get entirely new bodies.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus briefly shifted his gaze incredulously to Hardwire before snapping his attention back to the medics and the in-stasis Starwish, ::Humans do not transfer to larger frames as they age?::</p>
<p>Hardwire suppressed a snort, but only barely, and turned his gaze back to the operating tables, ::Pit no. Human ‘frames’ grow naturally as the human ages. After the human reaches a certain age, their body stops growing and that’s that. When you’re human, the body you’re born with is the one you’re stuck with, come age or injury.::</p>
<p>There was a long pause during which Ultra Magnus presumably pondered this. Hardwire meanwhile suppressed a low growl as Cogwheel swiftly and expertly started installing the second of Starwish’s two shoulder prosthetics to the larger frame, leaving the one in which her spark currently resided looking oddly … incomplete.</p>
<p>Apparently, he hadn’t suppressed the growl well enough because First Aid briefly glanced up from where he was finalizing the optics installation. Breaking the near-reverent hush for the first time, First Aid called softly over to Hardwire, “Everything’s going perfectly, Hardwire. No need to worry.”</p>
<p>Ratchet glanced at Starwish’s vitals monitors before he resumed wrestling with Starwish’s T-Cog, “If you need to leave, then leave, but don’t come back inside afterward. This room needs to stay as uncontaminated as possible for the spark transfer.”</p>
<p>Hardwire ruthlessly flattened the low snarl that threatened to rise from his engine as his Guardian Mode twitched briefly in his helm. The mysterious program settled and Hardwire replied lowly, “No. I’m good.”</p>
<p>Apparently sensing that quiet speech was now allowed, Fast Track asked softly, “She can’t feel anything right? Starwish is just … <em>sleeping</em> through it?”</p>
<p>Before any of the medics could be distracted by the english word, Sunstreaker gently petted Fast Track’s helm and reassured him, “That’s exactly right, Fast Track.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe smiled at Fast Track reassuringly, “Yeah, Track, no worries. Sunstreaker and I went through this three times and we never felt anything. We just shut down and then onlined in our new frames, perfectly healthy.”</p>
<p>Fast Track snuggled against Sunstreaker’s armor, seemingly content with the explanation from his adoptive fathers. Hardwire wished he could feel the same. Ultra Magnus’s voice interrupted his thoughts again, ::This procedure. Moving to an entirely different frame, it is truly a foreign concept to all of you?::</p>
<p>Hardwire vented deeply to keep his calm. However, the bluntest version of the truth still slipped out of him, ::Not just foreign. Wrong. It feels … wrong. Very, very wrong. I know it’s necessary and even ordinary for cybertronians, but right now, every last instinct I have is telling me that this is wrong.::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus seemed to have no response to that and so silence fell over them again, broken only by the twinlings occasionally stirring to ask a timid question. The breems ticked slowly on into a joor before the three medics were satisfied that all of the hardware was installed properly and moved on to downloading Starwish’s processor coding to its new frame.</p>
<p>By that point, Hardwire had settled for just keeping his gaze firmly glued to the floor, unable to watch her stillness, the cable in her helm, and the beeping of the computer. Twelve vorns were not enough to erase the memories the sight brought. The helplessness, the taste of sour fluids in his mouth from biting the drone, the sound of Shockwave’s monotone going on and on about the inner functions of Hardwire’s processor. It was still there, as clear and terrifying as the cycle it had happened.</p>
<p>Phantom sensations brushed the back of his helm and Hardwire ground his denta together, stubbornly refusing to leave the room or lose his composure. Starwish needed him here, wanted him here, so come Pit, Decepticons, or stupid PTSD he was going to stay.</p>
<p>The time it took to safely transfer all of her coding was far longer than the hardware transfer had been, so long that Hardwire considered it a miracle that the twinlings hadn’t started making trouble by now. Then again, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were probably entertaining them over their sparkbond somehow. Joors crawled by, so achingly slow that Hardwire wondered if he would go crazy from worry and impatience. Still, the medics seemed pleased with their progress, so Hardwire tried not to show his anxiety. <em>It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. Ratchet says so, First Aid says so, Cogwheel says so, Optimus Prime himself said so when I was on my way here!</em></p>
<p>“Cerebral transfer complete. All systems reading normal.” Hardwire’s gaze snapped up from the floor at Cogwheel’s voice.</p>
<p>Ratchet asked immediately, “Even her medical program?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel hesitated a klik before nodding, “It’s reading normal, no signs of glitching or erroneous code mingling.”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded, shoulders slumping faintly before he straightened again, “Good … very good. That just leaves the spark transfer.” Hardwire straightened a bit himself, unable to resist watching again as First Aid moved to stand out of the way next to Hardwire while Cogwheel continued to watch the monitors and Ratchet stepped up to Starwish.</p>
<p>With gentle servos, Ratchet opened Starwish’s chest plates, murmuring medical jargon at Cogwheel in return for monitor-related medical jargon that went whizzing over Hardwire’s comprehension level. The tones sounded good though. Hardwire watched with still vents as Ratchet carefully fiddled with several things in Starwish’s chest plates before announcing, “I’m beginning spark chamber removal now.”</p>
<p>Reaching in with both servos, Ratchet grabbed something and pulled. There was a click and a faint chime that startled Hardwire into clenching his servos before Ratchet kept pulling and lifted out what could only be Starwish’s spark chamber. He stared at it, entranced by the small pulses of light emanating from it as Ratchet slowly, gingerly, began moving toward Starwish’s new frame. Cogwheel spoke, “All signs reading normal-”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a shout of shock, overriding Cogwheel’s words as Starwish’s spark began to glow brightly from within its chamber. Hardwire instinctively lurched forward, a wordless cry emitting from his vocalizer even as First Aid and Ultra Magnus suddenly jerked him back. The spark chamber in Ratchet’s servos positively glowed and shouting started as Ratchet rushed the rest of the way to the other frame, cursing the entire way while Hardwire tried to understand what was wrong. <em>No-no-no! Starwish!</em> “Star!”</p>
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<p>There was light everywhere. Light and songs and life and whispers of things she couldn’t comprehend all swirling around her like the currents of a deep river. Somewhere, beneath the sounds of the rushing currents of life and her own fluttering melody, she realized that this wasn’t right. Surely she was supposed to be in black oblivion until … until … <em>until what?</em> She reached for the knowledge, but it wouldn’t come. It was locked away somehow, just out of her reach, just beyond the flurry of light and life songs.</p>
<p>Several of the songs were louder than the others, loud yet shrieking with overtones of an emotion that made her shy instinctively away. <em>Fear.</em> Fear wasn’t good. Fear was bad. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid, everything was supposed to be fine. She had been promised that everything would be fine, so why should she listen to the songs that held so much fear? Other songs caught her attention and she seemed to drift in the currents listening to them until something else leaped out at her.</p>
<p>It sounded like an echo, a similarity to the song she knew she was singing, though she really had no idea why she was singing at all, or even if it counted as a song. <em>What’s a song again? It’s important isn’t it?</em> Something pricked at her, a reckless flicker of curiosity that had her stretching out despite her lack of limbs or body, reaching for the similar song. She brushed it, not physically, because she didn’t have a body and she couldn't even really remember what that was, but vocally. Her song brushed against the other song and she felt it stutter, stumble and trip over its own notes in shock before reaching out to her in return, just barely ghosting over her own notes in an instinctive harmony, stretching out to get closer to hers-</p>
<p>Only for something else to swirl out of the currents and get in her way, cutting her off from the similar song before it could mingle with hers further. The something else coaxed her away with gentle nudges that weren't vocal, but physical somehow. <em>Servos. Those are servos, who-?</em> A warm feminine voice, not singing but speaking in a far off, distant way that she could barely hear over the rush of music, said, <em>“Not so fast there, Star! You aren’t supposed to do that until you’re fully conscious of what you’re actually doing. Yikes, that’s some aura. Are all auras this strong?”</em></p>
<p>Another voice, male this time and which she somehow knew belonged to the owner of the servos, replied, <em>“Only rarely. But it is no real surprise. Master Yoketron’s students always became stronger of spark the longer they stayed in his teaching and she had a powerful one to begin with. I’ve never seen a spark single out its One so unerringly before however, and never during an upgrade.”</em></p>
<p>The voices grew even more distant as something began pulling her away, trying to drag her out of the river despite her resistance. Still, she heard the feminine voice speak again, <em>“Her brother had a similar reaction to his One, just not during an upgrade. Is it because they’re former humans?”</em></p>
<p>The male voice laughed softly, a soothing sound that reminded her of … something, someone, she couldn’t tell who, <em>“Humans do have a tendency to be incredibly strong and stubborn souls don’t they? I suppose it </em><b><em>would</em></b><em> make sense that a human with a spark would show just as much strength. Of course Matron Prehnite’s interference is certainly…”</em> the voice trailed off as she lunged toward it, brushing against it in question and stubbornly resisting the force that was trying to drag her away.</p>
<p><em>Who?</em> As if they heard her question, the two voices laughed softly and the feminine one spoke, <em>“Come now, Starwish! Don’t you remember me? It’s Dawn! But we don’t have time for that, you need to stop resisting and go back before they </em><b><em>really</em></b><em> start worrying.”</em></p>
<p><em>Who starts worrying? Who are you? What’s that song?</em> Her questions bounced frantically around her, echoing and spinning until they almost became part of her song. However, instead of answering, the servos keeping her from making contact with the similar song gave one last push and she was suddenly being swallowed up by a familiar blackness. She pulled against it, tried to resist it, only managing to stay out of its embrace long enough to hear the familiar song one more time and force the sound of its melody to join her other memories in their strange little lockbox.</p>
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<p>Ratchet hovered over the open chest plates, spark pounding in its chamber as he double, then triple-checked the wiring and tubing connecting to Starwish’s spark chamber as it slowly settled. Not looking away, he barked sharply at Cogwheel, “Status?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel’s voice was laced with obvious relief, “Completely stable, no signs of overstrain or integration problems. Additional protoform successfully bonding with spark chamber … spark chamber has successfully enlarged to house and support her adult spark. Everything’s normal … we’re in the clear.”</p>
<p><em>Wait, so that means…</em> Ratchet reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the spark chamber he’d been frantically scanning to look at Cogwheel, “You’re sure? No overload scarring?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel made a baffled noise as she swung several of her optics to look at him, “None. No signs of chamber burns either. I … I don’t think she was overloading after all.”</p>
<p>Ratchet rubbed a servo over his faceplates in relief, “Thank the AllSpark.” In the background, First Aid finally managed to get Hardwire to calm down enough for Ultra Magnus to let him go, though on second thought, First Aid was probably having to calm down Ultra Magnus just as much as Hardwire. Ratchet busied himself with the final tasks of an upgrade, double-checking energon levels, running more scans and other such near-trivial yet vitally important matters to keep his processor off of what could have been a complete disaster but apparently wasn’t.</p>
<p>Spark overloads after the chamber had been removed from the previous frame weren’t common, but they certainly weren’t rare and had notably horrible consequences even if the spark survived its own sudden outburst of energy. Spark overloads had a particularly higher percentage of happening if the spark in question had been trapped in a frame too small for it for too long. Still, he’d thought Starwish’s spark hadn’t crossed the line into risk yet, and so he had nearly been unprepared for when her spark suddenly started surging and roiling with energy.</p>
<p>But according to the readings, there had been no consequences … it hadn’t been an actual spark overload. <em>So if it wasn’t that, what the frag happened?</em></p>
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<p> Jazz blinked his optics open, helm swimming and feeling oddly floaty and euphoric in a way that surpassed even Ratchet’s best painkillers. The world was shaking and rattling- no wait, that was just Jazz. probably because servos were clamped on his shoulders and frantically shaking him. The unusual muffled quality of his audios peeled away as he became steadily more aware of his surroundings, “Jazz! Jazz! Remain online, I will com a medic-” <em>Prowl. Prowl’s office. Right. I was visiting him until it was time for Starwish’s ceremony and upgrade party.</em></p>
<p>Even though a part of that thought screamed at him for attention for reasons he couldn’t remember, Jazz managed to instead focus on gently nudging Prowl’s servos off of his shoulders and saying, “M’fine, Prowler. Jus’ … jus’ …” Just what? What had just happened?</p>
<p>Prowl sat back on his heels slightly, doorwings hiked into an openly distressed position, “You <b>collapsed</b>, Jazz. You are not fine. I am comming a medic and taking you down to the medbay.” As the Praxian moved to drag Jazz to his pedes, realization came rushing in with the force and power of Megatron’s fusion cannon.</p>
<p>This time it was Jazz’s turn to tightly grip Prowl’s shoulders, “It was her, Prowler! It was Star!”</p>
<p>Prowl paused, confusion flitting over his faceplates, “What do you mean? Starwish is not here, how could she be the cause of your collapse?”</p>
<p>Jazz struggled to put it into words, struggled to find apt descriptions for what he had felt when something other yet the same, when the song of his One, had reached out and brushed up against his spark like a tentative greeting. The rightness and joy he had felt after recovering from his surprise enough to reach out and greet her in return. Those moments before the feeling had abruptly faded swirled in his processor wildly and made him want to alternately run around cheering or sit down hard in awe.</p>
<p>Unable to find appropriate ways to truly describe it and aware of Prowl’s rapidly thinning patience to wait before taking Jazz to a medic, he said, “It was her spark. I swear on the AllSpark it was her, Prowl. She … our sparks … we <b>touched</b>.”</p>
<p>Prowl slowly helped Jazz up, only to guide him back to the chair Jazz had fallen out of when Starwish’s spark had first reached out to his, “That is … completely undocumented as far as I know. In all cases I can recall, sparks have always required physical contact and close proximity to ‘touch’. Are you certain that is what happened?”</p>
<p>Jazz was vaguely surprised that Prowl was even considering his words if Prowl could recall no similar cases or data to support Jazz’s words but pushed on anyway, “I’m sure. There’s nothing else to describe it. It was … we just…” his voice trailed off as words failed him for a moment before he finished in a reverent whisper, “we harmonized. It was … it was perfect. Just a glimpse, but so, so perfect. It was less than … how long between when I collapsed and when I started responding to you again?”</p>
<p>Prowl blinked once, “Ten kliks.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded absently, “Ten kliks. Just <b>ten kliks</b>, Prowl, and it was…” He waved a servo helplessly, a huge smile on his faceplates against his consent as his spark pulsed with memories of contact with its One.</p>
<p>Prowl studied him thoughtfully before slowly looking down at his desk, doorwings flicking faintly in contemplation. Jazz detected Prowl sending out a com message, but politely refrained from hacking it to uncover its contents. A few moments later and a com message was sent back to Prowl, once again untouched by the giddy saboteur.</p>
<p>Prowl gusted air faintly through his vents as he said slowly, “According to First Aid, a little over ten kliks ago, Ratchet was in the midst of transferring her spark to the new frame when her spark began showing signs of extreme overload.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s joy suffered an immediate blow. He straightened up in his chair worriedly, “Is she alright? Was she…?” <em>She couldn’t have been overloading right then, could she? She couldn’t have been. Then again, how would her spark have reached mine all the way over here unless…</em></p>
<p>Prowl lowered a doorwing in a sign of relief, “According to First Aid, she is completely stable. He is still not sure what happened, but her spark and spark chamber show no after-symptoms of an overload. Her spark was just, quote, ‘very strong and very, very bright’.”</p>
<p>Jazz sat back a bit in his chair, relief flooding through him. <em>Not an overload. Thank the AllSpark.</em> Something else occurred to him, “So … how did she contact my spark?”</p>
<p>Prowl gave Jazz an expression that was very close to a normal mech’s helpless look, “I am no medic, Jazz. Nor am I by any means an expert on sparks. I suggest that when Starwish is safely upgraded and her official coming-of-age ceremony complete, you discuss the matter with Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, carefully reconstructing his accent so that it would feel natural again by the time of the ceremony, “Right. Ah’ll do thah.”</p>
<p>Prowl noted the return of Jazz’s accent with a faintly amused twitch of his doorwings before steering the subject to something else, “She will be offered many courting gifts during the ceremony. Has Ultra Magnus explained to her the purpose and protocol of Cybertronian courtship?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged absently, staring blankly at his servos as he replied, “Don’ know. Probably. He seems like tha type ta explain thah stuff in detail. An’ of course she’ll be offered a lot of courting gifts. She’s the prettiest femme on base, unmated or not.”</p>
<p>Prowl’s tone was perfectly neutral, “How many of these gifts might I expect to be mysteriously ruined or missing by the time of the ceremony?” Jazz didn’t reply, he only twitched his lip plates into a brief smirk before resuming his blank stare at his servos. Prowl paused for a few kliks at the near non-existent reaction before asking, “Will you be offering her a courtship gift?”</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t respond, he was already lost in replaying memories of the moment his spark had not only harmonized, but <b>connected</b> with his One. It was an experience even more stunning than when he had inadvertently discovered that Starwish was his One in the first place. They had connected this time, their sparks mingling somehow despite being in two separate wings of the Iacon base and having no physical contact whatsoever. According to Prowl, it was unheard of. According to Jazz’s memories, it was beyond amazing.</p>
<p>Prowl was right that many other courtship gifts would go mysteriously missing, but it would be more out of habit than because Jazz was afraid of potential competition. He now had an unshakable feeling that Starwish would turn down all of courtship gifts she was offered, sabotaged or not.</p>
<p>Their sparks would only accept one other … and now he had a distinct feeling that, even if only subconsciously, Starwish now knew it too.</p>
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<a name="section0064"><h2>64. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 4</h2></a>
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    <p>“Little One?” Starwish jerked slightly at Ultra Magnus’s gentle call, gaze flicking up from the floor to find her Opi’s. She tilted her helm to one side wordlessly, silently asking what he wanted. Ultra Magnus reached down to clasp her servo in his, “Are you ready?” Starwish took a deep vent, forcefully pushing away the absent-mindedness that had plagued her since waking up in her new frame. Letting the vent out slowly, she nodded quietly, internally bracing for the event Ultra Magnus had repeatedly warned her of over the cycles leading up to her upgrade.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus squeezed her servo gently as he spoke over their newly reopened bond, <em>“Remember, Starwish. You have full rights to refuse any and all courtship gifts. There is no rush for such things.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish squeezed his servo back, listening idly through the door as Optimus went through the ceremonial speech of welcoming a new adult cybertronian into the world. Something about Primus’s blessing upon her final step into adulthood and such. He also announced her full name and status as … Starwish blinked once and looked up at Ultra Magnus, <em>“You told him to introduce me as … your spark-child? Not your ward?”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus was the one who took a deep vent this time, something painful yet happy flickering over their bond, <em>“Yes.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish frowned faintly in puzzlement, <em>“Why?”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus closed his optics briefly in a visible effort to calm himself before shifting to kneel in front of her, successfully bringing his optic level down to hers, <em>“Because … because you have become so much more than my ward, Little One. I am aware of your past as an organic, just as you are aware of my lost sparkmate. Perhaps ceremonial purists would consider this wrong to say … but despite the differences in our pasts, you are </em><b><em>mine</em></b><em>, Starwish. You are everything I could have ever wished for in a spark-child and much, much more. You have given me so much light and joy over the vorns since you were given into my care and … and if Andromeda were here this cycle, I </em><b><em>know </em></b><em>she would say the same. Feel the same. You are my spark-child, even if you did not come from the AllSpark. You are the greatest responsibility I have ever been given … and you are also the most precious of gifts I have ever received.”</em></p>
<p>His optics lowered to the floor briefly, uncertainty and fear of rejection flashing briefly over their bond only to be utterly destroyed when Starwish flung her free arm around his neck, pulling him close in a hug even as she let all of her love for him, all of her awe at his words, all of her joy flood over their bond, <em>“Thank you, Opi…”</em> Warmth and love bloomed on his end of the bond in return at her words, one of Ultra Magnus’s large arms gently wrapping around her still much-smaller frame in an answering hug.</p>
<p>Starwish’s right audio amplifier flicked forward, then back, reluctantly catching the sounds of Optimus wrapping up his ceremonial speech. With a faint sigh, she murmured, “I think it’s almost time.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus hummed faintly in assent and on an unspoken signal, they relinquished their hug and stood up. Ultra Magnus carefully rearranged Starwish’s left servo so that it was resting lightly in the curve of his right one. Giving her one final look over, Starwish noticed that his optics briefly lingered on the beautiful helmpiece she had received from Jazz that very first Christmas on Cybertron. A feeling of doubt swirled from Ultra Magnus’s end but before Starwish could inquire about it, they both heard Optimus’s rich baritone rumble softly over the internal com, ::It is time, you two.::</p>
<p>In sync, both Starwish and Ultra Magnus stepped forward as the door slid open to allow them entrance. All gazes of those in the rec room were already focused on the door and Starwish forced herself to suppress the flash of stage fright and nervousness that rose up inside her at all the attention. The rec room had been greatly altered just for the event of her upgrading ceremony. Most of the tables had either been moved to the far sides of the room or removed altogether, the bar was decorated with colored polish that made it look like a black night with constellations of white, red, and green-blue stars swirling along its surface.</p>
<p>The rest of the room had been similarly decorated, with small fountain-like holographic projectors stationed in the corners of the room to send gently shifting patterns of darkness and starlight shimmering along the walls and ceiling. Though, in all bluntness, the full splendor of the holographic decorations were mostly hidden by the crowd of mechs and femmes there to participate in the ceremony/party to commemorate her upgrade.</p>
<p>Murmurs swept through the crowd as they stepped through the doors and Starwish’s keen audio amplifiers picked up words such as “wow”, “gorgeous”, and “that’s Starwish?”, rippling through the crowd. Internally, she thanked Master Yoketron a thousand times over for putting her through infiltration training. While she wasn’t the best at it, his training to mask her emotions behind a neutral facade was a huge blessing at the moment. It wouldn’t do for her to run away from her own party in terror.</p>
<p>Optimus shot her a brief, gentle smile as he rumbled out, “Welcome, Starwish of the clan Magni of Iacon City-State. May your cycles be productive, your vorns many, and your happiness boundless. May your spark beat strongly and your One be found.” As Ultra Magnus had previously instructed her, Starwish stepped away from Ultra Magnus to give a sweeping bow at the waist, arms sweeping out to either side of her, palms up. As she straightened up, Optimus continued, “Welcome, Ultra Magnus of the clan Magni, guardian and caretaker of this new adult, Starwish of Magni. May your wisdom run deep and your youngling remain safe, even as she leaves the title of ‘youngling’ behind her. May your bonds remain unbroken and your youngling’s One be found worthy of the affections of your precious spark-child’s spark.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus mirrored the bow he had taught to Starwish, his optics burning warningly into all of the unmated mechs in the room the moment his back was straightened before he turned his gaze back to Optimus, “Thank you, Optimus Prime, for leading the ceremony and for your blessings upon my spark-child. May the loyalty of clan Magni never falter from your side.”</p>
<p>There was a momentary pause as everyone absorbed the formal atmosphere. Then, from his place on Optimus’s left, Ironhide yelled good-naturedly, “With all that formal scrap out of the way, let’s party in honor of a successful upgrade for our favorite apprentice medic!” A cheer of agreement rose from the other occupants of the room and from seemingly nowhere, happy cybertronian music began to play, providing a delightful undertone to the celebration unfolding in the rec room.</p>
<p>Starwish stayed by her Opi’s side for as long as possible, happy to speak with friends, but loathe to leave his comforting presence with the imminent threat of courtship offers coming her way. She hoped that by staying close to him, any potential suitors would be too intimidated to come up and offer their gift. It worked at first, with her friends being unafraid to approach and congratulate her while several friendly mech acquaintances hovered just on the outskirts of her awareness, looking conflicted about approaching.</p>
<p>The presences actually disappeared entirely for a few breems when Hardwire came over to speak with her, Arcee by his side like a cheerfully sarcastic shadow. With an inevitability Starwish had begun to notice between the two, Hardwire’s attention was eventually diverted to playfully bickering with Arcee over whether or not to go grab some energon so soon into the party. Also with a steadily increasing amount of predictability, Hardwire finally caved to Arcee’s demands and turned to lead the way to the bar. Pausing just before he could rejoin the flowing crowd, Hardwire suddenly turned back to Starwish and hugged her tightly, a vaguely hoarse whisper tickling her audio, “You look amazing, <em>Melody</em>. They would be so proud of you right now.”</p>
<p>Starwish hugged Hardwire back instinctively, swallowing back the lump in her throat tubing with a bit of difficulty, “I know. Thank you.” Hardwire released her and straightened up, a smile lighting his faceplate as he finally let Arcee tug him away to the bar, unintentionally allowing the hovering mech presences to return. Ultra Magnus said nothing about her exchange with Hardwire, just patiently allowed her to stay close until they were separated by accident when Prowl drew Ultra Magnus into an unexpected conversation while she had been on her way to grab an energon goody from a nearby table.</p>
<p>As Starwish had feared, the moment Ultra Magnus’s intimidating frame was no longer by her side, the hovering mech presences came closer. Starwish pretended to ignore them at first, making a show of carefully considering which goody to pick and futilely hoping that the mechs would leave her alone. As she made a much bigger mental dilemma out of whether to pick a pink energon goody or a copper-laced blue one than was necessary, a familiar voice said, “You could just take the whole plate you know. That’s what I did during my upgrade.”</p>
<p>Starwish turned, partially surprised to see Sideswipe standing there with a big grin on his faceplates, “Oh, hello Sideswipe.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe bobbed his helm amiably, the upward twitch of his already grinning lips setting off immediate alarms in her helm. Apparently, after twelve vorns of working under Ratchet, more than just his bedside manner had rubbed off on her. Ratchet had a sixth sense for when the twins or twinlings were going to cause trouble and at the moment, to paraphrase a human pop-culture reference, her twin-trouble senses were tingling. Narrowing her optics fractionally, Starwish asked, “Am I … in your way, Sideswipe?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe shook his helm, “Not at all, I actually came up to, well…” his voice trailed off briefly as he glanced around carefully for something before turning back to her and resuming, “I’ve actually wanted to do this for a while now, but I wasn’t supposed to because you weren’t of age and all. But now that you are, here.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared blankly at the clearly servo-crafted audio-pieces he had suddenly unsubspaced and was currently holding out to her. Dread and realization filled her as Sideswipe continued, “We’ve been friends for a vorns now, Starwish, and I already get along great with the rest of your family unit and you are really, really pretty both outside and in your spark so … will-you-let-me-court-you? Please?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared blankly from the gift to Sideswipe and back again, her thoughts racing to figure out how to say no to Sideswipe without hurting his feelings too badly, “I-”</p>
<p>A flash of gold came from the left and suddenly Sunstreaker was there, a deep scowl on his faceplate and a sniggering twinling on each shoulder, “Sideswipe…” The word rolled out in a low, ominous growl and effectively killed the twinlings sniggers despite it not being aimed at them, “What do you think you’re doing?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe, ironically, seemed completely unaffected by the intimidating growl, his smile never faltering as he answered, “Just making a formal courtship request to the prettiest femme to ever live. Why?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker immediately pulled back a hand to smack Sideswipe, “Didn’t I just say-!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe ducked his helm reflexively, squawking indignantly as he did so, “Hey! I already made the request, so you can’t do anything about it until Starwish answers!” In sync, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked over at Starwish.</p>
<p>Starwish took a deep vent to steady her resolve, the words slipping out of her with surprising ease and gentleness the moment she opened her mouth, “I’m sorry, Sideswipe. But I can’t accept these.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe deflated, a shocked look on his faceplates, “What? Why?”</p>
<p><em>You’re not him.</em> The thought was so quiet yet immediate that it startled her, <em>him? Who is him? </em>Pushing that thought away for a moment, Starwish addressed Sideswipe, “Because … because I don’t see you that way. I can’t. You’re one of my little brothers’ fathers. That makes you … not a brother maybe, but certainly close to it yourself. Both you and Sunstreaker are my family, but you could never be my family in the way you’re asking. I’m sorry, Sideswipe.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe started to protest, his expression reminiscent of a stubborn puppy that had been told to leave something alone that it wanted, “But-!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker made his presence known to his twin again with a sharp cuff to the helm, “She said ‘<b>no</b>’ glitch. Just like I said she would. Now come on.” Without giving Sideswipe time to protest, Sunstreaker grabbed him by the back of his neck plating and dragged him off, muttering darkly as the twinlings blithely asked what a “courting request” was. Starwish blinked once, then twice, in surprise at how abruptly that had ended then started to turn back to the table.</p>
<p>Only to be faced with another mech holding out an engraved gauntlet. Internally, Starwish groaned heavily even as she listened to him make a, much more politely worded than Sideswipe’s, courting request. Trying to remain just as polite, Starwish turned him down and then the mech that came after him, and the mech after that as well, the same thought whispering naggingly in the back of her processor each and every time.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>You’re not him.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was even more beautiful than Jazz could have imagined. Her adult frame was … perfect. Every line and seam, every motion that allowed the soft lighting of the room to refract off of the pearly white armor, every detail of her was beautiful. He would have thought himself biased, but the looks other mechs were giving her and the compliments he had overheard informed him that he was not, in fact, biased.</p>
<p>Ratchet had truly outdone himself on her frame, using all of his experience and skill to create a form that was not only perfectly suited to Starwish’s personality and size, but clearly capable of surviving a fight. The armor itself had been polished to a glistening shine. The soft, tiny twinkles of light aqua colors that were revealed when the light hit a section of armor just right testified that it was one of the expensive decorative polishes that had once been so common before the war. Now, such things sold for a premium on the black market, and Jazz couldn’t help but wonder who had given such an expensive and rare item to Starwish for the occasion.</p>
<p>Because clearly he needed to thank them profusely later. Once he was certain the giver wasn’t a mech with intentions toward Starwish of course.</p>
<p>Her optics, still uniquely dual colored, lit or dimmed in subtle shows of emotion as delicate fingers made minute gestures during conversation, accidentally causing the aqua twinkles to become more evident to the keen-opticed as she did so. He wondered briefly if she was aware just how expressive she was physically, it was almost like she could speak entire conversations with just her frame and facial expressions if only she had someone just as skilled in the silent art to converse with.</p>
<p>But perhaps the most appealing thing to Jazz of her entire appearance right then, was the fact that she was wearing a decorative helmpiece in the center of her forehelm.</p>
<p>The helmpiece he had given her as a Christmas present twelve vorns ago.</p>
<p>He had already seen at least five mechs turn back from making courtship requests without Starwish even noticing them, all because they had spotted the helmpiece and assumed it was an already accepted courting gift. Or they knew he had given it to her and had his sights set on Starwish, depending on their rank and station in the Autobot army. Others had yet to approach because their planned courtship gifts, which they had kept “safely” tucked away in their rooms, were mysteriously missing.</p>
<p>But it seemed like it wouldn’t have mattered even if she hadn’t been wearing the helmpiece or the courtship gifts hadn’t gone “missing”, because just as he’d hoped after feeling her spark contact his earlier that cycle, she was turning down all prospective suitors without hesitation anyway.</p>
<p>Jazz watched from his isolated corner, hidden optics observing every part of the party even as he kept the majority of his focus on Starwish. Many mechs and femmes were starting to dance, spurred on by the rare joyous mood and the lively music piping out of the hidden speakers. Optimus and Elita-1 had even done an old traditional Iacon waltz earlier.</p>
<p>Others, such as the surprisingly well-behaved Lightning Strike Coalition Force in the far corner by the door, were enjoying the energon snacks on the tables and the high-grade being frugally doled out by Buffer at the bar.</p>
<p>He resumed focusing on Starwish, a sympathetic wince briefly flashing over his faceplates as Starwish gently explained to Bumblebee that he was still too young to give her a courting gift, he wasn’t yet a full adult after all. Jazz had been aware of Bumblebee’s growing immature affections for Starwish, but there was really nothing he could have said or done to convince the mechling to give up the notion, so he had simply not said anything at all and had hoped that Ironhide and Chromia would talk sense into him.</p>
<p>It looked as if Ironhide and Chromia hadn’t managed to do so.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s doorwings drooped pathetically, then perked up a fraction when Starwish compassionately agreed to at least dance with him. Jazz felt himself tense subconsciously at that before he forced himself to relax. Bumblebee wasn’t competition. In all technicality, no one was. Once a mech or femme came in contact with their One, that was it. They could never accept another spark, even if they were not consciously aware of who their One was.</p>
<p>Still, Jazz found himself watching intently as Starwish and Bumblebee allowed themselves to be swept onto the dance floor, spinning, bobbing, and holding servos in time to the cheerful music currently playing through the speakers. Others paused in their activities to watch the two, some smiling at the display, some frowning in puzzlement. Jazz noticed that while Starwish was not actively performing the unique dance techniques she’d learned Before, she moved with a certain grace and flexibility that strongly hinted at its influence.</p>
<p>Jazz felt himself smiling a little sadly despite himself as he watched the two dance, <em>neither of them know any actual cybertronian dances. Not even Bee. That’s a shame. Praxians always were some of the best at dancing. Natural sense of rhythm and a better grasp of the flow of music than most bots. Wonder if Prowler would be willing to teach Bee some traditional Praxian dances sometime? </em>He shook his helm to banish that thought regretfully, <em>maybe if we weren’t in the middle of a war. As it is, it’s a miracle we even have time to do this celebration with how the ‘Cons have been hammering our lines lately.</em></p>
<p>As the song rolled to a close, there was a brief lull in sound, heralding the selection of another song. Starwish stepped away from Bumblebee, smiling just a bit at the yellow mechling as the two dancers bowed to each other and went their separate ways, Starwish back to the outskirts of the room, Bumblebee to go seek comfort at his failed attempts of courtship from Ironhide and Chromia.</p>
<p><em>Well, that’s one potential disaster aver- oh Primus, another one? </em>Jazz went from being semi-relaxed and nostalgic over dancing to being irritated in an instant when he saw Hot Shot slip through the crowd to Starwish’s side, immediately leaning forward and breaching the invisible boundary that marked her personal space. From his location and around the moving frames of the other partygoers, Jazz could see Hot Shot smile flirtatiously at Starwish as he presented her with a courting gift, saying something below Jazz’s current hearing range that had Starwish blushing profusely and leaning away from him subtly.</p>
<p>Something snarled wordlessly inside him, urging him go over there and drive Hot Shot away from his One by force. Jazz forced himself to stay still, venting deeply as he did so, trying to keep a calm thought process as he willed Starwish to hurry up and turn Hot Shot down so that he would leave. Starwish backed away from Hot Shot slightly, helm shaking a negative to whatever he had said. Hot Shot frowned for a moment before the flirtatious smile returned and he took a step forward, refusing to let Starwish gain distance between them as he spoke and once again held out his courting gift.</p>
<p>Again, Starwish gave a clear negative and again, Hot Shot refused to back down. <em>That’s enough of that.</em> Jazz growled inaudibly in his engine and straightened up, lithe frame starting to weave quickly through the crowd in Starwish’s direction. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see Ultra Magnus and Hardwire already making their separate ways through the crowd to reach Starwish and provide backup, but Jazz was too angry to wait for them to take care of the problem.</p>
<p>It was legal for any unmated and of-age mech to attempt to court an unmated and of-age femme so long as neither was already courting another. It was even legal, and socially acceptable for a mech to make repeated attempts at earning courtship rights over a period of time until the femme either accepted his proposal, accepted another mech’s proposal, or the mech simply grew tired of failure.</p>
<p>However, it was <b>not</b> socially acceptable for a mech to continually insist on courtship on the same cycle of the first refusal. If a mech was refused, he left and came back a different cycle. He certainly did <b>not</b> continually invade the femme’s personal space and insist or flirt or engage in similar such activities.</p>
<p>Especially not to Jazz’s One.</p>
<p>Jazz broke through the flow of celebrating mechs just as Hot Shot reached out to cup Starwish’s faceplates, “Oh, come on! At least give me a chance, Star! I’ll-” Jazz’s engine growled louder as he reached out to drag Hot Shot back. Only to stop when, in between one vent and the next, Hot Shot was suddenly down on his knees, back plates to Starwish and the arm that had been reaching out to her now pulled painfully behind his back.</p>
<p>Starwish’s voice was hard and cold as she held him down, very unlike her normal tones, “I said <b>no</b>, Hot Shot. That wasn’t a suggestion and it is not negotiable.”</p>
<p>Jazz dimly sensed Ultra Magnus and Hardwire breaking through the crowd and faltering in surprise, but Jazz was more busy trying to suppress the flair of rampant pride rushing through his spark. Because of her demeanor and her position as a medic, it was easy to forget that Starwish was, in fact, the apprentice of the last known Cyber-Ninja Master and was fully capable of living up to that title.</p>
<p>Hot Shot grunted something in surprised pain, snapping Jazz, Ultra Magnus, and Hardwire out of their dazes. Hardwire’s lips curled and both his engine and vocalizer suddenly rolled in a terrifying, booming snarl that Jazz had only ever heard before then on the battlefield when Hardwire went Bāsāka. Other Autobots in the room, all of whom had heard Hardwire’s rippling snarls of rage at some point in the past, instantly stopped talking and twisted to look nervously in the direction of the sound. Hot Shot, from his pinned position, looked distinctly terrified, optics flicking up to stare widely at Hardwire.</p>
<p>Hardwire took a slow step forward, his growl growing in volume and danger when Arcee broke through the crowd and grabbed his arm, “Hold, ‘Wire.” Her gaze flickered over the scene before glowering at Hot Shot. However, whatever her thoughts on the matter were, she kept them to herself in favor of murmuring soothingly to her partner, “Star’s got it handled, see? She’s fine, you don’t need to rip him apart.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shut his optics briefly as his snarl slowly dimmed in volume, obviously struggling to listen to Arcee’s words. Ultra Magnus, seeing that his strength wasn’t needed to fend off Hardwire’s rage, turned his full attention back to Hot Shot, “<b>What</b> is going on here?”</p>
<p>Jazz answered for Starwish, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, “Ah saw what happened. Star here turned down Hot Shot’s courtship request three times an’ he kept pestering her ta reconsider. He was jus’ about ta start <b>touching</b> her when she pinned him.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus stepped forward, towering over Hot Shot as he reached down and grabbed the lip of the young mech’s back plating roughly. Starwish let go of Hot Shot’s arm just in time for Ultra Magnus to yank the mech to his pedes, his voice dropping to a menacing octave, “Are you aware of proper courtship protocols?”</p>
<p>Hot Shot stammered something fairly incomprehensible as he nodded shakily. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics, “Then you are aware that it is against those protocols to continually follow and harass a femme who has turned down your courtship request.” Hot Shot started to say an excuse, but Ultra Magnus cut him off, “You must also be aware of the punishments to which you can be sentenced for breaking those protocols. Especially when the femme you have harassed is your superior officer’s <b>spark-child</b>.”</p>
<p>By now, everyone in the room had gone silent, watching the scene unfolding with both righteous anger and mild fear at seeing Ultra Magnus so … angry. Hardwire’s constant low-level snarl was not helping to ease the tension either, but for once Jazz couldn’t bring himself to care.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus didn’t even glance in Optimus’s direction as he snapped, “You are hereby sentenced to three metacycles in the brig for undue harassment of a fellow Autobot and a major breach of courting protocols.”</p>
<p>Hot Shot bristled faintly, “What just a breem-!”</p>
<p>Jazz cut in smoothly, a sharp-edged grin dancing on his lip plates as he purred, “Or Ah can talk ta Prowler an’ have him assign yah ta patrol duty with Hardwire over there for the next ten cycles. Just you an’ him. Alone. On tha outskirts of Iacon. Take your pick.”</p>
<p>Hot Shot’s gaze went from Ultra Magnus, to Jazz, then to Hardwire, who was still glaring murderously at him despite Arcee’s grudgingly restraining presence. Hot Shot flinched ever so faintly and squeaked, “Brig, sir. Please.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus gave a curt nod of satisfaction before turning to look at the crowd, obviously trying to decide who to order to escort Hot Shot to the brig. It wasn’t really fair to make someone leave the party for the job of locking up Hot Shot, but it did need to be done and Jazz could tell Ultra Magnus was not willing to leave Starwish alone again. Jazz was just wondering if he could com Whitestrike or Buffer to do it, when a towering figure started pushed his way through the crowd, “Oi. I’ll take him to the brig.” Several murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd as mechs hastily parted the rest of the way for the hulking silver mech with yellow and red trim.</p>
<p>Jazz felt one of his optic ridges go up in time with Ultra Magnus’s incredulous question, “Soldier Slag? You are volunteering?” <em>Slag is the most disrespectful of Grimlock’s squad next to Grimlock himself. Why is </em><b><em>he</em></b><em> volunteering to carry out any order of Ultra Magnus’s? Especially when there’s high grade to consume here?</em></p>
<p>The surprise of the crowd increased as the rest of the Lightning Strike Coalition Force trickled over to stand behind Slag while he glowered dangerously, “No one bothers our medic and get’s away with it. Even if rusting in the brig is a fragging weak punishment.” The internal coms exploded with incredulous statements and questions that Jazz didn’t bother to listen to. Instead he glanced over at Starwish to see what her reaction was. Somehow, he wasn’t too surprised to see that Starwish was giving Slag and the others a faint smile of gratitude instead of a shocked look like everyone else.</p>
<p>Jazz opened a com with Ratchet, ::Ratch? Any insight inta this?::</p>
<p>Ratchet drawled from the bar, ::What did you expect? Starwish has been their primary medical caretaker for the past seven vorns. Even those slaggers can get attached when she’s put their glitchy afts back together after every other battle.::</p>
<p>The now utterly petrified Hot Shot was turned over to the Lightning Strike Coalition Force to be escorted to the brig, along with Prowl to ensure that taking Hot Shot to the brig was all Grimlock and his squad did. Not that Jazz would have particularly minded if they roughed him up on the way.</p>
<p>After that display of just how many scary mechs Starwish had to protect her, as well as how well she could protect herself, the courtship requests completely stopped, everyone simply focusing on having a good time at the party and not accidentally invoking the wrath of the Autobot SiC, their resident Bāsāka mech, Jazz, or the soon returned Lightning Strike Coalition Force.</p>
<p>Jazz melted back into the crowd, knowing that now was not the time to speak to Starwish about what lay in his spark. Especially not with Ultra Magnus hovering protectively around her for the next three joors. Eventually however, he noticed Starwish slipping out of the rec room without her Opi, the near non-existent signs of her presence despite being the guest of honor impressing Jazz to no end. Just like with her combat skills, it was easy to forget that Starwish was a Cyber-Ninja with twelve vorns of stealth training to her name and who had successfully gone unnoticed through several battles.</p>
<p>Jazz stared around briefly at the party, drinking in the restored atmosphere of happiness and relaxation. Moments like these were becoming increasingly rare as the war grew ever more desperate and ever-present. It was one of the reasons the <em>Christmas</em> party tradition was so strong in Iacon, and probably most of the other Autobot bases by now as well. The Autobots needed whatever chances they could get to remember happier times. Times before spilled energon and shattered horizons had become so common.</p>
<p>Shaking his helm briefly, Jazz swiftly drank the rest of his small energon cube and took off after Starwish, already guessing where she would be. No one seemed to notice Jazz leaving save for Prowl, who just blinked at him once before making a tiny swirling motion with his doorwings that Jazz had only ever seen twice before. The Praxian doorwing sign for “good luck”.</p>
<p>Jazz flashed Prowl a quick smile of thanks before slipping out the door and taking off down the halls. His pedes took him swiftly and quietly down familiar paths to the one place Starwish inevitably retreated when things seemed to become too bothersome or troubling for her.</p>
<p>The door to the observatory slid open with a faint hiss and Jazz paused in the entryway, studying the small femme swaying in the exact center of the floor, arms rising and falling in elegant waves as she balanced expertly on the tips of her pedes. Slowly, she spun on her right pede tip, left servo rising delicately up toward the star-studded sky while her right one reached down toward the ground, her optics ever upturned toward the lunar-cycle display above her helm.</p>
<p>He almost thought she hadn’t noticed him. But as he watched her slowly move through several of the more simple, flowing steps of her unique dance, Jazz noted that one of her audio amplifiers kept tilting back and forth to focus in his direction as she moved. She had noticed, she just didn’t feel the need to stop. Jazz vented softly, a wave of inexplicable nervousness coming over him as he stepped inside the Observatory and let the door slide shut behind him, granting them privacy.</p>
<p>She still did not stop, only dipped and swayed and pirouetted under the watchful gaze of Jazz and the distant stars. The dim lighting glittered off of the polish on her white frame and the crystal in her helmpiece, giving her an oddly ethereal, spark-stealing appearance as she danced oh-so-silently to music only she could hear.</p>
<p>It was like something out of the stories he used to overhear her tell the twinlings, of beings that did not belong to the natural order of the world. Delicate, mysterious creatures who still held the lost secrets no one else now remembered and who led travelers through twisting mazes to either horrid misfortune or great adventure. What was the word she had used? He couldn’t remember at the moment, he was too busy watching and wishing desperately to join.</p>
<p>Something stirred in his spark at the thought of joining in and, before he was consciously aware of what was happening, he found himself gently catching one of her servos in his and helping her pirouette in place, his other servo carefully cupping the small of her back to tilt her down into a near U-shaped position he had only seen her do once while holding on to something.</p>
<p>Blue and red optics flickered away from the sky to stare into his visor, surprise visible in their depths. Jazz carefully straightened her, stepping back so only their servos were touching, his cocked helm a silent request for permission to join her. Slowly, her gaze lowered from him to the floor and she delicately crossed her ankles and bent her knees into an odd bow that he took to be a yes. Carefully, doing his best to match her internal rhythm and remember all of the dance positions he’d seen her perform over the vorns, Jazz joined her in her dance.</p>
<p>Faintly glowing silver intermingled with glittering white as they twirled around each other, bowing and rising, stepping and spinning with a synchronization Jazz hadn’t thought would be possible for their first time. Starwish’s steps never made a sound on the smooth floor, it was like dancing with something that wasn’t truly there, a flicker of his imagination come to life that would disappear if he dare let go for even an instant.</p>
<p>Finally, on some unspoken signal, they stopped, left pedes back, right servos lightly touching as they studied each other intently. Slowly, Starwish removed her servo from his and tilted her helm to one side, something flickering through her gaze too fast for Jazz to comprehend it. Without a word, she lowered her arm and moved to stand in a normal position, helm turning to stare at the lunar-cycle horizon for several breems. Jazz stood next to her, content to silently revel in memory of their dance while waiting for a signal that she was ready to talk or listen to what he wanted to say.</p>
<p>Eventually, Starwish’s soft voice broke the silence, “Are you here to make a courting request too?”</p>
<p>There was something … weary in her tone, as if she was resigned to the answer, yet also afraid of hearing it. Jazz carefully suppressed his confusion, his voice as neutral as he could make it as he answered, “An’ if Ah was?”</p>
<p>Starwish sighed explosively, right servo moving up to rub her left arm lightly, “Why?”</p>
<p>Jazz frowned faintly, “Why what?”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a faintly dissatisfied hum as she briefly motioned to herself, “Why me? Why not any of the other unmated femmes on base? I know they don’t get anywhere near as many courting requests in a vorn as I did just this cycle. Why is everyone asking me? I’m … I’m not…” her voice trailed off for a moment as she studied the stars intently, refusing to look at Jazz, “I’m not worth the attention…”</p>
<p>Jazz took a careful intake of air and released it in the manner he’d seen Hardwire frequently use when trying to remain outwardly composed. Internally, his spark was seething, tremendously upset and confused over why she would consider herself not worth anyone’s attention. Not worth <b>his</b> attention. Barely resisting the urge to step closer to her, he said, “Now, Ah wouldn’t say thah, Star. In fact, Ah don’t see how you can even think thah about yourself. You … you’re an amazing femme, an’ anyone would be so, so lucky ta earn your love.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s faceplates twitched into a confused expression, “My love? But I … why would anyone want to earn that? I’m so young compared to them. So inexperienced. I’m silly, and shy, and hopelessly lost when it comes to so many things…”</p>
<p>Jazz interrupted her, his tone gentle, but also intense as he tried to make a point, “You’re also brave, kind, clever, beautiful, an’ one of tha best medics on base aside from Ratchet an’ Cogwheel. Lotta mechs would do anything ta get tha attention of a femme as skilled as you, and tha others would do anything ta get tha attention of a femme who was so beautiful.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s shoulders tensed at that, some thought darkening her gaze as she stared blankly at the normally entrancing sight of Iacon during the lunar-cycle, “Is that why you’re here? Because you want to court a pretty medic?”</p>
<p>Jazz had intended to make a poetic request, something sweet and near musical as he presented the courting gift he’d so painstakingly acquired three vorns earlier. Something worthy of Starwish listening to while he presented her with a gift deserving of her attention. He had planned it out to the zenith degree, hinging it all on waiting until he could get Starwish relatively alone and undistracted.</p>
<p>It would have been a courtship request worthy of being recorded in the Hall of Records while not risking frightening her off with any declarations of sparkbonding. After all, he knew how shy she could be, how it would be best to take things slowly, waiting until she was comfortable with the thought of loving him before revealing that she was his One.</p>
<p>But the moment he went to say it, try to convince her of her worth despite her strangely self-deprecating attitude, something else entirely came slipping out of his vocalizer, “Because you’re my One, and I love you.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s vents hitched and restarted noisily as she whirled to face him, shock clearly displayed on her faceplate while Jazz internally suffered from a similar state of astonishment at what he had just said. That hadn’t been the plan at all! Starwish’s shaking voice broke him out of his internal stupor, “What … what did you say?”</p>
<p>Jazz risked stepping closer to her and gently taking her limp servo in his, <em>no turning back now,</em> “I said, I want to court you because you’re my One, and I love you.”</p>
<p>Starwish tugged at the servo he was holding, but he didn’t let go. He could feel her shaking slightly through their physical contact, her optics searching his faceplates frantically for something as she stammered, “T-that’s impossible. You can’t … you can’t possibly know that.”</p>
<p>Jazz held her servo tighter, knowing there was no backing down now, not after what he had just said, not after twelve vorns of waiting for the chance to tell her at all, “I do know. I’ve known since … since we rescued you from the Decepticons and you woke up from stasis lock.” Starwish was shaking her helm, but Jazz pressed on, “Do you remember that Hardwire said you woke up because I sang to you? Well, it wasn’t just that. I … our sparks … for a few kliks before you woke up, I could feel my spark harmonizing with yours. I knew then that you had to be my One.”</p>
<p>Starwish was still shaking her helm, a touch of desperation leaking into her movements, “You … you can’t … I don’t remember that! You can’t prove that it- It’s just impossible!”</p>
<p>Jazz felt … hurt and confused. He knew it was probably a really bad idea to just blurt out that she was his One and that he had known that for vorns now, but surely the idea wasn’t as impossible as Starwish seemed to believe. Just a touch desperate himself now, Jazz took another step closer and demanded, “Why is it impossible, Star? Have I ever lied about something this important before? Is it really that hard to believe?”</p>
<p>Starwish shot him a frightened glare, “Yes, it is!”</p>
<p>Jazz bit back a growl in his engine as he remembered all the times they’d spoken together, relaxed in each other’s company, gotten to know one another over the vorns until she became almost as good at reading him as Prowl, despite Prowl having been practicing for easily five times as many vorns as she had. He remembered how he had felt when their sparks had harmonized, how perfectly they’d danced together just a few breems ago despite Jazz never being actually taught the dance steps, how it had felt when their sparks had <b>touched</b> earlier that cycle.</p>
<p>A tiny bit of anger leaked into his voice as he snapped his visor up and demanded again, “Why? Why is it so impossible? Is it because I’m unworthy somehow? Or you feel for someone else? Have I failed you in some way? Hurt you somehow? Give me a reason, Star! Why is it impossible?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s pained shout shocked Jazz to core, “Because I was <em>human</em>! I’m not … I’m not a proper cybertronian! I didn’t come from the AllSpark, I still don’t even know how I became cybertronian in the first place! How … <b>why</b> would someone like me ever be anyone’s One? Your One? It isn’t… I’m not…” Her voice trailed off as her shoulders started shaking, a telltale glitter of tears forming in the corner of her optics.</p>
<p>Jazz felt all of his growing anger and hurt evaporate instantly in favor of raw confusion and sympathy. Without hesitation, he pulled her forward into a hug, “Hey … hey… It’s okay, shh.” His engine rumbled soothingly as he held her close, rocking back and forth slightly on his heel struts as he tried to understand her thought process. It had been vorns since he’d thought of her past and memories as an organic. He had never seen her as a “<em>human</em>” save for the glimpse of her own mental image during the recording of the Cortical Psychic Patch, so when he thought of Starwish, he didn’t ever think about her “former organic” status.</p>
<p>When he thought of her, he thought of Starwish, the delicate yet courageous white femme who could be seen at almost any joor of the cycle she wasn’t at Master Yoketron’s flitting about the medbay, checking on patients or organizing the inventory. He thought of blue and red optics and strange songs unlike anything he’d ever listened to before she’d come into his life. He thought of a beautiful cybertronian who was his One and with whom he had willingly spent the majority of his rare free time doing whatever activity interested her. He thought of the femme who had probably saved his life more times than either cared to admit and repaired even the most minor of his injuries countless times without needing to be asked.</p>
<p>He thought of the femme he had seen defeat the Decepticons hundreds of thousands of times, not by her fighting strength or by the power of a blaster, but by the saving of lives that the Decepticons would have seen offlined and left to rust.</p>
<p>He couldn’t even process why, of all things, her <b>past</b> would be the major obstacle in his way while trying to court her. She had been cybertronian for over twelve vorns now. She knew the internal workings of a cybertronian frame inside and out and doubtless knew that her frame worked the same way. She had just been transferred into an adult frame like every other cybertronian in history had before her. How in the name of the AllSpark could she not consider herself a proper cybertronian?</p>
<p>He didn’t understand, yet he could sense that this was a problem that had haunted Starwish for vorns now. Carefully, Jazz pulled her away from his frame slightly and used one servo to gently tilt her helm up so that he could lock gazes with her, “Star, do you have a spark?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded hesitantly, optic ridges furrowing in evident confusion at his question. Pressing on, Jazz asked a new question, “When you run a diagnostic on yourself, do you look for cybertronian statistics and problems, or <em>human</em> ones?”</p>
<p>Starwish faltered for a few kliks before answering shakily, “Cybertronian problems, but-”</p>
<p>Jazz gently but firmly cut her off, “Can humans adopt an alternate mode? Do <em>human</em> younglings transfer to new frames when they become adults?” Starwish shook her helm faintly to both questions and Jazz brushed a tear away from her cheek, “You have a spark, you look for cybertronian medical problems when running a diagnostic on yourself, you transform into one of the fastest two-wheeled alt modes I’ve ever seen, and you successfully transferred to an adult frame just this cycle. If you read the medical records of any other mech or femme who matched those very same criteria, would there be any doubt in your processor as to whether or not they were cybertronian?”</p>
<p>Starwish closed her optics briefly, “But … but I wasn’t created a cybertronian. I didn’t start out with a spark. Not counting <em>human years</em>, I’m only a little over <b>twelve vorns old</b>, Jazz. You were created a cybertronian, you’ve lived for vorns and vorns longer than I… How could I be your One? How could something like me ever be … be someone’s other half?”</p>
<p>Jazz felt his back plating bristle faintly at her calling herself a “thing”, but pushed it aside in favor of stubbornly refusing to concede his point, “You have a spark now, don’t you? You’ve had one for as long as I’ve known you. Isn’t that what counts? It isn’t hard for me to believe that I didn’t have a One until you came. Mechs have waited for countless vorns more than I have for their Ones to be created.”</p>
<p>Starwish made a half-sparked attempt to pull away from him, but Jazz refused to let her go. Slumping against him a bit, Starwish whispered, “And my age?”</p>
<p>Jazz absently rubbed circles on the back of her servo with his thumb as he replied, “Your spark has the size and energy output as an adult’s, your maturity and your thought processes are also mature. Chronology doesn’t seem to matter in this case.”</p>
<p>Starwish rested her helm lightly on his chest plates, her helmpiece clinking softly as she did so. Her voice sounded tired and her protests feeble, like she was more attempting to convince herself than him, “I can’t be your One, Jazz. It’s impossible…”</p>
<p>An impulsive thought struck Jazz and he asked seriously, “As impossible as it is for an organic to ever become a cybertronian in the first place?” Starwish went instantly rigid and Jazz huffed lightly in a manner that might have been a laugh if the situation wasn’t so emotionally charged, “I’m fairly sure you can’t get around that argument, Star. Not unless you say you weren’t organic in the first place, in which case your worries are moot. Right?”</p>
<p>Wordlessly Starwish pulled her servo out of Jazz’s grasp, slowly raising both of her servos to Jazz’s chest plates so as to push away from him a little bit, a lost look in her optics. Jazz suddenly wondered if he’d somehow gone too far, crossed a line he hadn’t known existed despite getting to know Starwish so well over the past twelve vorns.</p>
<p>Tense silence hovered around them for an agonizing breem before Jazz decided to voice his own innermost doubt, “Star?” Her gaze drifted up to meet his, a question flickering vaguely through her optics. Venting deeply to steady himself, Jazz asked softly, “The reason you’re protesting this so much … is it because you … don’t see me that way? At all? Without even a chance of ever growing to- to care about me like I do you?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics went wide as she abruptly blurted, “No! No, it’s not that! I- I-” Her helm ducked down again, optics squeezing shut in seeming pain, “I just … I don’t know … I don’t dare consider … I can’t let myself believe … Not with my past being what it is.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt something in his spark keen plaintively. She wouldn’t see things his way. For some reason he would never be able to truly comprehend, Starwish was refusing to consider any chances of courting or bonding. Of any kind. All because of her past.</p>
<p>It made no sense to him. She had a very strong Guardian-Ward bond with Ultra Magnus didn’t she? No, considering Ultra Magnus was her first and only cybertronian parent, it was more than likely a Creator-Creation bond. That was something even deeper than any Guardian-Ward bond could ever be. So why was the thought of having a One, a sparkmate, so unbelievable for her just because of her past as an organic? As a <em>human</em>?</p>
<p>Closing his optics briefly, Jazz whispered, “Is there nothing that can be done to prove it to you? Nothing I can do? Nothing at all?”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm, “No. The only way I’d believe … is if I could somehow <b>hear </b>this harmonization you spoke of for mysel-” She suddenly stopped speaking, optics going wide as she took a sharp intake of air. Jazz tentatively grabbed her shoulders, trying to figure out what had made her freeze. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong she said, “Harmonize. You said we harmonized.”</p>
<p>Jazz cocked his helm, “Yes…”</p>
<p>Starwish optics were flicking randomly about the room, almost as if she was reading an equation only she could see, her audio amplifiers twitching back and forth agitatedly, “Like a song?”</p>
<p>Jazz gave another hesitant affirmative, trying to decide if he should com someone for backup in the situation. What if something was going wrong with her frame because of so much stress so soon after upgrading? “Star,” he held her shoulders a little tighter, “are you alright?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics stopped moving wildly and her audio amplifiers stopped twitching just as abruptly as they had started. Taking a deep vent, Starwish gently brushed his servos off of her shoulders and said, “Don’t- Don’t move. Don’t say anything, don’t move, don’t … just don’t do anything, okay?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s helm cocked to one side against his will, “…Why?”</p>
<p>Starwish briefly met his gaze, something serious and desperate and intense shining in her optics as she answered him shakily, “Hearing it for myself.” Jazz wanted to inquire further, ask what she meant by that, but her optics had already slipped shut and he sensed that now was the time he had to hold still and say nothing.</p>
<p>Kliks crawled by into a breem, then a single breem turned into multiple ones as Starwish stood in front of him, optics shut, venting slow and steady, her entire frame going loosely still. Jazz didn’t move a millimeter as he waited, a little voice in his helm telling him that whatever Starwish was doing was important, might be the only way to change her mind about the supposed impossibility of being his One.</p>
<p>Finally, the stillness was broken. One of Starwish’s audio receptors flicked forward ever so slightly, the other flicking backward as if she was listening to two different sounds. Her venting hitched, then settled shakily, her right servo drifting upward and reaching out ever so slowly toward Jazz. Jazz didn’t dare move as her servo came closer, closer. Her servo touched his chest plates directly over his spark chamber, fingers slightly spread, palm flat against his metal. Something snapped between them, his spark feeling a near physical tug toward the place of contact, his audios suddenly ringing with the sound of two songs making contact, two halves of a whole reaching out to each other yet never quite making it all the way.</p>
<p>Despite himself, Jazz took an abrupt intake of air, one servo reflexively reaching up to grab Starwish’s right wrist as he felt it happen again. The moment of harmony that had convinced him that Starwish was his One, the sound, feeling, <b>instinct</b> of making contact with his other half threatening to send him sprawling just as he had in Prowl’s office.</p>
<p>Then suddenly the feeling was gone, leaving Jazz feeling hollow and incomplete even as Starwish’s optics snapped open and she wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. Starwish stumbled backward, her gaze wide and filled with so many jumbled emotions that Jazz couldn’t decipher them all. One flashed briefly stronger than the others and she suddenly bolted out of the observatory, moving too quickly for Jazz to even have a chance to call out to her.</p>
<p>Jazz stood in the observatory, one servo stretched out helplessly in the direction of the door, trying to figure out what had just happened and if Starwish had somehow gotten the proof she required and would accept him…</p>
<p>Or if he had just unintentionally done something irreparable.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0065"><h2>65. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the earliest parts of the cycle, so early that the sun was not yet visible and the only thing distinguishing it from night being the time on her HUD. Starwish felt herself unable to care as she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees in front of one of the few still-functioning artistic fountains in Iacon.</p>
<p>The fountain was less than a breem’s drive away from the main base, in an old semi-abandoned city square that had probably once been lined with busy and popular stores. Now the curling, intricately engraved fountain with its softly splashing cleaning fluids was surrounded by buildings that had long ago been converted into storage units for the war effort, a lone symbol of the peace that used to exist in the midst of the War’s ever-present signs.</p>
<p>Starwish watched the fountain’s clear liquid, so deceptively like water yet not, splash down out of the top basin, than into the second one, then into the final basin in an unending stream. Secretly, she wished she could somehow use the fountain to wash away her spinning, distressing thoughts. Perhaps even wash away the one piece of evidence that was preventing her from dismissing the entire problem.</p>
<p>Idly, she could sense her Opi in the main base, probably still working on the veritable mountain of reports that constantly seemed to respawn on his desk. A part of her wished desperately to reach out to him, ask him to come to her, to tell him her dilemma. But she couldn’t. He was busy and she doubted he would understand how to help her. After all, even though he had fallen in love and bonded with someone in the past, he had never had to deal with the problems she was facing just to accept the fact that she <b>possibly</b> loved somebody. Or was that somebody’s One.</p>
<p><em>I can’t be. I’m just a human displaced on a foreign world, in a foreign body. Technically, I probably didn’t even </em><b><em>exist</em></b><em> until a little over twelve vorns ago. Not if Hardwire’s right about us being in another dimension. How could I be Jazz’s One? How could </em><b><em>I</em></b><em>, the person who shouldn’t be here, be the femme destined to be Jazz’s other half? I just … I just…</em> It couldn’t be. Everything in her mind screamed that it couldn’t be. Wasn’t. But there was something she couldn’t ignore, something that made her stop and wonder, ponder, <b>hope</b> that she was.</p>
<p>It was all because of that song. That stupid, beautiful, infinitely complex song that had been circling quietly in the back of her processor ever since she’d come online in her new frame. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it first, nor could she just forget it. It was just … there. A constant undertone to her thoughts, a steady rolling hum in the back of her mind, just waiting for a moment of inattention to leap to the forefront and entrance her with its intricacies.</p>
<p>When Jazz had insisted their sparks had harmonized, that it was because of that harmonization that he was convinced she was his One, Starwish had suddenly remembered the technique she had used to hear Master Yoketron’s spark and use it to find him. She had ordered Jazz to stay still so that she could concentrate, assuming that if she could do it once, surely she could do it again and use it to prove Jazz wrong. Maybe even finally put to rest all of the fluttering warm feelings he invoked in her despite repeated attempts to convince herself that those feelings didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. Were probably something else entirely. Because Jazz would only ever bond with his mysterious, possibly nonexistent One and there was no way she could be that One.</p>
<p>Only it hadn’t proved Jazz wrong. It had proved him horribly, horribly right.</p>
<p>As soon as she had finished entering the recently unlocked meditative state that let her hear sparks, she had been able to hear Jazz spark song, strong and vibrant … and astonishingly familiar. It was the song in her processor, the one that she had no recollection of hearing yet had haunted her ever since waking up after her upgrade. She had been so stunned, it had almost knocked her out of her meditative trance. Instead, she had reached out automatically toward the source. Her fingers and palm had touched Jazz’s chest plates in a quest to somehow get closer to the song, to understand what she was hearing, to find out why it was familiar.</p>
<p>The moment she had made physical contact, just like Master Yoketron, there had been a snap of connection, of knowing. But unlike Master Yoketron, it hadn’t stopped there, with her lingering just beyond the edge of the song before pulling away with the knowledge that she had just gotten the closest to Master Yoketron’s spark song that she ever could. The connection had grown, unfolding and uncurling like a rippling, rickety bridge. Stretching across a chasm to let Jazz’s song echo and harmonize with hers.</p>
<p>There had been no hesitation, no pause, no missteps in the intertwining melodies. They had simply started lightly weaving together, almost touching yet never quite reaching, forming the beginnings to an endless duet of impossibly intricate scales as if it had always been so. As if the two songs had been made to be complimentary.</p>
<p>As if the songs had always simply been two halves to a currently separated whole.</p>
<p><em>I’m Jazz’s One.</em> The thought rose up in her before she brutally pushed it down, <em>why me? </em>There were so many other femmes who would be better for Jazz, more worthy. Femmes with experience and courage and intelligence that easily outpaced her own. Femmes who belonged on Cybertron just as Jazz did. <em>But</em>, a little voice in her helm pointed out persistently, <em>it wasn’t another femme that he essentially proposed to, was it? It wasn’t another femme he has repeatedly sought out for company over the past twelve vorns, has it? It was you. You were the one he sought out so often. You are the one who can read his moods and inner thoughts so well when everyone else only sees his eternally cheerful outside demeanor. Not anyone else. </em><b><em>You</em></b><em>.</em></p>
<p>Starwish ducked her helm miserably as she tried and failed to deny what the little voice said. But it was true. When Jazz came into the medbay for repairs, she was the one he looked for first. When she was off duty or simply not busy with a patient and he had a rare spare moment that did not require him to be the Head of Spec Ops, he could almost always be found by her side, talking or laughing or listening. Even Prowl had commented on it when she had complained about how many mechs on base commed her when they wanted to know Jazz’s whereabouts. Prowl had told her that Jazz was most often found in her company and, if he wasn’t, she was usually the last one to have seen him and have a clue as to his current location.</p>
<p>Looking back with Jazz’s confession in processor, it was so painfully obvious what had been going on. Also, if she were completely honest with herself about the matter for the first time in vorns, Jazz had not been the only one of them seeking out the other’s company.</p>
<p>After all, wasn’t Jazz the one who she spoke the most freely with next to Hardwire or her Opi? Wasn’t Jazz the one she automatically thought of when she wanted to tell someone about something vaguely morbid yet hilarious that had happened in the medbay? Or protest about reckless patients who refused to obey orders even for their own sakes? Wasn’t he the one she felt the least bothered by when someone stumbled across her practicing ballet? Wasn’t he the only one aside from her family who could request to hear her sing and not get rebuffed?</p>
<p>Wasn’t he the one she got so confused over at times because she didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, understand what the warm feelings she got while thinking about him were? Wasn’t he the one that she had continually fallen for, only to push the emotions away, deny them, trick herself into thinking they were something else because those feelings were for someone in love and the only way a cybertronian could feel that way was to find their One, which she surely couldn’t be?</p>
<p><em>But you are, aren’t you? Somehow, someway, no matter how impossible or terrifying or unbelievable it is, sparks don’t lie. They can’t. Harmonies can’t be faked. Not … not like that. </em>Starwish raised her helm again to stare at the fountain, optics silently asking a question she had no answer to and didn’t know how to convey to anyone else, <em>so what do I do?</em></p>
<p>After she had heard it, felt the connection between sparks and listened to the hypnotizing harmonies of songs, Starwish had jerked away in disbelief, a thousand emotions she couldn’t process all at once ripping through her. She was not proud to remember how she had bolted, fled the observatory in a mix of terror and elation and confusion that was barely shielded off from her Opi in time. With nowhere else to hide that guaranteed privacy and no composure with which to face anyone, Starwish had fled to her quarters, locking the door to her berth room so that not even Ultra Magnus would be able to enter short of breaking down the door.</p>
<p>Starwish had not answered any of Ultra Magnus’s queries about why she was so distressed and blocking off their bond, she just couldn’t find the words. So she’d faked recharge instead until Ultra Magnus had eventually given in and retired to his own berth room for recharge. Seemingly endless joors had dragged past before the late night had become very early morning and Ultra Magnus had left to resume his duties. The moment he had safely departed, Starwish had fled her now-suffocating quarters, eventually leaving the main base entirely in her search for some kind of solace.</p>
<p>Which was how she’d ended up sitting in front of the old fountain, struggling with her thoughts, feelings, and unwelcome realizations, trying to figure out what to do or who to turn to. A tear slipped free and trickled down her cheek, her vents hitching faintly in distress.</p>
<p>“Starwish?” Starwish didn’t turn her helm, only tilted it fractionally in the direction of Hardwire’s worried voice and the sound of several pedesteps. The steadily growing “cyber-ninja” part of her processor automatically logged the number of mechs and their estimated sizes based on the sounds their tread as they approached. There were three. Hardwire, another mech who was about average size, and a mech who’s lumbering pedesteps could only belong to Bulkhead.</p>
<p>There was a pause during which Starwish was obviously expected to reply. When she instead said nothing, Hardwire murmured softly, “Hey, can you two go on without me? I’ll catch up in a few breems.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead’s voice was vaguely worried and nervous, “Uh, sure ‘Wire. No problem. Hound?”</p>
<p>Hound gave an agreeable noise and Starwish idly heard them walking away even as Hardwire moved to sit next to her. With a soft clatter of metal on metal, Hardwire settled down on the ground next to her and leaned forward to get a good look at her face, “Starwish? You okay?”</p>
<p>Starwish struggled to say something, but could find no way to shorten her problem to a simple sentence or two. In the end, she shook her helm mutely, vents still hitching quietly as another tear slipped free. Instantly, Hardwire wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his much larger frame, “Hey, hey… what’s wrong? This isn’t about Hot Shot, is it? ‘Cause if it is then I’m going to have a <b>talk</b> with that mech-”</p>
<p>Starwish shook her helm again and tiny sob slipping free as she managed to whisper, “It’s not him.” Hardwire held her closer, his engine rumbling faintly in concern as he continued to attempt to coax her into talking about the problem. Hardwire’s presence was soothing and agitating all at the same time as she struggled to get her rising tears under control. On the one servo, she didn’t want anyone to see her so distressed and helpless over what probably should have been an easy matter. On the other, Hardwire was quite literally the only mech in the world who was mature enough and had the right background to understand what her problem was.</p>
<p>Finally, it slipped free in english, the problem too large and conflicting to dare use Cyber-Standard and risk being overheard, “It’s Jazz. He … he asked to court me. Said- said that I was-” Starwish shivered and ducked her helm against Hardwire’s side, “He said that I was his One…”</p>
<p>Hardwire went still for a klik before he vented out slowly, instinctively transitioning to english as well, “A One … that’s … a soulmate, right? Like Optimus and Elita-1?” Starwish nodded and Hardwire growled, “That little-! Putting that kind of pressure on you without warning! I ought to-”</p>
<p>Starwish desperately grabbed the arm that was holding her so that Hardwire wouldn’t stand up and leave to go beat up Jazz, “No! I … Hardwire- Michael … I think … I think he’s right…”</p>
<p>Hardwire went very still, his voice a hoarse whisper of shock, “What?”</p>
<p>The last reserves of Starwish’s composure crumbled and the entire story spilled out in between faint hiccups and panicked servo motions. She told everything, about how often they’d spent time together, about how comfortable she’d always felt around Jazz, about their dance in the observatory, about how he had declared that she was his One and that he loved her, about how she had used a newly learned Cyber-Ninja technique to listen to their sparks in an effort to prove him wrong…</p>
<p>Starwish took a shaky vent, forcing herself to finish, even though it only came out as a tiny whisper, “We harmonized, Michael. It was just- I don’t even know how to put it into words. He was just- the songs were so <b>intricate</b> and <b>complex</b> but they … <b>we</b> still matched perfectly. It was like someone had composed a six-part symphony and then split it exactly in half and gave the two halves to two separate people. Either of the halves sound pretty at first, but then you hear the symphony played in its entirety with all the missing pieces and it just- it just blows you away with how beautiful it is. All the times you thought the halves were amazing just get left behind in the dust. There’s … there’s just no comparison.”</p>
<p>She slowly stretched out her legs from their tightly curled position, studying the tips of her pedes morosely, “It was so perfect, Michael. So, so perfect and … and that terrifies me.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted a bit, a low hum emitting from his vocalizer as he thought over her confession. Finally, Hardwire murmured, “Why does it terrify you?”</p>
<p>Starwish almost jerked away from Hardwire incredulously, but settled for a shocked stare, “Why? Michael, we used to be <b>human</b>! How can I be Jazz’s One? How can I … how could he ever love someone who isn’t even his species?”</p>
<p>Hardwire wasn’t looking at her, instead staring thoughtfully into the middle distance as he mentally composed an answer for a few kliks before speaking, “You forget, Melody. We might not have started out that way, but we’re his species <b>now</b>.”</p>
<p>Starwish stared uncomprehendingly at Hardwire, “But … but he’s… a One is … Hardwire do you even know just what a One is? What that entails?”</p>
<p>Hardwire looked away from the horizon and down at her faceplates, “Maybe. As much as I can without actually being one, I suppose. I got the cybertronian version of ‘The Talk’ same as you did, remember?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s servos were shaking, clenching and unclenching convulsively in her lap, “Then how can you say that?”</p>
<p>Hardwire sighed heavily, “I don’t know. I just … we’ve been here for twelve vorns now, Melody. I know that cybertronians have a very different timescale than humans, even if I don’t know the specifics, so … if there was any chance of going back, of becoming human again, I think we would have found it by now. Besides that, I think that by now, none of us would go back even if we had that choice.”</p>
<p>Starwish shifted uneasily in his one-armed hug, “What are you saying?”</p>
<p>Hardwire let go of her for a moment to rub his helm tiredly, “Tell the truth, Melody, would you go back if you had the chance? If, right now, you were offered the chance to leave Cybertron forever. Just … blink and wake up in a human hospital somewhere, having been knocked unconscious by that gas explosion on an Earth where transformers are just a popular entertainment icon … would you? Could you really choose to leave them all behind? Forget they were ever real?”</p>
<p>The answer left Starwish before she could even think about it, “No! Of course not! I would never abandon them! Not for anything!”</p>
<p>Hardwire shot her a dryly amused look, “Then what’s the problem?” Starwish cocked her helm to one side, about to demand he explain himself, when he cut her off with a calm question, “You’re overthinking this, Melody. You’ve been thinking yourself in circles over the what-ifs and has-beens all this time when, personally, I think you’re ignoring the one question that really matters.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned, “What question?”</p>
<p>Hardwire tilted his helm expectantly at her, “Do you love Jazz back?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt her mouth drop open in shock as all of her spinning thoughts ground to a halt. Of all the problems and questions and insecurities she had just confessed to him, that was the one he deemed most important? She stammered a bit, fumbling for her words even while her thoughts attempted to untangle themselves, “Well I- It’s just- But I’m-”</p>
<p>Hardwire sighed again and shifted to hold her helm gently in both of his servos, “Stop. Stop thinking about it, stop analyzing it, stop making excuses and obstacles and reasons. Just … close your optics and tell me the first word that comes to mind. Yes or no, do you love Jazz back?”</p>
<p>Her thoughts were still in a jumbled pile, her emotions long since run thin and watery, her willpower too strained to fight against Hardwire’s seemingly non-sensical logic. Closing her optics, she mouthed Hardwire’s question silently to herself, letting it fill her processor just like her meditation mantras, <em>do I love Jazz back?</em></p>
<p>The answer was instantaneous, filling her mind and echoing down to the inner-most depths of her spark, “Yes.” <em>Very, very much so, yes.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire let go of her helm and sat back, “There you go then.”</p>
<p>Starwish just stared at him, drained and tired and too hopelessly lost in her own muddled thoughts to bother getting mad at him, “What about our future knowledge?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shrugged, “We have no idea which version we’re in, or if we’re even in a version that we’ve ever watched. He won’t hold that against you. Besides, everyone has secrets they don’t want anyone else to know. He’ll understand.”</p>
<p>Starwish closed her optics wearily, “But what we were…”</p>
<p>Hardwire cut her off gently but firmly, “Is not what we are now. Don’t let the past stop you, Melody. Don’t let it keep you from something you want or someone you love. Not now. Not in the middle of this AllSpark-forsaken war. Not when you have no idea what’s going to happen, if you’re even going to get a second chance. If your sparks really harmonized, if you really love him, if you’re really his One and visa versa, then just … just go with it.”</p>
<p>Hardwire swallowed despite the pointlessness of the motion and finished in a low tone, “Because there’s no going back. If you pass this up, if you ignore it, shove it away all because you’re scared or because of what anyone else thinks or because of the past … and then if you lose him without ever having had the courage to say that <b>one last thing</b> … you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing for just one more moment. One last chance. One less what-if. But it will be too late … because the past never comes back. It just … fades away.”</p>
<p>Starwish felt something inside her clench at Hardwire’s words. She knew, somewhere deep down, she knew exactly where his words were coming from and just how true they were. Bowing her helm, Starwish stared at the ground for a long time, struggling to find something to say. Her reasons for being afraid, for denial, they had seemed so large in her mind, so unsurmountable. Yet … yet they weren’t. Not really. Not in the face of what Hardwire had just said.</p>
<p>Because he was right. They were never going back, were never going to be human again, had lost the last pieces of being human aside from their memories a long time ago. Even if she had the choice to go back, she knew that she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not after twelve vorns of living amongst the Autobots, helping them, fighting with them, mourning them. She could never go back … because she wasn’t human anymore. She had a spark now, a physical manifestation of her soul, and that manifestation had found the one other spark that could ever make her whole.</p>
<p>She was no longer Melody Travers, a shy little human who practiced ballet and lived in a wooden house with trees and a grassy back yard, dreaming of possible human careers and maybe meeting a nice human boy. She was a cybertronian now.</p>
<p>She was a medic-in-training under Ratchet, a flourishing Cyber-Ninja apprentice of the last of the Cyber-Ninja Masters.</p>
<p>She was the adoptive sister of Hardwire, weapons specialist and member of Team Ghost, and the twinlings Zipline and Fast Track, whose fathers were the infamous Terror Twins.</p>
<p>She was the spark-child of Ultra Magnus, SiC of the Autobot Army.</p>
<p>She was a femme who successfully faced down death again and again for the sake of a patient and said, “Not this time.”</p>
<p>She was Starwish of clan Magni.</p>
<p>She was Jazz’s One.</p>
<p>And in the end, those were the things that really mattered now, weren’t they? She would always be Melody Travers, somewhere deep down, just like she would always treasure her memories of Earth and being human. But treasuring those memories didn’t mean refusing to make a future. It didn’t mean refusing to accept the present.</p>
<p>It didn’t mean lacking the courage to say that one last thing.</p>
<p>Taking a deep, steadying vent, Starwish carefully wiped away her residual tears and then hugged Hardwire tightly, a tiny, exhausted laugh threatening to bubble up inside her for some reason, “Thank you, Michael.”</p>
<p>Hardwire gave her a quirky little smile, “Not Michael anymore, remember? I’m Hardwire. Just Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Starwish did laugh this time, a weak, fragile thing that was more for stress relief than actual amusement, “And I’m Starwish. Just Starwish. Thank you for reminding me of that.”</p>
<p>Hardwire returned the hug with a tired chuckle, “Hey, it’s what big brothers are for, right?”</p>
<p>Carefully, the two of them relinquished their hug and stood up, Starwish clearing her vents a few times before smiling softly up at Hardwire, “Right.”</p>
<p>Hardwire patted her on the helm before turning away, “I’ve got to get back to patrol. I’ll see you later, alright?” Starwish made an affirmative noise and moved to head back toward the base. Just as they reached opposite sides of the square, Hardwire called back over his shoulder, “Oh, and Star?” She looked back at him curiously in time to see the vaguely nostalgic smile on his faceplates, “Good luck.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a tiny wave of acknowledgment before running back toward the main base with the intent of cleaning herself up.</p>
<p>Because after that, she had a courtship request to answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0066"><h2>66. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this fic a metacycle is basically a week btw. :) I know it kinda varies from fic to fic.</p>
<p>Also fun fact: the Scene right at the end of the chap is the Scene that inspired this entire story in the first place!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(Three metacycles after Starwish’s upgrade)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jazz! Jazz!” Jazz ground to a stop, his spark leaping in his chest plates at the sound of Starwish’s voice calling out to him over the general hubbub of Iacon’s usual bustle. He whirled just in time to see Starwish come jogging to a stop a short distance away, her quietly humming cooling fans indicating that she had been running around looking for him for quite some time.</p>
<p>Hope, fear, and doubt all warred inside him as he stared at Starwish, watching as the femme started to say something only to falter with a look of nervousness, “Star? Are you … are you okay?”</p>
<p>Starwish looked down at her servos and fiddled with her fingers, “Yes. I just, um, Buffer said you were finally back from your mission and I … I just … look, about that lunar-cycle…”</p>
<p>Jazz felt unease and regret swoop through him, “Ah’m sorry about thah, Starwish, really. Ah shouldn’t have just sprung thah on you an’ expected any other kind o’ response-”</p>
<p>Starwish suddenly interrupted him, her sudden outburst attracting stares and murmurs of surprised confusion from passing mechs, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry! I just ran off without giving you a proper answer and I completely panicked when I shouldn’t have because you raised good points and I was just so tired and scared and caught off guard and I’m <b>so</b> sorry for running off like that! I meant to talk to you the very next cycle, but you had already left on your mission and I was so worried and I just need to say that I’m so <b>sorry</b> I didn’t give you an answer back then!”</p>
<p>Underneath his visor, Jazz blinked once, then twice, shocked that she would apologize for something that was very much not her fault. Then he realized it was completely in-character for her to do something like this and he made a soothing gesture with one servo, trying not to get his hopes up about her words, “No, it was my fault. Like Ah said, Ah shouldn’t have just said all thah an’ expected you ta take it calmly. Ah understand if … if you need more time ta think about it or if … if you want ta refuse.” The last words had to be forcibly pushed out of his vocalizer, forced to be said even if they tore him apart inside. Because she could. She could say no. He would never understand why if she did, but it was still her right to do so and after how she had reacted the lunar-cycle of her upgrade ceremony, Jazz had no idea what she would ultimately say.</p>
<p>She could say no, and nothing in his life had ever scared Jazz more than that possibility.</p>
<p>It was the reason he had taken a mission the very next cycle, to try to get away from that spark-shattering thought. It had worked for a while, but now that he was back in Iacon, facing Starwish, the fear came roaring back. Starwish was staring at him with wide optics, something bright and … soft shining from her gaze as she took a step closer to him and raised a servo as if to place it against his chest plates just like that lunar-cycle three metacycles ago. She started to say something, something Jazz desperately wanted to hear no matter how it might break him instead of give him joy, when all-too-familiar alarms started ringing through the base.</p>
<p>Moments later, Ultra Magnus’s voice rang over the general com channel, ::Attention, all personnel report to battle stations, immediately. All Autobots on the outbound combat roster, report to the groundbridge hangar. I repeat, all Autobots on the outbound combat roster, report to the groundbridge hangar immediately.::</p>
<p>Both of them stiffened, previous conversation immediately pushed aside in favor of running to battle stations. Jazz opened the officers’ channel and snapped, ::Status report! What’s the situation?::</p>
<p>Prowl was the one who answered him, sounding vaguely yet understandably distracted as he did so, ::The Decepticons are attempting to overrun Triphosphate City’s garrison again. Reports are coming in of multiple Brute squads, heavy weapons helicons, Leaper squads, and seven flights of seekers. Ground forces are still unconfirmed but the estimated numbers are high.::</p>
<p><em>Scrap! I thought the Cons in Helix were a little light on mech power when I was there. </em>::Right. Ah’m going on the field. Ah’ll get you more data from there.::</p>
<p>Prowl gave a swift ping over the com of confirmation before he resumed relaying orders and rattling off reports. Only once he was inside one of the many crowded turbolifts leading down to the groundbridge hangar did he realize that Starwish was by his side, a grim expression on her faceplates. Fear the likes of which Jazz had never experienced before ripped through him and he barely remembered to open a private com with her rather than distract the others in the lift with his shout, ::What are you doing here? You should be in tha medbay helping Ratchet prep!::</p>
<p>Starwish shot him a look, ::No, I shouldn’t. Zulu from Tactics commed in on the medical frequency and said that they need medics on the field to get a handle on the massive influx of casualty reports. Jolt, Hoist, and I are the closest closest to the groundbridge hangar and Hoist is on emergency med-station duty, so I’m going.::</p>
<p>Jazz bit back a protest, knowing that she was doing her duty just as he was doing his. She had gone onto the battlefield many times before over the past twelve vorns and was fully capable of handling herself, but it didn’t made him any less agitated. Especially now, with possibly the most important conversation of his life interrupted right in the middle by a battle that could offline one or both of them. <em>Don’t think like that! Focus on the mission! Nothing else matters right now!</em></p>
<p>With ease born of practice, Jazz took all thoughts and feelings about his personal life, all irrelevant data from outside the upcoming battle, and shoved it into a neat little compartment in his processor where it couldn’t distract him. That concern temporarily out of the way, Jazz waited impatiently for the turbolift doors to open, trying not to think about the slender femme so close to his side in the packed lift. The doors finally slid open, allowing mechs, and femme, to flood out into the already seething groundbridge hangar.</p>
<p>With a precision that belied the chaos caused by bots of various sizes running around and shouting at the top of their vocalizers, everyone was quickly organized into the standard formation used for any and all groundbridge battle-insertions. Up in front, weapons prepped and whining with energy, were the non-officer heavy-hitters. Jazz thought he could make out Hardwire’s outline toward the back of the throng of large, growling front-line warriors, where he could fulfill his position without having to separate from his partner Arcee because of her small size.</p>
<p>At the absolute front of the line was Grimlock and his Lightning Strike Coalition Force, mostly because no one was glitched enough to get in their way when it came to a fight. Their hulking, color-coordinated frames towered over even the Autobot Brutes behind them.</p>
<p>Behind the heavy hitters were the scouts, two-wheelers, Jazz, Starwish, the femme contingent and any other mech that was very fast but relatively small. Behind them, murmuring and revving impatiently, were the standard front-liners such as Cliffjumper, the twins, or Trailbreaker.</p>
<p>The purpose for the formation was relatively simple, and surprisingly effective. The heavy-hitters made up the first wave to take the brunt of any nasty surprises that might be waiting on the other side of the groundbridge once it activated, and to deal out loud, damaging distractions to any Decepticons in the area so that the small, speedy Autobots following behind could get out of the portal and get their bearings without getting picked up and thrown into a building or shot to pieces.</p>
<p>Once out, the smaller mechs and femmes could split up under the cover of the heavy-hitters and start gathering in-field intelligence for Prowl and his tacticians, take on targets of opportunity, or just be uncatchable pains in the aft in general. Once the first wave had weathered any unexpected ambushes and the second wave had started scouting and hassling the Decepticons so that they were focused on something other than the groundbridge, the third wave comprised of the main Autobot forces would charge out and strike, their sizes making them faster than the heavy-hitting first wave but still stronger and more servo-to-servo capable than the second wave.</p>
<p>Mingled in with the third wave were any officers participating in the ground battle, sans Jazz who always joined the second wave, ready to take charge and keep things running as smoothly as a battlefield could. Even without looking over his shoulder, Jazz could tell that Optimus, Ironhide, and Ultra Magnus were among the third wave, ready to defend Triphosphate City.</p>
<p>Jazz suppressed a sigh of frustration at the thought of Optimus. The Prime always led the battles from the ground if he could, but the sheer size of the warfront, and the constant worried pestering of his friends, actually kept him off of the field more than others might expect. Still, he always joined in when the battle looked like it would be a particularly tough one, or when it something vital was being contested. Such as Triphosphate City and its energon mines.</p>
<p>The groundbridge swirled open at last and the first wave surged through with unanimous battle roars on Prowl’s command. A tense few kliks passed while the second wave waited anxiously for their signal to go through, and Jazz used the precious remaining moments to suddenly com Starwish, ::Stay safe, ‘kay, Star?::</p>
<p>Starwish shot him a brief, strained smile as she shifted into a better sprinting position, ::Same to you. I don’t want to have to wait through a battle <b>and</b> your convalescence to finish our previous conversation.::</p>
<p>Worries about that conversation briefly flooded Jazz’s processor before he forced them back and grinned, ::Please, give me a little more credit! No one can catch tha Jazz-mech!::</p>
<p>Any reply Starwish might have made was cut off by Prowl barking over the general com frequency, ::Second wave, commence!:: Jazz launched himself forward, acid blaster unsubspaced in place of his right servo, left servo clutching a long, slender dagger as he was pulled along with the surging flow of the crowd through the groundbridge.</p>
<p>The tunnel of color and energy gave way almost as soon as it had enveloped them, letting them out into Triphosphate City square, and Jazz immediately angled left, diving behind the nearest barricade while he gathered situational data. The square was already being contested, a fact that didn’t bode well for the rest of the city. Autobots and Decepticons clashed on the north side of the square, screaming, firing, and roaring as metal clashed and blaster fire tainted the air with noise and heat.</p>
<p>With barely a thought, Jazz tapped parts of his sensory grid, namely sight and long-range scanners, into the overall network the tactical division used to gather in-field data. His vision tinted blue for a moment before settling, signifying that anything and everything his optics and long-range sensors recorded was being transmitted to Prowl and his mechs.</p>
<p>That completed, Jazz vented deeply once, twice, then flipped over his barricade with a whoop and a short yet deadly burst of acid fire. Transforming in mid-air, Jazz hit the ground with his tires spinning and took off into the fray, his small alt-mode whipping in amongst the Decepticon pedes and knocking them off of their pedes with calculated blasts of sound from his hood-mounted speakers.</p>
<p>Courtship requests and desperately sought-after answers would have to wait. Jazz had a city to defend.</p>
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<p>It became clear the moment Hardwire was through the groundbridge that the Decepticons had no intentions of falling back for a second time. Already, the sounds of screaming and blaster fire were ringing in his audios, his own blaster adding to the din as he clashed with a knot of Decepticons trying to leave the street and enter the central square from the north side. Arcee was a constant presence at his side, twisting, whirling, and spinning around any outlying Decepticons who broke past the Autobot wall of fire.</p>
<p>Lining up a quick shot that took off the helm of a particularly annoying Decepticon, Hardwire commed his partner, ::City status?::</p>
<p>Arcee huffed as she flipped over the back of a speedy Decepticon, grabbing his helm and twisting on her way down to offline him, ::Not good. They’ve overrun the north sectors, but the barricades put in place after last time are managing to keep them from breaching the other sectors for now. The square is their best bet for overrunning the rest of the city, but according to some of the data I’m picking up, they’re trying to break down the barricades as well.::</p>
<p>Hardwire growled faintly, pulling back briefly from the fray to look around the rest of the square calculatingly, ::Do the other sectors need backup?::</p>
<p>Arcee backflipped to his side, her optics hard as glowing chips of ice, ::Desperately. We’ll probably be getting redeployment orders soon-::</p>
<p>Hardwire’s com pinged with an alert from the general channel and he opened it in time to catch Prowl’s cold voice giving orders, ::Squads A5 through B7, redeploy to the western sector barricade. Squads B8 through C9, redeploy to the eastern sector barricade. Squads C10 through E3, hold the square. Company D, redeploy to southern sector barricade. Squads A1 through A4, branch out through the sectors and recover wounded for emergency transport back to Iacon. Ghost Squad, redeploy to western, northern, and eastern sectors for elimination of priority targets.::</p>
<p>Arcee and Hardwire barely glanced at each other before taking off down a side-street that would take them to buildings overlooking parts of the northern sector, the rest of Ghost Squad separating according to Beta’s hastily rapped out orders. <em>Just another day in paradise,</em> Hardwire thought sarcastically as they skidded into another wrecked building and began their ascent. <em>Here’s hoping I don’t crack a gear again. </em>Hardwire’s list of priority targets popped up briefly on his HUD and he groaned over a private channel to Arcee, ::Leapers. They just had to bring Leapers.::</p>
<p>Arcee snarled a curse word in english, something she’d taken a liking to doing over the past few vorns much to Hardwire’s chagrin, ::They really want to take the city this time. How’d they muster this large of a force so quickly after the last time?::</p>
<p>The worry, now that Arcee had brought it up, nagged briefly at Hardwire’s processor before he shook it away, ::No idea. But it doesn’t matter right now. Right now, what matters is thinning their numbers.::</p>
<p>::And not getting spotted by those fragging Leapers?:: Arcee added dryly.</p>
<p>::And not getting spotted by those fragging Leapers.:: Hardwire confirmed with a sigh as he took another flight of stairs. <em>This is going to be a long cycle</em>.</p>
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<p>It was a long cycle. One that stretched for joors and joors of battle with no end in sight and no lack of Decepticons to shoot and be shot at by. Decepticon Cloakers wreaked havoc at critical points, frequently engaging both Scout-class Autobots, Autobot Cloakers, and several of Jazz’s own Special Ops mechs. A combo assault of Brutes and Leapers finally broke through the western sector barricade, adding to the strain on the Autobot forces as they stubbornly clung to Triphosphate City.</p>
<p>Jazz slipped in and out of the fray in the western sector, a flitting phantom that popped up only long enough to offline a few Decepticons before vanishing into the rubble again before they could retaliate. Jazz kept his attentions focused mostly on the bigger targets that could do the most potential damage to the Autobots, such as the EMP-unleashing Brutes or the fanatical Leapers. Using his ability to get into small, high places that others didn’t notice, he could get behind them and unleash various weaponry that put them out of commission. His once shining silver paint had long since become a dull, slate color from all the smoke and debris polluting the air, his visor a hard blue that hid his wrathful optics.</p>
<p>Jazz hadn’t gotten involved in a true firefight for almost three vorns now, he had been too busy with various Special Ops missions that required extreme finesse to join the main forces on the field. Dark, secret missions where killing was usually a few unlucky guards in dark corners in order to reach the desired location or item unnoticed. Missions most Autobots would never believe was condoned by their cause, let alone enacted by the laughing, easygoing Jazz.</p>
<p>Jazz rolled behind another smoking piece of rubble to avoid notice, trying not to wince in pain when a Leaper crashed to the ground up ahead of him and sent several Autobots flying with high-pitched screams of terror and pain. Somehow, he’d almost forgotten how different normal missions were from those in Special Ops. The screaming instead of silence, the veritable slaughter instead of select assassination. The constant kaleidoscope of noise and death and spark-choking carnage instead of sleights of servo and whispered threats in the shadows that were never seen.</p>
<p>The Leaper turned his back to Jazz’s hiding place, plating bristling threateningly as he moved toward a wounded but still functioning Autobot with a snarling laugh. Jazz flipped over the rubble he’d been hiding behind, one servo lashing out with his newest gadget just as the Leaper shifted to make a slashing dash at the defenseless Autobot. The energon cable whipped out of his right gauntlet with a high-pitched hum, the grapple on its extended end latching on tightly to the Leaper’s far pede. Bracing himself, Jazz heaved backwards on the cable, triggering the retract sequence at the same time so as to pull the Leaper’s pede out from under him.</p>
<p>With a surprised roar, the Leaper crashed to the ground on his front, flailing slightly as he struggled to regain his bearings. Jazz gave him no time to do so. Sprinting forward, Jazz leaped onto the Leaper’s back, a sticky grenade dropping out of his subspace and into his left servo. Balancing lightly on intake panels of the massive turbines the Leapers used for their shockwave jumps and fast charges, Jazz triggered the sticky grenade’s timer and slapped it on directly between the two massive turbines.</p>
<p>Backflipping off of the Leaper just in time to avoid getting crushed when the mech successfully rolled to his pedes, Jazz grinned at the Leaper when he turned to snarl at the saboteur, “Ya gotta little somethin’ stuck back there, mech.” Jazz motioned leisurely at his backplates and the Leaper hesitated fractionally as he processed Jazz’s statement and suddenly registered the high-pitched beep of the grenade’s countdown sequence. With a curse, the Leaper started spinning in place, servos grasping futilely for the grenade only to be thwarted by his arm length and the large obstructions that were his own turbines.</p>
<p>Jazz looked at the Autobot the Leaper had been approaching and shouted, “Run, mech!” before following his own advice and sprinting back toward cover. He flipped agilely over the rubble piece and crouched low just as the beeping sped up to a long, continuous note and the grenade went off, blasting through the thinner armor of the Leaper’s back and puncturing the turbines’ fuel tank underneath. The fuel inside the tank exploded violently upon contact with the grenade’s fire, taking the Leaper with it to oblivion.</p>
<p>Emerging from his cover to check his work, Jazz padded around the scattered, charred plating and tubing that had once been an enemy and crouched by the side of the wide-opticed Autobot he’d just helped, “You okay, mech? No severe damages?”</p>
<p>The Autobot nodded slowly, his gaze finally pulling away from the scattered remains of the Leaper to focus on Jazz, “First Lieutenant Jazz! I-It’s an honor! Thank you! I would’ve been scrapped if you hadn’t come along!”</p>
<p>Jazz waved a servo idly, “You woulda done tha same for meh, Ah’m sure. Now, can ya walk?” The mech nodded and Jazz patted him on the shoulder strut, “Good, Ah need yah ta check tha rest o’ your squad for survivors. Take any yah find back ta the main square for emergency medical treatment and evac, got thah?” The Autobot nodded again, saluting as he did so, and Jazz bounded off without another word. He had more work to do.</p>
<p>Jazz had barely made it around the corner and halfway down another street before he was forced to shoot out his grapple and pull himself up the wall of a building to avoid getting smashed by another snarling Leaper. <em>Is there no end to these mechs? I thought Megatron didn’t keep too many of them in one place because of their aggression issues!</em> Several normal Decepticons and a squad of vehicons who were all following the Leaper opened fire and Jazz ducked through the broken window of the building for cover, <em>scrap! This ain’t looking too good!</em> Jazz briefly checked his scanners for any other nearby Autobots as he ran for the opposite side of the room, already knowing what was coming next.</p>
<p>Aside from the mech he had just rescued and a few no-doubt heavily wounded mechs who had been attacked by the last Leaper, Jazz was the only Autobot for about four city blocks. <em>Lovely. Guess I’m doing this the hard way then.</em> A hum of powerful turbines heralded the wall with the broken window exploding inward as the newest Leaper barreled through it, sending debris flying everywhere. The shockwave of the mech’s landing caught Jazz before he could make it fully out the door and sent him rolling uncontrollably into the hallway.</p>
<p>Jazz groaned faintly as he got up from where he’d been smacked into the hallway wall, shaking his helm to clear it and backing away defensively as the Leaper stomped through the doorway. Jazz felt his spark pick up speed, he was in one of the worst possible situations for facing down a Leaper. The hallway was too narrow to dodge to the side and he wasn’t close enough to another door to duck into a room. Barring massive amounts of luck and split-klik timing, there was no feasible way for Jazz to get behind the Leaper and target his only weak spots. In essence, he was trapped.</p>
<p>The Leaper, in turn, had a straight and unobstructed route for one of his signature slashing sprint attacks with almost no chance of missing. Jazz glanced around the hallway frantically before looking back at the Leaper, who had apparently come to the same conclusion as Jazz. The Leaper smacked a fist against his other servo and growled, “When I’m done with you, Autoscum, there won’t be enough parts left to fill an oil can!”</p>
<p>Jazz grinned reflexively, not letting the Leaper see his fear as his processor raced for a solution, “Now, hold on a klik there, can’t we talk this out like gentlemechs?”</p>
<p>The Leaper snorted contemptuously and pulled back his left blade arm, pedes shifting into a charging stance. Jazz took a deep vent as he glanced around one more time for any plan other than the insane one he was currently stuck with. Nothing else presented itself and Jazz dropped into a crouch, “Guess thah’s a no.” <em>please work, please work, please work, Star will never forgive me if this doesn’t work. </em>The Leaper charged with a roar, the turbines on his back firing up and sending him shooting forward at speeds normally unachievable for a mech that big and heavy, his left blade arm punching out to stab Jazz through the spark.</p>
<p>Jazz watched the mech barrel ever closer down the hallway, the tip of the massive blade shooting ever closer to his chest plates. Just as the Leaper was practically on top of him, a mere blink away from skewering Jazz through the spark chamber and ending him forever, Jazz moved. Jumping out of his crouch as high as he could, Jazz simultaneously reached out and grasped the top of the massive blade careening toward him, using it as a springboard to swing his lower body upwards in the beginnings of a front flip.</p>
<p>Metal shrieked and Jazz felt pain flare in his chest plates as the tip of the blade scraped against him, crumpling the central seam of his chest plates and just barely missing piercing him as he flipped over it. With a sharp, spinning split, Jazz reorientated his body into a half-cartwheel, half-combat roll that carried him up the Leaper’s thick arm and onto his shoulder plating. The Leaper gave a roar of surprise but kept charging unable to shut down his engines or stop yet.</p>
<p>Ignoring the pain caused by the near miss, Jazz pulled out on of his viral daggers and slammed it viciously up to its hilt in a crack between the interlocking backplates of the Leaper. The near proximity to the active turbines stung his servo with the sheer heat of it and Jazz bit back a hiss of pain as he yanked the viral dagger out and jumped off of the Leaper, barely avoiding the backwash in his effort to get clear of the Leaper.</p>
<p>The mech kept going for several more long, stomping strides before his legs suddenly gave out underneath him and he crashed to the ground. The turbines, still firing away for a few more kliks as the virus unleashed from Jazz’s viral dagger raced to destroy other, more important functions in the Leaper’s processor, propelled the mech into the floor with such momentum and power the mech punched right through and fell to the floor below.</p>
<p>Jazz panted harshly, spark beating a crazy rhythm as he stared at the vaguely mech-shaped hole in the hallway floor, trying to convince himself that his plan had actually worked had he wasn’t offline. Taking a deep, shuddering vent as it finally sank in that no, he wasn’t offline, Jazz straightened up from his crouch. Shuffling cautiously over to the edge of the hole, Jazz peered down at the sprawled frame of the Leaper, noting the sudden inactivity of the powerful turbines and the darkly grey pallor coming over the frame. <em>Good, he’s offline. That … actually worked. Nice.</em></p>
<p>Jazz then shivered faintly and shook his helm, <em>never telling anyone about this. Ever. Ratchet would offline me for certain this time. Frag, Starwish would probably help him.</em> Still, Jazz was alive to worry about the tempers of the medical staff despite the best efforts of a Leaper and a very poor tactical situation. Jazz counted it as a win.</p>
<p>Grappling over the hole in the floor, Jazz broke down a random door and rushed to the window, hoping to distract the Decepticons that had been with the Leaper before they could discover the wounded Autobots around the corner. The entire wall was blown out, which seemed to be the norm for the city by now, and Jazz unsubspaced his acid blaster as he rushed to the edge, ::Need backup in tha western sector, city block N7. There are wounded Autobots down here an Ah can’t cover them by mahself.::</p>
<p>It was probably a hopeless request. From what Jazz had been able to tell, the city was being slowly overrun by the Decepticons. There was even chatter over the tactical channel of calling in reinforcements from other cities, but Prowl was rejecting the idea as it left those cities open to a possible sneak attack. As much as Prowl had a point, if the situation was as bad as Jazz thought it was, the head tactician might have to concede and call in troops from other cities to defend. Triphosphate City and its energon mines were too important to lose.</p>
<p>Jazz’s vague thoughts as he opened fire on the Decepticons below were interrupted by an unexpected com, ::Grimlock to Jazz. There Leapers over there?::</p>
<p>Jazz blinked behind his visor even as he ducked frantically behind cover to avoid being shot by the many enemies below, ::Not at tha moment, but they’re all over tha area ‘round here. Plus, Ah gotta mess o’ normal ‘Cons down there thah need ta be dealt with!::</p>
<p>There was a long pause during which Jazz stayed behind his cover, unable to attack again because of the sheer amount of blaster fire pouring in from the street below. Finally, Grimlock’s rough tones came over the com channel again, ::Lightning Strike Coalition Force are on our way.:: <em>Well, slag. Never thought I’d get backup from them of all mechs. It’s just a cycle for surprises. What next?</em></p>
<p>The blaster fire briefly stopped and Jazz took the opportunity to rush to a different position, wincing as a blaster bolt nicked his left leg as he ran. Rolling to a stop, Jazz peered around the corner and down, rattling off a brief barrage of acid pellets before ducking back around the corner to avoid retaliation.</p>
<p>A priority announcement suddenly chimed across the general com channel, ::Megatron is on the field! Repeat, Megatron is on the field! We need the Prime in the northern sector, block G-:: The message ended with a shrieking cry of pain and a burst of static and Jazz felt dread swoop through his spark. Megatron was on the field. <em>As if this battle wasn’t hard enough already. We’re gonna lose at this rate if something good doesn’t happen soon.</em></p>
<p>Jazz was distantly aware of Prowl and his tacticians snapping out orders frenziedly as they tried to keep their tenuous control of the battlefield despite Megatron’s abrupt arrival. His name didn’t come up among those being given new orders, so Jazz reluctantly focused on taking out the Decepticons below him. <em>Just hurry up with these mechs, or at least hold them off till Grimlock and his mechs get here, then go see if Megatron brought any of his other officers with him. If he did, I’ll help take them out while O.P. deals with Megatron. No problem.</em></p>
<p>Despite his own mental reassurances, Jazz had a strong feeling that it was, in fact, going to be a problem. A big one.</p>
<p>He was not wrong.</p>
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<p>Ultra Magnus sent another Decepticon flying with a swift blow from his left hammer while simultaneously raising his right arm to block an overhelm sword-strike from another enemy. His vents heaved as he kicked the would-be swordsmech away and whirled in time to smash in the helm of yet another Decepticon creeping up on him from behind.</p>
<p>The com about Megatron’s arrival had been issued twenty breems ago and Optimus was now engaging Megatron while Ironhide, Ultra Magnus, and many other loyal Autobots struggled to push back the wave of Decepticons whose morale had been renewed by the arrival of their leader. Somewhere above them, a familiar booming crack rang out, knocking a Decepticon Brute off of his pedes and into the Well. <em>Good shot, Hardwire,</em> Magnus complimented mentally even though he would have personally preferred if the heavy-weapons mech was down in the field at his backplates, or even using his artillery piece, rather than taking occasional and careful sniper shots from a hidden location.</p>
<p>They were losing Triphosphate City. The already difficult battle had started to slide irreparably out of control after Megatron’s arrival. The huge leader of all the Decepticons was urging his followers to new heights of combative ability with just his presence and a few words while those same presence and words caused Autobot morale to steadily fall. It didn’t help that he’d brought along Starscream and his SiC’s elite trine. Casualties were growing and Ultra Magnus had lost track of Starwish joors ago as she disappeared deeper and deeper into the battlefield to save whoever she could.</p>
<p>Prowl had relented and called in backup from other cities only for word to come in that Decepticon commando teams had sprung upon the opportunity and were attempting to wreak havoc in the weakened cities while the reinforcements scraped up did little more than slow the tide of the battle.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s sensors pinged just as an Autobot he did not personally know shouted a warning. Whirling, Ultra Magnus barely had time to see a bright purple seeker looming just above and behind him, blaster about to fire and take off his helm and Ultra Magnus realized that he was not going to be able to defend himself in time.</p>
<p>His spark stuttered in its chamber in fear even as he tried to make his frame move faster, to beat the odds. It wasn’t a fear of offlining, not really. It was a fear of leaving his spark-child behind. Fear of what the agony of a shattered bond would do to Starwish when she was still in the middle of the warzone herself. The blaster in the seeker’s possession flared brightly as it started to fire-</p>
<p>Then a blur of green armor, transforming gears, and spinning rotors slammed into the seeker with the concussive force of momentum on its side and sent the seeker skidding away with a cry of surprised pain. The blur slid to a stop between the seeker and Ultra Magnus as for a moment, the isolated part of the battlefield they occupied paused and turned to watch what was happening.</p>
<p>The blur stood up, now revealed to be a brawny helicopter Autobot, and the mech in question smacked a fist against his other servo as he snarled, “Finally. Up for round two, Sparky?”</p>
<p>The purple seeker, who Ultra Magnus now had time to identify as Starscream’s trine-mate Skywarp, blinked once before snarling in recognition, “<b>You</b>. I’ll turn you into an oil smear for that!” With that shriek, Skywarp lunged for the green helicopter mech, tackling him before suddenly teleporting away with a crack of sound and a flare of energy. Ultra Magnus stared at the now-empty space of battlefield in astonished confusion, <em>who-?</em></p>
<p>A loud chorus of explosions from <b>behind</b> the Decepticon lines drew the attention of everyone nearby, Magnus included, just as an unfamiliar voice shouted gleefully over the general comms, ::There was a party this big and no one invited us? Well, no time like the present to join! <b>Wreckers, wreck and rule time</b>!:: Another round of massive explosions went off and reports started flooding over the comms that, somehow, the ever-elusive Wreckers had arrived and were carving a swath of destruction through the Decepticon rear lines.</p>
<p>Megatron gave a roar of frustration while the Autobots in Triphosphate City all gave a hearty cheer, fighting spirits renewed by the arrival of such terrifyingly famous reinforcements. Ultra Magnus gave a low huff of shock, a touch of relief and gratitude flickering through his spark as he realized that the helicopter mech who had just saved his life, and possibly the life of Starwish as well, must have been a Wrecker scouting ahead of the main group.</p>
<p>Optimus crashed into Megatron, temporarily knocking him off balance as the Prime roared over the coms, ::Autobots! We have the enemy outnumbered and outflanked! <b>Attack</b>!::</p>
<p>Again the Autobots raised their voices, this time in a roar of assent to the order of their Prime, and surged forward to meet their startled foes.</p>
<p>The tides of battle started to ebb, then turn yet again as the Autobots pushed back, slowly beginning to crush the Decepticon forces between the massive numbers of the main force and the smaller yet deadlier force of the battle-craving Wreckers.</p>
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<p>Jazz heard the com message and felt relief flood his systems, “Oh, thank Primus…” Turning, Jazz finally flitted away from where the Lightning Strike Coalition Force was crashing through the Decepticons in that section of city, intending to go to the northern sector and aid Optimus directly.</p>
<p>Jazz pelted down down several side alleys and through ripped open buildings before slipping down semi-broken steps to the underground metro tunnels. The streets too littered with corpses and rubble to use his alt-mode and the little known pre-war tunnels would be faster. The sounds of battle suddenly faded as Jazz found himself traveling below the battlefield, the thick metal walls and ground above his helm muffling the chaos with startling speed and effectiveness.</p>
<p>After spending joors listening to screaming, explosions, and blaster fire all in close proximity, the sudden semi-silence was eerie and unnerving, making his paranoia flare and sensors heighten nervously. As he ran down the dark tunnels that were his chosen shortcut, a wave of dread swept through his spark and he gave in to his sudden spike of paranoia. Accessing several of his lesser-used scanners, ones he only ever used on a sabotage mission and normally wouldn't risk during a normal battle for fear of a processor overload, Jazz ran a hasty scan over his surroundings.</p>
<p>It was, ironically, this flare of paranoia and inexplicable attention-grabbing dread that saved Jazz from the sudden barrage of metal projectiles that came spinning out of the shadows for his neck cables.Jazz threw himself to the ground, hissing faintly at the twinge the move caused in his damaged chest plates before he rolled back to his pedes and faced the shadows from which the attack had come, “Who’s there?”</p>
<p>Silence was his only answer and Jazz felt his spark flutter as all of the instincts he’d gained from being a thief and then later a Special Ops agent screamed danger at him. Jazz’s own vents sounded suddenly very loud, his whirring gears seeming to rise to a near-deafening pitch as he heightened his audio sensitivity and turned a slow circle, searching for his attacker.</p>
<p>His instincts flared again, <em>behind! </em>Jazz whirled, dropping into a low crouch as he did so and just barely avoiding the sword blade that whipped overhelm. He caught the barest glimpse of black and green paint on a tall, lithe frame before his attacker had pirouetted back into the shadows, using the momentum of the failed attack to retreat back into the darkness as Jazz snapped off a shot. He knew without seeing that the shot had missed and backed up a step cautiously.</p>
<p><em>Not a normal ‘Con. Not a Cloaker either. So who?</em> Powering on a few more sensors, Jazz switched his visor to stealth mode, letting the world tint slightly red in exchange for being able to see further into the darkness all around. Not moving his helm more than necessary, Jazz flicked his gaze in multiple directions before he spotted his hunter. His acid blaster swiveled instantly in the direction of the mech and he fired a rapid burst of five rounds.</p>
<p>The mystery mech sidestepped the shots, hissing almost inaudibly in pain when one of the pellets managed to nick his shoulder armor. Jazz shifted his pedes into a position that afforded better dodging, never taking his optics off of his opponent even as he scanned for others. The mech, who was too far in the darkness for Jazz to make out his colors past the red tint in his visor, glanced down at his shoulder before doing the exact opposite of what Jazz expected him to do. He started chuckling.</p>
<p>Looking away from the minor damage Jazz had done, the mech spoke, his voice sounding low and edged with a faint yet rough drawl that hinted a previous, if mild, vocal damage, “So you can see me. That’s a surprise. Hyper-sensitivity visor? Energon echo-locator? Both? Neither? Either way, I’m impressed. Plus, you managed to dodge my first two attacks <b>before</b> you activated your visual mods. I guess you live up to your reputation, First Lieutenant Jazz of Autobot Special Operations.”</p>
<p>Jazz analyzed the mech’s speech patterns and frame type, trying to pinpoint who his opponent was. He certainly wasn’t a normal grunt, not with the attacks he had used. Hiding his growing unease, Jazz replied with a lazy tone that could almost have been mistaken for friendly, “Ya know, it’s polite ta introduce yourself afore ya try ta offline somebot. ‘Specially since ya already seem ta know meh.”</p>
<p>Another chuckle, rough and oddly alarming in its sincerity, echoed through the tunnel as the mech took a few steps forward, coming to the very edge of the small circle of light provided by the recessed, overhelm lights, “Of course, of course. Where have my manners gone?” Jazz backed up cautiously as the mech stepped into the light and Jazz suppressed a vent of surprise.</p>
<p>Despite the red tinting now in his visor, Jazz could clearly make out the infamous color scheme on the mech’s frame. Black reigned predominantly, its color only broken up by the light green stripes that spiked up horizontally from knees to hip and from wrist to elbow joint, forming a cruel facsimile to camouflage. If that, coupled with the tall-yet-agile frame and glittering red optics weren’t clue enough, the rare white faceplate coloration and its six ceremonial black stripes along the cheek plating gave it away.</p>
<p>The mech smirked faintly as he toyed with the long, single-edged sword in his right servo and dipped at the waist in a mock half-bow, “My designation’s Lockdown. I’d say that I was at your service … but I’m really, really not. Well, not unless you’re in the mood to commit suicide.”</p>
<p>Jazz circled the mech warily, Lockdown mimicking his steps as the ring of light in the abandoned tunnel served as their boundary. Despite his ready stance and pounding spark, Jazz smirked back and kept his voice as mockingly friendly as before, “Ah’ve heard about yah. You’re tha famous bounty hunter. Tha one who joined up wit’ tha ‘Cons a few vorns back ‘cause no Autobot will pay yah anymore.”</p>
<p>Lockdown dipped his helm in acknowledgement, the smirk never leaving his faceplate, “Fifteen vorns, seven orns ago, actually. But I’ve been in the bounty hunting business for well over a hundred.”</p>
<p>Jazz gave a low noise of pretend interest in the back of his vocalizer even as he analyzed potential escape routes and opened private channels to Prowl and several of his Special Ops mechs in Triphosphate City, sending the same message across the channels at the exact same time. The message wasn’t detailed, he knew he only had a few kliks or less before Lockdown used a short-range signal jammer that would take out his com and probably his connection to the tactical data-gathering network. Thus, all the message consisted of were his current coordinates and two loud pings.</p>
<p>To anyone other than the mechs he had transmitted to, it would look like a random message, perhaps even an interrupted or accidental one. But to the proper recipients, it meant a lot. It was Special Ops short broadcast code for an emergency backup request. Using it meant that the mech who sent it was in dire need of backup against an overwhelming enemy and that if it didn’t come within the next few breems, the sender was probably going to offline.</p>
<p>Which, if Jazz wasn’t mistaken in his research on Lockdown and his current calculations, was not much of an exaggeration at the moment. Perhaps not an exaggeration at all.</p>
<p>Sure enough, almost as soon as his message had been sent, his com and passive data transmissions shut down with a burst of static. Lockdown’s smirk grew into something similar to a smile, “You didn’t really expect me to let you com for backup, did you?”</p>
<p>Not deigning to answer that, Jazz shot off a question of his own in the hopes of stalling for time, “According ta your reputation, this kinda fight ain’t your scene. So what brings ya ta a Pit-fight like this one?”</p>
<p>Lockdown shook his helm slowly and shrugged, “Actually, it’s fights like the one going on above us that I enjoy the most. So much chaos and destruction happening that no one notices if a mech or two disappears off the field without a trace. As for <b>why</b> I’m here, you really don’t know?”</p>
<p>Lockdown’s engraved sword flashed dully in the light as he spread his servos expressively to his sides, “Aside from Optimus Prime, who I know better than to track down without backup, and the Autobot’s pet Bāsākā mech, who I know better than to track down at all because I <b>like</b> my life, there is only one mech currently in this city with a bounty high enough to be worth my time. Can you guess who it is?”</p>
<p>Jazz tilted his helm fractionally to one side even as he mentally cursed the Decepticon intelligence force, “Ah wasn’t aware they’d raised my bounty recently.”</p>
<p>Lockdown chuckled as he spun his sword in a lazy circle, “Oh, they haven’t. You’ve just been either off the grid where I couldn’t track you or safe in Iacon where I couldn’t catch you. Until now. Do you have any idea just how hard a mech you are to catch, First Lieutenant?”</p>
<p>Memories of long lunar-cycles fleeing from angry enforcers and a stubborn praxian detective flickered through Jazz’s processor before he replied dryly, “Ah can make a fairly good assumption. Enough ta be able ta tell you now, you ain’t gettin’ meh alive.”</p>
<p>The look on Lockdown’s faceplates was suddenly gleeful and predatory, “That’s the thing, First Lieutenant,” the bounty hunter lunged forward with such speed he actually blurred and Jazz barely managed to dodge in time, “Megatron doesn’t want you captive. He want’s you <b>offline</b>.”</p>
<p>Conversation clearly over, Jazz’s perception of the world narrowed to a blur of movement, blades, blaster fire, and maliciously glittering red optics in a white faceplate. Lockdown came at him with his sword, the engraved edge moving through the air so swiftly it created an almost melodic note to quiver into existence every time Lockdown slashed or stabbed. Jazz ducked, rolled, and twisted, every vorn of experience and every instinct available to him straining to keep him online and away from the sword blade.</p>
<p>Whipping one of his sturdier, non-viral daggers out of subspace with his left servo, Jazz deflected the singing blade to the left side and snapped off a few shots with his acid blaster, aiming for Lockdown’s exposed chest plates. Lockdown twisted with the direction of his blade, tucking underneath the acid pellets and into a roll that brought him up on Jazz’s flank. Pirouetting hastily to face his opponent, Jazz jumped backwards in the same motion to gain needed space. He winced at the screech of abused paint that rang out as Lockdown’s sword tip scraped against his chest plates, just barely too short for a damaging blow.</p>
<p>The dagger in his servo flicked out, carving a deadly path through the air toward Lockdown’s helm until it was knocked off course by a contemptuous flick of the bounty hunter’s blade. The dagger clattered into the darkness somewhere, but Jazz had no time to track its location as he subspaced his acid blaster and exchanged it for the heavy-duty scatter blaster Ironhide had tricked out for him during the beginning vorns of the war. Lockdown closed in on him just as the trusted, if slightly antiquated, gun dropped out of his subspace. Jazz fired, unleashing a high powered shell that split open upon leaving the barrel, sending ten lethal projectile rounds that could rip open normal armor and cabling with ease hurtling toward his attacker.</p>
<p>Lockdown raised his sword defensively even as he threw himself to one side. A gruff curse emerged from the bounty hunter’s vocalizer as three of the rounds hammered into his sword, shattering the blade into several pieces via the impact and causing one of the shattered parts of the blade to sheer a long line through his left arm plating as it whipped past. Two more of the scatter blaster rounds ripped into his side and leg respectively and Lockdown’s curses became positively poisonous.</p>
<p>Jazz kept firing, backing away as he did so despite intimately knowing the ridiculously short range of the older-style gun. Lockdown retreated for a moment, backflipping out of the limited range and landing in a crouch that heavily favored his left leg and side. Keeping the scatter blaster where his right servo had been, Jazz unsubspaced a high-end plasma grenade with his left servo and threw it at the wounded bounty hunter.</p>
<p>Red optics widened at the sight of the powerful explosive flying his way and Lockdown retreated further, spinning on his right pede to awkwardly sprint out of the grenade’s range just before it went off. Jazz’s visor briefly darkened, automatically filtering out the access light as the grenade went off and shook the tunnel with its fiery power. Rolling blue plasma pushed destructively against the walls before rolling down both ends of the tunnel, tapering off quickly enough that it was only a wave of vaguely uncomfortable heat by the time it rushed over Jazz’s tense frame.</p>
<p>As the light from the grenade faded and the darkness reasserted its dominion of the tunnel, Jazz searched frantically for Lockdown, <em>where did he go? He didn’t offline from that grenade, ‘cause I’m not seeing any scattered parts-</em> Jazz fired his scatter blaster in surprise as a snap-pop noise rippled through the semi-silence and Lockdown was suddenly hurtling at him from the side. The shot went wide and Jazz felt Lockdown’s larger frame slam him to the floor a klik later. Strong servos clamped down over his wrist joints, forcing his servo and scatter blaster to thefloor as a knee joint dug painfully into his midriff and Lockdown’s faceplate leered down at him from inches away.</p>
<p>The question slipped incredulously from Jazz before he could stop it, “H-how-?”</p>
<p>Lockdown was venting heavily, rivulets of energon dripping down from his left side and arm and splashing lightly onto Jazz even as the bounty hunter grinned, “Like it? A little trophy I took as a reward for bringing back one of Shockwave’s escaped experiments. Uses a pit-ton of energon, but very worth the tactical benefits. You’ve got good intel, you know that there are only two frame-installable teleportation devices still functioning on Cybertron. Didn’t it ever occur to you to wonder where the other one went? That glitched purple maniac Starscream calls a trine mate doesn’t need two, after all.”</p>
<p><em>Scrap! Scrap-scrap-scrap!</em> Jazz bucked against the weight of his opponent, ignoring the dent it caused to his midriff as he tried to shake Lockdown off. Lockdown just leaned more heavily on the smaller cybertronian, refusing to be shaken. Switching tactics, Jazz unsubspaced his hip-mounted speakers and let the deep bass notes thunder through the tunnel like a physical force. Lockdown recoiled from the sound instinctively, his sensitive audios no doubt glitching even as the waves of sound painfully jostled his side wound.</p>
<p>Jazz felt Lockdown’s servos loosen reflexively on his wrists and twisted, once again bucking his frame to dislodge Lockdown. His left servo slipped free of Lockdown’s grasp as he did so and he punched Lockdown hard in the faceplate, aiming viciously for one of the mech’s optics as he snarled, “Get off of me!”</p>
<p>Optical glass shattered and Lockdown roared as he was thrown off of Jazz, his left servo still clinging stubbornly to Jazz’s scatter blaster. Jazz flipped their positions, ending up on top of the bounty hunter as he punched again and again, speakers still pounding out a denta-rattling bass that made even his own audios throb from the volume.</p>
<p>Lockdown lurched his helm forward, sending it crashing against Jazz’s and causing the saboteur’s vision to briefly film over with static. In the precious kliks it took to reboot his optics, Lockdown threw him off and bolted a short distance away, trying to get clear of the throbbing noise. Jazz shook his helm desperately, scrambling to his pedes as his vision cleared just in time to see Lockdown’s damaged left leg give out on him and send the mech crashing to the ground with a half-muffled curse.</p>
<p>Jazz bolted after him, experience screaming for him to get within scatter blaster range and end it. To offline Lockdown before he could recover and somehow retaliate.</p>
<p>For once in his life, it was that instinct, created from long vorns of war and conflict, that proved to be his undoing.</p>
<p>Lockdown rolled onto his backplates just as Jazz caught up to him, something flashing silver in the dull glow of the overhelm light as it left his servo. The something buried itself into the large crack in Jazz chest plates from where the Leaper’s attack had almost hit him and the following explosion of cold agony drew Jazz up short.</p>
<p>For a moment, Jazz just stood there, staring in confusion at Lockdown’s smirking faceplates, trying to understand why his limbs were no longer properly responding to him and he felt so cold. Then Jazz looked down at his chest plates and saw the hilt of the dagger, the same one he had thrown at the start of the fight only to have it deflected by Lockdown, sticking out of his chest right where his spark chamber was located.</p>
<p>Jazz’s legs gave out and sent him crashing to his knees, his vents heaving as his systems tried to compensate for the sudden, overwhelming feeling of cold. His left servo finally responded to him enough for him to lightly paw at the dagger hilt, the tiny part of his processor that wasn’t in shock finally realizing what had happened.</p>
<p>Lockdown had used his own dagger against him, flinging it through the crack in his chest plates at his spark chamber, even though it was too short a blade to pierce all the way through his spark chamber and shatter his life energy.</p>
<p>But it was long enough to breach his spark chamber and cause an energy leak.</p>
<p>Jazz’s servo fell limply to his side against his will. The cold feeling was spreading, a sensation Jazz could now identify as a symptom of spark drain and developing shock. It was robbing him of his motor functions, the steady loss of life energy causing his frame to frantically shut down various functions in an effort not to overload his shrinking spark. Not that the instinctive preservation method would actually do anything except make him helpless to the slowly rising Lockdown.</p>
<p>Lockdown grinned at him and spoke from between heaving vents, “Not bad, Lieutenant, I guess you really do live up to that bounty of yours. I can even see why Megatron insisted on the kill order, there’s no way a normal Decepticon could keep you contained.” Lockdown’s remaining optic flickered briefly and Jazz distantly guessed that he was taking a still-photo. The bounty hunter limped over to him and crouched down, tracing designs on the dagger hilt protruding from Jazz’s chest plates with a deceptively gentle touch, “I could just let you offline this way you know. It won’t take more than two breems or so, four if you’ve got a particularly strong spark. Feels terrible doesn’t it? A cold worse than any cryo-weapon in existence spreading from your spark to your servo-tips, robbing you of motion and speech … but not thought.”</p>
<p>Lockdown chuckled as Jazz glared at him weakly from behind his visor, “Oh no, you can think quite clearly right now, can’t you? Ponder over every gram of cold and every word I’m speaking. I’ve seen mechs beg for me to end them instead of letting them offline like this, slowly succumbing to the cold. What about you? You got a preference as to how you die?”</p>
<p><em>I don’t want to die at all.</em> The thought whispered through him, just one strand of data amid a maelstrom of other thoughts and futile calculations. Lockdown was sickeningly right, Jazz’s processor had never been so focused, so clear, as it was at that moment, with the numbing cold washing steadily through his frame, preventing him from attacking the sadistic ‘Con crouching so close to him. Jazz twitched his lip plates, futilely trying to say something, he wasn’t sure what, past the freezing grip crushing his vocalizer.</p>
<p>Lockdown stared at him for a moment, then sighed, “Already mute, huh? I was hoping you’d last a bit longer. Oh well, guess I can only expect so much from such a small bot. But you know what? Since you were such a challenging opponent, I’ll do you a favor and finish you off right now. Megatron only needs your helm for confirmation along with the still-photo I just took, so I’ll just cut that off and save you a breem or two of pain.”</p>
<p>The servo gently stroking the dagger hilt suddenly grasped it and ripped it out. Jazz felt a wheeze of pain leave him as the spark drain increased without the dagger lodged in the wound to partially stop the flow. Helplessly, Jazz could only watch as the dagger pulled back, ready to end him, ready to finish what Lockdown had started. <em>I’m so sorry.</em></p>
<p>Jazz had no idea who, exactly, he was apologizing to, but it was suddenly the only thought left in his processor. Maybe he was apologizing to Optimus, for failing a mission and making a fatal mistake. Maybe he was apologizing to Prowl, his oldest friend who still needed someone to smile and remind him how to do the same.</p>
<p>Maybe it was to Starwish, the One he would never get a chance to bond with. Never get a chance to truly love.</p>
<p>The dagger flashed toward his neck cables-</p>
<p>And scraped a harmless diagonal line across the intact parts of his chest plates as Lockdown’s right shoulder was suddenly shorn from the rest of his body with a scream of tearing metal and the whine of a high-powered buzz saw.</p>
<p>The air shimmered as Lockdown roared in pain, a tiny white servo flashing into view as it grabbed Lockdown by the back of his neck cables and positively threw him away from Jazz, “<b>Get away from him</b>!” The scream echoed throughout the tunnel, amplifying and reverberating until it was a chorus, a living embodiment of enraged feminine fury.</p>
<p>A small, achingly familiar white frame fizzed into existence, standing protectively between Jazz and Lockdown while her six prosthetics snapped and waved dangerously, a lethal medical tool unsubspaced from the end of each one while her buzz saw practically shrieked with power from where her left servo normally was. <em>…Star? </em>Jazz wanted to ask how she’d gotten there, but he still could not force sound from his frozen vocalizer. Instead, he watched in a mixture of awe and pain and admiration as Starwish invoked a look from Lockdown that Jazz highly doubted many had ever thought possible.</p>
<p>Lockdown looked terrified.</p>
<p>An instant later, the terror melted to rage and avarice, “Well, well. You must be the femme medic I’ve been hearing rumors about. The one that is hardly ever seen on the field. Megatron would probably pay a nice sum for you, femme-”</p>
<p>Starwish had crossed the distance between herself and the bounty hunter sometime during his speech, her buzz saw lashing out savagely. Lockdown ducked, narrowly avoiding losing his helm to the surgical-tool-come-weapon only to receive a deep gouge in his back plates from one of her scalpels as he rolled away. As he rolled back onto his pedes, Lockdown’s remaining arm was sliced deeply just above the elbow by a miniaturized buzz saw attached to one of Starwish’s prosthetics.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter stumbled back, off balance and already heavily injured from his previous injuries as Starwish pursued him, her various medical tools inflicting hundreds of cuts, slashes, and burns on Lockdown’s frame while he barely managed to keep Starwish from landing any fatal blows. As he watched Starwish drive away the mech who had been about to offline him kliks before, Jazz felt a flicker of vindictive triumph. His One was truly terrifying when crossed.</p>
<p>Lockdown had apparently gotten the same impression. With a desperate curse, Lockdown unsubspaced something and flung it to the ground, a cloud of smoke filling that part of the tunnel the moment the item made contact with the floor. <em>Frag. He’s gonna get away…</em> Jazz had enough energy left in him to feel miffed by that fact, he would have liked to see Lockdown offlined before Jazz’s optics shut down in an attempt to conserve power. His visor and scanners had already powered down, leaving him feeling oddly blind as Starwish suddenly emerged from the smoke and rushed to his side, “Jazz? <b>Jazz</b>!”</p>
<p><em>Hey, Star.</em> Jazz tried to say that, but failed and internally cursed that his com systems had already shut down as well. A tingle that he could barely feel past the aching cold washed over him and he heard Starwish’s vents hitch, “No. No-no-no-no…” White servos pushed him into lying on his back and then proceeded to frantically, near-brutally, rip away his chest plating to get at the damaged spark chamber beneath, “Stay with me Jazz, do you hear me? Stay online!” <em>I’m sorry, Star … I don’t think I can keep that promise…</em> But he would try. For what little it was worth and however futile it would be, Jazz would try.</p>
<p>But with the cold wrapping ever tighter around every part of him, Jazz couldn’t find it in himself to believe it would work. <em>I’m sorry…</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish yanked aside the last crumpled chest plate, her welder already equipped and reaching for the nasty, deceptively small breach in Jazz’s spark chamber. With each pulse of his spark, she could see vibrant wisps of blue energy gush through the breach, like human blood through a cut artery. Except unlike bleeding, there was no way to slow the drain except slap a thick piece of temp-weld metal over the breach and seal it as fast as she possibly could.</p>
<p>Only vorns of experience kept her prosthetics and servos from shaking as she worked, trying to stop the drain before Jazz lost too much energy and his spark destabilized entirely. He was already too unresponsive. Her scan had shown that his motor functions, sensors, scanners, and even a good portion of his audio functions had already been shut down to prevent aggravating the dying spark. <em>No! Not dying! I’m going to save him! I won’t let him die! I won’t!</em></p>
<p>Not pausing in her painstakingly slow work of welding the breach shut without causing further damage to the chamber as a whole, Starwish tried her comlink again. It had shut down shortly before she’d managed to track down the source of blaster fire in the tunnels and seen the Decepticon looming over Jazz, so she hoped it was only a short-range disruptor that had been removed when the Decepticon had escaped.</p>
<p>Her comlink finally responded to her again and Starwish opened the priority medical and tactical frequencies. Despite the steadiness of her servos and prosthetics, her voice was the opposite as she screamed over the com, ::Jazz is down! I repeat, Jazz is down! There’s a Decepticon assassin in the lower tunnels and I need backup right now! I repeat, Jazz is down and I need backup!:: She frantically attached her coordinates to the message before shutting off her com, not wanting to be distracted by the explosion of chatter that answered her message.</p>
<p>Her welder melted the last edge of the temp-weld, preventing anymore energy from escaping and Starwish scanned Jazz worriedly, <em>come on, come on, please let me have been soon enough. Please. </em>Jazz didn’t move, his vents rattled a weak note as they tried to draw in air for his frame before shutting down with a whine. Starwish frantically pulled off Jazz’s visor to get a look at his optics even as she scanned him again. Results came back as she stared blankly at Jazz’s unlit optics. <em>No…</em></p>
<p>Critical spark drain, the scanners reported. He had lost too much energy for his spark to stabilize itself and regenerate the necessary energy on its own. His spark could no longer sustain his frame size and she couldn’t use an SPC as that would require exposing his already too-drained spark to the open air again.</p>
<p>Jazz was dying.</p>
<p>And there was nothing she could do.</p>
<p><em>No. No, please no! Don’t take him from me! </em>“No…” The word slipped free, a plea and a sob and a whispered scream all in one as Starwish crumbled, leaning over him from her kneeling position as she realized that she was about to lose Jazz. She was about to lose her One and there was nothing she could do to stop it. His spark had lost too much to regenerate.</p>
<p><em>Then give it enough to regenerate!</em> The thought, or perhaps it was a voice, Starwish couldn’t be sure, snapped at her. Starwish shook her helm at the thought, another sob slipping free as she remembered Ratchet’s lessons on spark drain. It was true that a medic, when trying to save a patient from spark drain, could donate spark energy to boost the regeneration process, but that only worked if both patients were the same gender. A femme medic couldn’t perform the operation on a mech patient without the two sparks rejecting the opposing frequency and killing them both. A femme simply could not join her spark with a mech’s-</p>
<p>Unless they were meant to be joined together in the first place.</p>
<p>Starwish’s teary optics snapped open, staring blankly at Jazz’s exposed internal wiring for a moment as the idea seared through her. She was Jazz’s One. Their sparks were meant to be just that. One. Jazz didn’t have enough spark energy to survive.</p>
<p>So she could give him <b>hers</b>.</p>
<p>Almost as soon as the idea, the crazy, possibly suicidal, last-ditch, idea had fully registered, Starwish was removing her own chest armor. There was no time left to think about it. No time to worry over how all the medical journals warned that spark energy donation, or sparkmate bonding, was an exhausting process that often left both parties unconscious for joors. No time to ponder on just how vulnerable she would be leaving herself in the middle of a <b>war-zone</b>.</p>
<p>If Autobot backup didn’t arrive soon to protect her, it was very likely a Decepticon would come along and find the two of them in their weakened states and offline them.</p>
<p>But if she didn’t, Jazz would offline anyway and Starwish wouldn’t, couldn’t, keep living knowing there was something she could have done to save him. No matter how risky that something was. Her armor clattered to the ground heedlessly and Starwish leaned over Jazz again, carefully aligning their spark chambers as she used one servo to search for the emergency latch to open his spark chamber. She found herself rambling, her voice rising from a low hiss to a fervent shout as rapid sentences spilled out of her, “You can’t offline do you hear me? I haven’t given you an answer yet. I haven’t told you how I feel about you. You can’t just ask me that question, make me realize the things you did, and then offline! Do you hear me? You can’t offline!”</p>
<p>Her shaking fingers found the emergency latch and Jazz’s weakly flickering spark was suddenly there, visible and beautiful and fragile and so close to being lost forever as Starwish snapped open her own spark chamber and screamed, “<b>I won’t let you</b>!”</p>
<p>She lunged down, fingers digging tightly into Jazz’s unresponsive shoulder armor as she slammed their open spark chambers together.</p>
<p>Her senses instantly exploded with a cacophony of data, sensations washing over her that her mind could not accurately describe yet struggled to do so anyway. The two songs she had first heard three metacycles ago, one that represented everything she was, and the other that represented everything Jazz was, suddenly collided with no barriers to keep them apart.</p>
<p>Jazz’s song flickered and warbled, a pale shadow of what it had been before. It struggled with every beat to continue, to exist, to <b>live</b> even though it was too damaged to do so on its own. For a moment, there was hesitation, pausing on the edge of an invisible, intangible bridge that she could instinctively sense was meant to be crossed together, meant to be met upon halfway. But Jazz’s song couldn’t quite reach, wasn’t strong enough to cross his half of the bridge and so Starwish’s song pushed on without waiting for conscious consent. It rushed across the bridge, all the way to the other side where its notes crashed into Jazz’s and reality abruptly vanished under the explosion of symphonies and sound.</p>
<p>Two halves, one much, much weaker than the other, finally met and without any conscious direction or purpose the stronger of the two halves was buoying up the weaker. It filled the other and sang to it, coaxing it to sing along even as solos became duets and scales became irrevocably linked.</p>
<p>It hurt. It was like infernos and voices and memory and music all rolled into one and yet it was none of those because those descriptors weren’t anywhere near strong enough to truly convey what it felt like. Visions raced past, too fast and disjointed too see, too time consuming to ponder over when her only current purpose was to save and give and protect.</p>
<p>Notes wove together like threads, protecting and strengthening the frayed ones even as they mingled and merged with the remaining strong ones. Jazz’s song grew in strength and volume, repairing and rising even as the melodies stopped being <b>hers</b> and <b>his</b> and instead became <b>theirs</b>.</p>
<p>It happened in an instant that somehow took forever, the two pieces becoming a whole that pulsed and pulled and strengthened as both sides equalized in power, unified in harmonies like they were supposed to, like they were <b>meant </b>to.</p>
<p>Then suddenly it was complete and the metal coverings over their spark chambers snapped shut, severing contact with the treacherous air yet not severing, never severing, the bridge spanning between them. Two were now One, separate yet together, unique yet whole, and Starwish’s senses tapped back into reality with dizzying bursts of static and dull realization of heaving vents. The darkened tunnel that were her surroundings tilted dangerously as she became too exhausted to prop herself up. Strong arms wrapped around her and the familiar voice of her Opi rang in her audios, “Starwish! Little One! Are you alright? What did you do? Little One, answer me!”</p>
<p>Her sight cleared of static and she looked dizzily around the anxious gathering of mechs and femmes, all of them familiar and comforting in their presence. Her gaze drifted down to Jazz and saw his optics flicker on briefly and lock with hers before they powered off again. But that was alright, everything was alright, because she could <b>feel</b> that it was. She could feel that he was alive, that he was going to keep living, that he hadn’t died.</p>
<p>Hardwire crouched down beside her, attracting her gaze with his presence and she felt herself smile at him tiredly, “One … one last thing … right?”</p>
<p>Understanding flashed across his faceplates and her brother shakily nodded, his optics filling with an emotion she couldn’t place at that moment as he looked from her to Jazz and replied, “One last thing.”</p>
<p>Another wave of exhaustion rolled over her and Starwish slipped into a deep recharge, trusting in her family and fellow Autobots to keep her safe while she recovered, content in the knowledge that Jazz would live. Because she now had one last what-if and one more chance.</p>
<p>A second chance. And she would be sure not to waste it ever again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0067"><h2>67. Fast Forward - 12 Vorns Part 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing to return as he onlined was sound. The steady, familiar beep of medical equipment monitoring his vitals and making sure he was still functioning. Groggily, Jazz whined at the noise, not yet ready to leave the bliss of recharge behind. But of course, once he’d put forth the effort to make a sound of protest, other parts of his processor and frame started inevitably booting up and bringing with them sensations that steadily dragged him back to the world of the conscious.</p>
<p>The second thing to return was his sense of smell. Internally, Jazz winced at the all-too-familiar scents of cleaning solution, energon, and that unique yet unnamable “medbay” smell that alerted him instantly to his location. <em>But why…?</em> Feeling returned to him as he grudgingly pondered why he was in the medbay, trying to find the relevant memory file through the haze of his still onlining processor.</p>
<p>Memories of darkness, tunnels, smirking white faceplates and terrifying, all-consuming <b>cold</b> surged back to him and Jazz’s optics snapped open as he struggled not to jolt into a sitting position. The memories all flooded over him, reminding him of everything that had happened in the tunnels with Lockdown before being pushed aside by the screaming feeling of <b>wrong</b>. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong with him and Jazz found himself keening and struggling against the berth restraints he hadn’t been aware were there before as all his senses narrowed to the gaping sensation of there being something <b>missing</b>.</p>
<p>He felt like he’d been ripped in half in ways he couldn’t explain. Separated from something utterly, irrevocably important and while there was still a bridge between him and his missing half, that half was still <b>missing</b> and he needed to find it. To touch it, to hold it close, hold <b>her </b>close, but she wasn’t there and <b>where-was-she</b>?</p>
<p>A door slid open and several figures rushed in while Jazz writhed frantically on the berth, trying desperately to get free and get to his missing half, to <b>her</b>. The figures pressed their servos against him, shouting and trying to get his attention but Jazz couldn’t hear their words past the desperation in his own spark. He screamed at the figures wildly, snarling and snapping his denta like a wild cyber-animal in an effort to get free until one of the figures yelled something at the others and the restraints were suddenly gone.</p>
<p>The figures barely managed to get out of his way as Jazz surged to his pedes. Ignoring the soreness in his frame or how he was already venting heavily from the exertion, Jazz ran for his missing half, following the blindingly strong and bright bridge as it wound down the halls and to a door that was near yet much too far. He slammed into the door, not having slowed down enough to let the door sense him and slide open.</p>
<p>Stumbling back a few steps and still ignoring the indecipherable shouts of the figures who had followed him, Jazz shook himself with a keen and made another dive for the doorway. Thankfully for his aching frame, the door had slid open at last and Jazz rushed through to the figure lying on the berth. Only once he had scrambled awkwardly onto the berth and rearranged the figure, his other half, <em>Starwish-sparkmate-</em><b><em>mine</em></b>, so she was resting safely in his lap did the blind panic overriding his logic center start to recede.</p>
<p>He cradled her protectively, her helm resting safely on his shoulder plate, their chest plates so close that he could almost feel the pulses of life flowing between them like lulling musical notes, his right arm supporting her back while his left servo shakily caressed her faceplate. The feeling of wrong and missing halves faded slowly, his sanity dribbling back in concert with the ebb of the overpowering need to find his other half and Jazz slowly became aware of what was … wrong about that phrase in and of itself. <em>What … what just happened? Where-? Why-?</em></p>
<p>Jazz looked down at the femme in his arms and the illogicality of his actions just a few kliks ago registered at the same time he realized that the bridge he’d been following, the intangible, glowing, singing bridge had not been there before. Shouldn’t have been there now. A part of his mind protested the last thought, recoiling at the thought of the bridge being gone now that it was there, <em>No! It should! It’s always belonged there! It always will!</em> Jazz closed his optics briefly, shaking his helm as he tried to put his whirling thoughts in order. The last thing he clearly remembered was Lockdown inflicting a fatal wound and Starwish driving him off. After that …</p>
<p>Impressions swept over him, memories without sight or true sense, the kind not stored in a memory core but in the spark itself. Melodies ghosted over his audios in remembrance. Harmonies and symphonies that were so intricate and complex they were dizzying and so strong they were overawing. Glimpses of things that could not be seen, hopes he had never held, ideas he had never possessed, all represented in the whirling twist of notes that tugged at his memories.</p>
<p>Something in his spark stretched out instinctively upon thinking on the memories, reaching across the bridge Jazz had followed to Starwish’s room. Something reached back, warm and loving but still unconscious, granting brief visions of pleasant holographic fluxes and a wave of tired recharge before a faint yet loving whisper of, <em>“mine,”</em> echoed happily across to him. Jazz felt the world freeze as his processor wrestled with what his spark already knew. He was still trying to bring himself to even think the word when more figures burst in through the door and instinct took over again.</p>
<p>Pulling Starwish closer to him with his right arm, Jazz raised his left and unsubspaced his acid blaster, his engine grinding out a quiet warning note to the intruders. The intruders stopped immediately and the lead one glanced back at one of the other two following him with a scathing whisper, “See what I mean? What the <b>frag</b> did they teach you lot in medical academy? You should know better than to separate newly bonded! The bond is still settling and requires them to be in close proximity <b>at all times</b> until the frequencies adjust to being merged! You’re lucky he didn’t take your helm off on the way out the door!”</p>
<p>The voice and scathing tone was familiar, as was the way the mech’s fingers were twitching, as if he was barely resisting the urge to grab something and beat the other mechs over the helm with it. Jazz blinked once, then twice, then realized that he was holding a furious Ratchet, an intimidated First Aid, and a shame-faced Jolt at blaster point. Hastily subspacing the weapon, Jazz hissed, “Ratchet? Why-? What happened? What’s going on?”</p>
<p>Ratchet turned back to Jazz and murmured soothingly from his place just inside the door, “I know you’re very confused at the moment, Jazz, but I need you to stay calm while I explain, alright?”</p>
<p>Jazz stared at Ratchet warily, alarms going off in his processor at how gently Ratchet was speaking coupled with what he’d been lecturing Jolt about a moment ago. Ratchet moved very slowly to stand in the center of the room, First Aid and Jolt leaving the room at a look from the CMO and letting the door finally close again. Once they were alone except for the recharging Starwish, Ratchet asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”</p>
<p>Jazz answered immediately, trying to stay calm as he did so, “Spark drain. Ah … got hit with a dagger. It breached my spark chamber an’ Ah started ta drain out. Starwish … ran off tha Decepticon before he could finish me off and … she started ta initiate emergency repairs. Thah’s it.”</p>
<p>Ratchet sighed softly, “Well, that makes things both easier and harder to explain…”</p>
<p>Feeling unnerved and anxious, Jazz snapped without his accent, “Just tell me, Ratchet. Don’t bother trying to soften it. Just tell me what happened.”</p>
<p>“What happened is that you suffered critical spark drain. You went below regenerative-capable levels. You should have offlined.” Ratchet’s return snap made Jazz go very still. Ratchet saw Jazz’s plating bristle faintly in fear and the CMO moodily crossed his arms over his chest plates, “You <b>would </b>have too, if it weren’t for Starwish.” Jazz looked down at Starwish reflexively, his confusion building until she stirred quietly in his arms and some part of Jazz that wasn’t panicking realized that he was waking her up.</p>
<p>Immediately, Jazz took several deep vents to calm himself, focusing on pushing down his roiling feelings, keeping them from leaking across the musical bridge he was beginning to suspect the truth about. Sure enough, as soon as his feelings were pushed far enough down, Starwish stopped stirring, settling back into his arms with a faint sigh.</p>
<p>Jazz looked up at Ratchet again, running Ratchet’s words over in his processor before pointing out quietly, “No one can recover from spark drain when it goes below the regenerative-capable levels, Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Ratchet gestured at Starwish with a tilt of his helm, “You can when someone offers their own spark energy as a supplement to regenerate the lost levels.” The world stopped again, then raced forward as Jazz’s quick thought processes put everything together with the minimum of data he’d received. Sharing spark energy was a way to save someone from spark drain, but hardly anyone ever did because of the risks involved for the donor and a femme was <b>never</b> allowed to donate energy to a mech because their frequencies would naturally reject the other-</p>
<p>Unless the spark frequencies were meant to be joined in the first place.</p>
<p>Realization settled, destroying the remains of his self-denial and Jazz rasped, “She … she…?”</p>
<p>Ratchet nodded, “She bonded with you, right there on the field, in order to give you the necessary energy levels to survive.” <em>I … bonded? I’m a sparkmate? She … she bonded with me just like that? Because it would save me? Even after how … how our conversation ended three metacycles ago?</em></p>
<p>Jazz felt his spark flutter, a whisper of something much, much more powerful yet delicate than awe rippling across the bridge to Starwish as a consequence before worry washed over him. Starwish had bared her spark on the field of battle, with no one to protect her from Decepticons should she be knocked into stasis from the strain or help her medically if something went wrong in the bonding process, “Is she going to be alright?”</p>
<p>Ratchet actually looked half-amused, “You tell me. You’re the one who shares a spark with her now.” Jazz shot Ratchet a frazzled, pleading look and the medic soothed, “She’ll be fine. She just needs rest. She used up almost two-thirds of her expendable reserves getting your spark to stable levels, so don’t be surprised if she stays in recharge for at least another ten joors. I’m honestly surprised <b>you’re</b> online so early.”</p>
<p>Jazz had no reply for that, he was still too busy trying to wrap his processor around the concept that he was a sparkmate now. That Starwish had bonded with him. <em>And I was unconscious during the entire thing. Frag.</em> Ratchet interrupted his flittering thoughts, “You can rest in here for now. But we still have things to discuss at a later date. Also, you should know that I’m going to have to inform Ultra Magnus the breem Starwish comes back online.” The words <em>“and he’ll be here less than five breems after that”</em> went unspoken, but Jazz heard them anyway and winced.</p>
<p>“Do you … have any idea on how Magnus will … react?” His question came out faintly, unable to summon any confidence or courage while thinking about the potential consequences.</p>
<p>Ratchet shot Jazz a bland look, “His adoptive spark-child got sparkmated on the <b>battlefield</b> a mere <b>three metacycles</b> after becoming an adult to a mech who she wasn’t even officially courting.”</p>
<p>Jazz winced again and subconsciously cradled Starwish closer to him for reassurance, “He’s gonna offline me, isn’t he?”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a very quiet scoff, “He can’t do anything of the sort without risking emotional trauma to Starwish and he knows it. He’ll just have to either come to terms with the fact that you’re bonded, or he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.” <em>I’m doomed.</em> Jazz’s thought must have shown up on his faceplate because Ratchet gave him a thin smile and added, “Don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything to you while you’re in my medbay.”</p>
<p>Ratchet turned to leave the room, but just as he reached the door, a thought struck Jazz and he called out softly, “Ratchet,” Ratchet paused and glanced over his shoulder inquiringly, “not that I’m complaining but … I thought you’d react … differently to this. Be angrier or something.”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s faceplates morphed into a familiar scowl, “Oh, make no mistake, Jazz. I am <b>furious</b> with the both of you. But not for bonding. I’d have had to be blind or meltdown to miss everything that was developing between you two. You two becoming a mated pair was practically a given outcome.”</p>
<p>A wrench dropped out of Ratchet’s subspace and he tapped it menacingly on his shoulder plate where Jazz could see it, “However, the <b>circumstances</b> of your bonding? That is another matter for which there will be consequences once I’m sure you aren’t in shock from suffering spark drain and then bonding and she is recovered from donating that much spark energy.”</p>
<p>Abruptly subspacing his wrench, Ratchet strode out the door with one last curt statement of, “Rest and try to keep your processor from glitching. Nobody handles spark-bonding as calmly as you think you are, especially when they bonded while unconscious.” The door slid shut behind Ratchet and he opened a comlink briefly to finish his sentence without his words being muffled, ::Also. If you panic and wake up Starwish in the process, I will personally reformat your alternate mode into an <b>energon refiner</b>.::</p>
<p>Jazz offered no reply, simply shut off the com channel and settled back on the berth, shifting Starwish carefully into a better position in his lap and against his chest plates while he stared up at the ceiling and tentatively marveled at the bridge connecting his spark to its other half. Ratchet was right, he was taking this too calmly. But any moments of panic or disbelief or other such potentially violent emotions would have to wait.</p>
<p>His sparkmate still needed her recharge after all, and he would never do anything to cause her harm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a crowd in HQ.</p>
<p>That was something to take note of in any circumstance. It was exceptional in that it usually only occurred when there was a particularly large frag-up in one of the Sectors that required everyone to be briefed and reassigned at the same time. Otherwise, most of the agents spent their time wandering the Clusters, slipping into HQ only once in a while for a rest or to report something unusual.</p>
<p>So, while HQ was never by any means empty, a crowd of this size was almost always a sign that the world was about to come to an end. Literally. The last time a gathering of a similar size had been seen, it had been because an idiot in Cluster C-MU had triggered Ragnarok and nearly destabilized the energy matrix of the space-time that comprised his Sector. The fact that the gathering back then had actually been a touch smaller than the one happening now was enough to make many agents automatically nervous, despite knowing that a world wasn’t ending this time.</p>
<p>Funny how something as seemingly trivial as the sparkmating of a single femme in a single Sector could draw an even larger amount of agents than the near end of a world. <em>But then again,</em> Rising Dawn mused as she flitted in amongst the throng of partying agents, <em>we have something of a personal stake in the wellbeing and happiness of said femme.</em></p>
<p>Agent 9225 whooped loudly, nearly crashing into Dawn as he spun his own significant other, Agent 237484, in happy circles, “They did it! They finally did it! <b>Yes</b>! It’s about time!”</p>
<p>Agent 7374 raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in confusion, causing his long silver hair to sway with the motion, “I thought you were a member of Team Troublemaker?”</p>
<p>Agent 9225 stopped spinning his wife long enough to blink sheepishly, “Well, I was, but then Aer- sorry 237484, said she preferred Team Duet and it’s not like I could be on an opposing team to my own wife…”</p>
<p>Agent 7374 just looked more confused, “I thought it was common for couples to hold tightly to their differing opinions despite their marital status? I have witnessed many fierce arguments between married couples over their differing opinions while patrolling the Sectors…”</p>
<p>Agent 5654 snorted into his glass of wine and stage-whispered to 7374, “Oh, there usually are, my friend. However, Fair over there is, I believe the Midgardian term for it is, ‘whipped’ and therefore will cede to his wife’s opinions without even half the struggles one would normally witness.”</p>
<p>Agent 9225 loudly protested that he was not, in any way, whipped, at the same moment that Agent 7374 inquired naively, “She utilizes brute force against her husband in order to enforce her own opinions? I do not see how that would work considering their difference in size, strength, and her own temperament…”</p>
<p>Rising Dawn left the area before she could overhear the rest of Agent 7374’s statement, or the resulting squawk of protest and bout of giggles from the married pair in question. All around, clustered in familiar groups, agents celebrated by breaking into the rarely used supply of food, drink, and energon, all enjoying the chance to truly celebrate for what was probably the first time in years.</p>
<p>None of them actually <b>needed</b> to consume food of course, not anymore, but it was still nice to do so on occasion and everyone agreed that there were few better occasions than this one.</p>
<p>Breaking free of the crowd at last, Rising Dawn spotted one of the people she was looking for, “Matron Prehnite!”</p>
<p>Matron Prehnite turned in the direction of Dawn’s call, her optics softer and her posture more relaxed than Dawn had seen in a long time, “Greetings, Dawn, enjoying the celebration?”</p>
<p>Dawn nodded eagerly, “Oh yes, immensely! Though, I have to wonder if it’s alright to have so many members here instead of patrolling. What if one of the Sectors destabilize again?”</p>
<p>Matron Prehnite sighed faintly and absently swirled her glass of high-grade, “Yes, that is a concern. This party will have to end soon, I’m afraid, in order to prevent that exact possibility. However, for now, we should be happy and celebrate such an important turning point.”</p>
<p>Dawn cocked her helm to one side, “Turning point, Matron?”</p>
<p>Matron Prehnite nodded serenely, “The more Starwish and her family change things, the greater the ripples will be and the farther they will spread. Now, while that is normally something we seek to avoid, as you know the circumstances in Sector T-MV/P are … unique. By becoming Jazz’s sparkmate, Starwish has triggered ripples far bigger than anything before now. Even her association with Master Yoketron and Hardwire’s actions on Team Ghost will not have as large an effect.”</p>
<p>Dawn felt a moment of uneasy guilt at that. She knew they had let Starwish and the others into that Sector for a reason, but it still made her squirm slightly to think of them as just parts of an overall strategy. Sensing her unease, Matron Prehnite soothed, “But of course, this event is also to celebrate the happy union of two wonderful people. I could not wish for a better match.”</p>
<p>An old, powerful, yet friendly voice interjected in the conversation unexpectedly, “Hey now, what about our match?”</p>
<p>Matron Prehnite rolled her optics expressively, “<b>That</b>, was a recipe for disaster that somehow failed and became a long-lasting success instead.”</p>
<p>Dawn hastily saluted the newcomer to the conversation, but he waved off the formality and muttered in an aside to her instead, “Failed disaster she says. No other mech can honestly say they gave their One an entire <b>pocket dimension</b> as a courting gift, now can they?”</p>
<p>Matron Prehnite huffed a laugh, “I told you then, I tell you now, what use do I have for an entire pocket dimension all to myself? All I wanted was a pretty trinket.” Her sparkmate actually pouted and Dawn struggled to withhold her giggles at seeing the Matron and her Prime acting so … relaxed. Normal. Slipping away as the two began to bicker good-naturedly, Dawn lingered a few more breems in the party before sneaking away to do something very much against the rules but, in her mind, completely necessary and worth it.</p>
<p>She had a newly bonded femme to congratulate after all.</p>
<p>HQ quickly disappeared as she slipped through one of the shortcuts and into the shadowzone of Sector T-MV/P. From there, it was a swift and familiar run to a certain private room of the Iacon medbay. Looking around cautiously to make sure no other agents were around to see her and report her, Dawn padded closer to where Jazz was lying on a berth, his new sparkmate snuggled on top of him. Dawn smiled happily at the sight, she had gotten very attached to both Jazz and Starwish over the past twelve vorns of secretly watching them.</p>
<p>Reaching out, she let her servo hover over Starwish’s helm and closed her optics, concentrating on the special technique Andromeda had taught her. There was a ripple, a sensation of pulling, and then she opened her optics to deep grey/black surroundings. Just in front of her, Starwish started in surprise, sitting up and looking around from within her circle of bright white light. Waiting a few kliks for Starwish to get her bearings, Dawn called softly, “Hello again.”</p>
<p>Starwish jerked, rolling to her pedes and settling in a defensive stance as she whirled to face Dawn. For a moment, Starwish stared tensely at her, then blinked in confusion, “I … know you…” recognition flickered through her optics, “Rising Dawn!”</p>
<p>Dawn smiled even though Starwish wouldn’t be able to see it, “Yep, it’s me.”</p>
<p>Starwish lowered her guard, a worried frown on her mental projection, “The last time you showed yourself to me … I was dying. Did I fail then? Is Jazz…?”</p>
<p>Dawn shook her helm hastily, mentally chiding herself about not realizing that Starwish would assume the worst because of their last meeting, “Oh no! Jazz is fine! You are too! This is a higher level of your subconscious. A … dream-scape so to speak. You’re currently recharging to recover the energy you lost when you bonded to Jazz.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked vaguely confused as she glanced around her own subconscious, “Dream-scape, huh?” She looked back at Dawn, “So why are you here? I thought … your people weren’t allowed to speak to someone unless they were dying or at risk of it?”</p>
<p>Dawn threw her servos into the air happily, “I’m breaking the rules to congratulate you on your bonding!”</p>
<p>Starwish’s expression was one of blank incomprehension for an impressive ten kliks before all the proverbial pieces snapped into place and Starwish gasped, “Wait, Jazz is my sparkmate now?”</p>
<p>Dawn deadpanned, “Well, <b>yeah</b>. You two merged spark energies. Jazz being unconscious aside, you still made physical spark-to-spark contact with your One. What did you expect to happen?”</p>
<p>Starwish ducked her helm sheepishly at Dawn’s tone, “I … don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about it really. I just knew I had to save him somehow and that was the only way I could. I didn’t think about what would come after…” Starwish crossed her arms over her chest plates nervously, “Is he awake? Is he mad?”</p>
<p>Dawn shrugged as she moved closer and sat down cross-legged, Starwish sitting across from her politely in a proper cyber-ninja rest position, “He was awake a little while ago I think. He’s in your room now, but he wasn’t originally, so he must have woken up and moved. That, and Ratchet is still giving Jolt a massive lecture for putting newly-bonded in separate rooms, and from the sounds of it nobody moved Jazz for him. But as for your second question, no, he’s not mad from what I can tell. Just … really shocked. I think he’ll be happy later, once he wraps his processor around the whole ‘nearly offlining and getting sparkbonded instead’ thing.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave a faint sigh of relief, “That’s good.” A moment of relatively comfortable silence fell over them, Dawn waiting patiently for Starwish to voice the question she could literally see forming. Flickers of their previous conversation flashed across the dream-scape all around them before it settled and Starwish asked, “Why couldn’t I remember you while awake? I remember you now but … I didn’t before. I haven’t for twelve vorns.”</p>
<p>Dawn shrugged again, “Because this is all taking place in your subconscious. The first time, it was in one of the deepest levels of your subconscious. Your conscious processor can’t normally access the subconscious or any memories buried inside it.” Dawn was dimly aware that her tone was taking on the lecturing air Agent 737237867 always got when talking about such subjects, “The subconscious of a bot’s processor are where spark-memories are sometimes stored. You know what those are, right?”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “Memories that are important enough or traumatic enough to leave an impression on the spark itself. It is theorized that spark-memories are the basis of unique tics and habits that cybertronians develop. Like an illogical fear or hatred of an innocuous item or phrase or an obsessive love of a certain kind of energon, setting, music, or other type of stimuli.”</p>
<p>Dawn clapped lightly twice in praise, “Right! Someone told me once that there are certain techniques to draw out spark-memories and other memories stored in the subconscious, but I don’t know any, and neither do you. So, that’s why you forgot our last meeting until now.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s audios drooped faintly in sadness, “So, I will forget this conversation ever happened once I wake up.”</p>
<p>Dawn paused, a touch of sadness washing over her as well. She really, really wished she could be friends with Starwish. The kind of friend that chatted with her and did things with her and helped her with her problems. A best friend … maybe even more, considering the things they had in common… But she couldn’t. Dawn was breaking several rules just doing this and actually <b>entering</b> the Sector? Not possible. This kind of contact was the most she would ever get and in the end, she would be the only one to remember it.</p>
<p>Dawn’s voice was low and tinged with melancholy despite her best efforts, “Yeah…” A new kind of silence settled on them, sad and regretful and too thick to easily dispel.</p>
<p>Dawn was contemplating what to say next to cheer Starwish and herself up, when there was a ripple through the blank dream-scape around them and their surroundings tinged a musical gold. Dawn immediately felt the pull to retract from Starwish’s subconscious, but resisted for the moment as both femmes stood up, trying to determine the source of the new disturbance.</p>
<p>A voice echoed all around them, “Star? Star, are yah okay?” The golden color tinted and swirled with different colors and shades and Dawn realized that Jazz was trying to contact Starwish.</p>
<p>“He must have noticed your emotions and lack of holographic fluxes over your bond. I should go.” Starwish whirled to face Dawn as the golden femme said that, a multitude of emotions flickering across her faceplate as Dawn started to step away.</p>
<p>Starwish lunged forward, servo reaching out but instinctively not touching, “Wait!”</p>
<p>Jazz’s voice was getting louder, a silhouette starting to form in the distance as he tried to wake up Starwish, “Star? <b>Star</b>?”</p>
<p>Dawn shook her helm, “You should go to him before he gets worried. Go on, go wake up.”</p>
<p>Starwish looked from Dawn to the spot where the gold was brightest then back before seeming to brace herself. Stepping closer to Dawn, Starwish cupped a servo in the air just centimeters from the mental projection of Dawn’s faceplate. Determination filled dual-colored optics and a certainty, a will, that made Dawn shiver filled Starwish’s voice, “I won’t forget you forever. I will find a way to pull memories of you from my subconscious. I’ll find a way to speak with you again on <b>my </b>terms. <b>I swear it</b>.”</p>
<p>Blue the color of pure energon and the sky of Earth swirled out from Starwish’s pedes, filling the dream-scape around them and for a moment, Dawn could see it, what Starwish would become, what Matron Prehnite had seen in Starwish from the first time four lost beings had been knocked into HQ itself. The sight, coupled with the sheer resolve in the promise made Dawn’s spark stutter and she whispered, “Why?” <em>Why promise me that? Why me? I’m just a stranger who speaks to you in your subconscious. You don’t even know if I’m </em><b><em>real</em></b><em>.</em></p>
<p>Starwish flashed one quick, brilliant smile, “Lots of reasons. Because you saved my life. Because you came to see me even when you shouldn’t have … and because we’re friends.”</p>
<p><em>Friends.</em> Three meetings counting this one, and they were … friends? “I…”</p>
<p>Jazz’s voice rang louder and his silhouette briefly solidified as he called more persistently for his sparkmate, worry starting to bleed into his voice. Starwish pulled away abruptly, rushing back to wakefulness and to her sparkmate’s call and suddenly Dawn was standing in the shadowzone, a servo hovering over Starwish’s helm, something wet trickling down her left cheek plating.</p>
<p>Dawn stepped back slowly, servo falling to her side as she watched Starwish sleepily wake up and greet Jazz, who smiled back weakly at her. Dawn backed away, knowing it was time to give them privacy. Just before she phased through the door, Dawn wiped away the tear that had escaped her optic and whispered, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>It was just a whisper, the barest sound escaping her vocalizer, but for split second after she said it, Starwish’s gaze flickered away from her sparkmate and locked with Dawn’s. Dawn’s world seemed to freeze, the moment stretching for an eternity as she thought for one spark-stopping moment that Starwish could somehow see through the veil and into the shadowzone. Could see <b>her</b>. Then Starwish’s gaze returned to her sparkmate, giving no indication she had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary and Dawn hastily left, determined to return to HQ before anyone noticed her absence.</p>
<p>She was halfway down the hall of leading out of the medbay when a crisp, feminine voice asked her, “Dawn. Just what brings you out of Iacon’s medbay?”</p>
<p>Dawn froze, doorwings jerking high in surprise before drooping with guilt and dread as she turned to face the owner of the voice, “Andromeda…” <em>scrap.</em></p>
<p>Andromeda raised an optical ridge knowingly, well acquainted with Dawn’s tendency to bend, break, or loophole the rules when it suited her, “If I went to listen in on Starwish’s conversation just now, what are the chances I would hear her puzzling over a strange holographic flux?”</p>
<p>Dawn shifted her pedes, doorwings flicking rebelliously, “No chance at all. She’s talking with Jazz about their new … situation.”</p>
<p>Andromeda’s optic ridge crept a little higher and she gave a skeptical noise, “Oh really.”</p>
<p>Dawn scowled, “Really. I was only here to check on her. With almost the entire force back at HQ, I thought someone should check up on how things are going in at least this Sector.” Crossing her arms over her chest plates, Dawn deflected the subject, “What about you? I would have thought you would be having a high-grade back at HQ in honor of Ultra Magnus’s adopted spark-child bonding.”</p>
<p>Andromeda stared at her sternly for a few moments longer before her posture relaxed and she allowed the subject change, “I came to congratulate Ultra Magnus on Starwish’s bonding, even if he can’t … hear me…” Something flashed through Andromeda’s optics, deep and sad and endlessly lonely and Dawn instinctively stepped closer to offer comfort.</p>
<p>Wrapping her arms quickly around Andromeda in a hug, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Andromeda returned the hug warmly, one servo absently petting Dawn’s helm as she replied, “Don’t be. I made my choice, a choice that helped save the lives of the two I care most about. Besides, I’ve watched him over these last twelve vorns. Even as the war grows ever darker, his spark remains bright, in no small part due to Starwish’s presence. I am happy for them both.”</p>
<p>Dawn pulled away and studied Andromeda’s face for any sign of lingering sadness before wiggling her doorwings mischievously, “Is Ultra Magnus happy?”</p>
<p>Andromeda pressed her lips together in a way that suggested she was suppressing laughter, “<b>No</b>. But as the humans say, he will ‘come around’ eventually. All he really needs is a good talking-to from Starwish and the ability to give Jazz the customary threats every parent makes to their child’s significant other.”</p>
<p>Dawn hummed quietly, her thoughts inadvertently drifting to her own Opi and how he would react if she was in Starwish’s position. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling slightly at the overdramatic images of doom and terror the thought provoked. Shaking her helm, Dawn fell in step with Andromeda as the two finally started to walk again, leaving Iacon behind and making their way leisurely back to HQ.</p>
<p>Cocking her helm to one side, Dawn asked suddenly, “Would you have made death threats if I was in Starwish’s position?”</p>
<p>Andromeda glanced down at Dawn knowingly, “It would depend on what mech you had bonded so dramatically and dangerously to. Now, if it was that cute praxian from Sector-”</p>
<p>Dawn felt energon tint her cheeks bright blue as she frantically waved her servos, “I told you that there’s nothing between us! Especially now…”</p>
<p>The last part was a sad mutter and Andromeda became serious again. Laying a servo gently on Dawn’s shoulder, she answered, “What Starwish did was immensely brave and I rejoice that she has found her One. But <b>no</b> parent, human or cybertronian, adoptive or CNA-related, would ever react calmly if their child was placed in such a situation. Even if it weren’t death threats being issued after the fact, there would certainly be shouting of some kind.”</p>
<p>Dawn hummed faintly as their surroundings faded to the familiar curls of silver energy instead of the towering buildings and busy hallways of Iacon, “Should I be worried?”</p>
<p>Andromeda shook her helm, “No. Like I said before, Magnus will come around. Frankly, it is the reaction of Ratchet and the Twinlings’ guardians that I am more concerned over.”</p>
<p>Dawn thought of the retaliatory pranks of the Twins and the infamous temper of the Autobot CMO and winced, “I am very glad I am not Jazz or Starwish right now.”</p>
<p>Andromeda threw back her helm and laughed, “As am I, Dawn, as am I.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish’s optics fluttered open, some part of her processor struggling to grasp at an already fading memory that lay just beyond her reach. A dream perhaps, or a forgotten hope … <em>a promise. I promised.</em> Before she could ask herself what she had promised, to whom, or even why, Jazz’s hesitant murmur drew her to full consciousness, “Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish tilted her helm back, strangely unsurprised to see Jazz there and realize she was in his lap with his arms wrapped around her, “Jazz. Hi…” It was a weak greeting and they both knew it, but Jazz gave her a tiny smile anyway, something akin to relief flooding across the brilliant golden bridge spanning their two sparks. The sensation of feeling across her new bond made all of her memories of the battle come surging to the fore. Starwish ducked her helm and pressed against Jazz to reassure herself that he was actually there, “You’re okay. I … I was worried. I thought … I thought I’d lost you.”</p>
<p>Jazz held her just a bit tighter as he murmured, “You saved me.” His helm dipped down to press against hers, his vents gusting warm air over her faceplates as he sighed, “I … why…?” A rush of emotions and half-formed thoughts washed over her from their bond and Starwish shivered slightly at the sensation. It was deeper than her bond with Ultra Magnus. It reached farther, revealed more, connected them more than she’d ever imagined possible despite her close bond with her guardian. It was less than a few cycles old and already it was stronger than her bond with Ultra Magnus had ever been.</p>
<p>For split klik, as she processed the depth of the new bond and its sheer strength, she thought she sensed another presence in the room, watching her with a warm gaze. It was the same sensation she had come to listen to during her cyber-ninja training, the instinct to look over her shoulder because something in the air itself was not quite normal. Instinctively, she glanced at the door, her optics lingering on the spot where her instincts were convinced someone was supposed to be standing before looking away with a slight shake of her helm.</p>
<p>Focusing back on Jazz, she reached up with a servo, and cupped the back of Jazz’s helm, nudging it down so they were touching forehelms again, trying to soothe him as she gathered her own thoughts for a response, “I was going to say yes.”</p>
<p>Confusion rippled across to her in a wordless question and Starwish whispered brokenly, “I was going to say yes to courting you, bonding with you. The beginning of the cycle after the ceremony, I … I talked things over with Hardwire and I realized that you were right. I was your One and you were mine and in the end that was the only thing that mattered between us. But when I went to find you, you had gone off on that mission for three metacycles. Then you finally came back and … and I was losing you.”</p>
<p>Her vocalizer laced slightly with stress-static as memories of her terror, her abyssal grief when she realized that Jazz had taken a fatal injury, slithered across to Jazz. Jazz’s vents stuttered at the feelings and Starwish pushed on weakly, “I couldn’t lose you. Not when I’d just realized how much you mean to me. Not when … not…” Her own vents hitched as a tear rolled down her cheek plate. “Then I realized I could still save you and I just … acted.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s visor was gone, letting her stare directly at his optics as he murmured back, “You could have been offlined with me. If anything had gone wrong-”</p>
<p>Starwish tugged lightly on their bond to silence him and asked flatly, “Would you have done any different Jazz? If I had been the one offlining in your arms and it came down to either risking the Well for the both of us or being left without your One for the rest of time?”</p>
<p>The recoiling emotion was a more emphatic no than the one that slipped from Jazz’s lips and Starwish used one servo to wipe away her tears before resting it on Jazz’s chest plates. For a long moment, there was silence between them. A silence filled with rapidly transferred emotions, impressions, and half-thoughts across their new bond that formed a much more in-depth debate than any normal words could have expressed.</p>
<p>In the breems that passed without words, the two comforted each other, argued with one another, pleaded for forgiveness and offered it in return without hesitation. Their situation was strange and new and terrifying, yet as the soundless conversation continued, deepened into a multi-layered communication that transcended anything else either had ever experienced before, the fear vanished. The awkwardness Starwish had expected from them both became nonexistent. The tears and accusations Jazz had been bracing for never came.</p>
<p>They had not courted first, but they’d already known each other inside and out. Known the habits, jokes, tics, and talents of the other as if it were their own. They had bonded under completely unorthodox and dangerous circumstances, but aside from regretting the danger, the near loss, they could already not imagine being separated from the other.</p>
<p>They were two halves of a whole that was always meant to be, and while they were by no means a perfect couple now, that sense of belonging went a long way to smoothing the path before them.</p>
<p>On some unspoken agreement, an understanding of what Jazz had missed and Starwish had been too busy to witness during their bonding, both opened their ends of the bond fully. In sync, they stretched out, whispering and exchanging, questioning and explaining. They did not bare their sparks again, but that wasn’t necessary for what they wanted to do. While baring their sparks had merged their two songs into one, now they were freely examining each note and bar, each scale and slide. It was instinctive, something that should have happened during the bonding process, but had been delayed because of the urgency of the situation.</p>
<p>Jazz timidly offered up his first meeting with Prowl, the mech who would later become his Amica Endura. Starwish showed him their own first meeting through her optics. Curiosity flickered and questioned from them both and more memories were exchanged. Jazz as a DJ, unparalleled and peerless in his art. Starwish as an organic, one of so many other girls in a class, learning ballet from their strict teacher.</p>
<p>Jazz’s shock was palpable across their bond at the first exchange of an organic memory. While he had long ago come to terms with her memories as a human, he had never seen them. Never experienced them. Never imagined just how different they would be.</p>
<p>His curiosity was vivid and Starwish smiled faintly as she indulged him and shyly showed him more. For an instant, Jazz felt grass underneath his fingers, breathed in cold mountain air, stared up at an impossibly blue and starless sky. He tasted ice cream and huddled under a fuzzy blanket as human femmes who were both familiar yet strangers insisted on watching a scary movie while attending a sleepover. He felt his entire body submerge under a liquid he had never known existed before and felt instead of panic, confidence and pleasure at the submersion despite the tightness of lungs he had never had.</p>
<p>For just a moment, Jazz experienced life as a human. Not everything of course, but the memories Starwish held closest, cherished the most.</p>
<p>In return, Starwish got to experience life on Cybertron before the War. She got to twist knobs and adjust controls on a music mixer while composing unique music only she could create. She experienced what it was like to feel her tires rush over the roads and not worry about war or attacks or anything else save reaching her destination and performing her function. She raised her servos above her helm in victory while the crowd below her danced and whirled and cheered under the pulsing lights of a lunarclub. She listened carefully while a mech, strange yet familiar and instinctively safe, taught her to hack locks, stay hidden, and think circles around anyone who would take her freedom away from her.</p>
<p>She learned what different Praxian doorwing positions meant and wandered amidst the crystal gardens with a friend who was also her unknowing greatest rival. She fought against a corrupt system and defended those trapped in worse situations than her’s the only way she knew how. She saw Optimus Prime for the first time and knew, in an instant, that this was a mech she would follow to the Well of AllSparks and back. This was a mech who would bring the kind of change she had fought for vorns to achieve.</p>
<p>He still had his secrets, secrets she would not ask him to bear to her. But for her sake, for his mate, Jazz showed her some of the memories that had made him who he was.</p>
<p>In an instant, the two halves understood the other and gave a single, deep secret on top of all the memories now coexisting between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her name had been Melody. A former human, she was now Starwish of Clan Magni. A cybertronian, a cyber-ninja, a medic, a One.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had had many names over the vorns, from Jazz to Meister to alias’s long abandoned and forgotten. But the title he held most secret, most dear, the name even Prowl had never gotten to know, was Jazz, creation and heir of Tigre, the long-perished greatest thief and assassin in all of Cybertron’s history.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The secrets, one so simple yet so deeply, deeply personal it had been guarded from the world, the other dark and hidden for the sake of survival and fear of betrayal, were exchanged, acknowledged, then hidden away in the processor of the other. Never to be shared with another being.</p>
<p>Starwish blinked back to reality, their bond settling and thrumming even stronger than before. Jazz exhaled softly, closing his optics for a klik before opening them and locking gazes with her. There was an unspoken question, a desire that he wished fulfilled but would refrain if she did not desire it as well.</p>
<p>Starwish just smiled at him, reached up, and pulled his helm down the last few inches to hers, pressing her lips gently against his in answer. She was tentative, unsure, waiting for Jazz to tell her if he liked it or not. She felt him smile against her lips and suddenly one of his servos was pulling her helm closer to his, tilting it gently for a better angle as he whispered over their bond, <em>“Not bad, Melody. Here, let me show you how it’s done.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish blushed a bit as he took over their kiss, the servo not holding her helm absently stroking her hip and side as he purred.</p>
<p>Perhaps another would have mentally waxed poetic about how wonderful it was, about how giddily happy it made her and how it made her feel like she was flying. But, in perhaps a better testament to her first kiss with her mate, Starwish found all of her skill with words, all her talent with descriptive story-telling, leaving her in an instant. She closed her optics and leaned into it slightly, all other thoughts vanishing under Jazz’s kiss and touch and the boundless affection flooding over their bond.</p>
<p>When they finally pulled away, Starwish panting slightly out of some ineffectual but unshakable human instinct, Jazz just grinned hugely at her. His optics twinkled with a multitude of loving and joyful emotions, “Primus. I’ve been wanting to do that since that first <em>Christmas</em> party.”</p>
<p>Starwish giggled, “Then what stopped you?”</p>
<p>Jazz leaned in for another kiss, pausing just long enough to answer, “I think it was because of the threatening growl and hateful glare your brother and Opi were giving me respectively.” Kissing her again, he positively gloated, <em>“But I’m pretty certain they can’t complain about impropriety anymore.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish broke off the kiss in order to laugh, the sheer waves of smugness radiating from the sentence making it somehow hilarious. Jazz just buried his face against her neck cables and smiled, still radiating smug satisfaction over their bond, all thoughts and worries about the future forgotten in the glow of being whole and happy with his One.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone who correctly guesses all the numbered agents in this chap gets a virtual cookie. :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0068"><h2>68. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(8 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track huddled by the ventilation grate, his focus alternating from the datapad in his lap to his art subject down below. It was a mech he couldn’t recall seeing in the Pub before and, considering how often Fast Track now hid himself in high corners once he’d conquered his fear of heights, that was unusual. Even if he didn’t know their names, Fast Track could recognize most, if not all, of the Autobots stationed in Iacon’s main base by sight. He had drawn them often enough.</p>
<p>The mech he was currently sketching out however, was a complete unknown. He was of average height, no taller than Sunstreaker, with silver-white primary plating and pitch black secondary plating coloration that reminded Fast Track vaguely of Prowl. Unlike Prowl, the mech was neither Praxian nor acted stiffly amid the pub crowd. The new mech moved with a liquid-like grace and had a relaxed but sharp gaze Fast Track had seen before in Buffer, Whitestrike, and Mirage.</p>
<p>Currently, the new mech was sitting in an empty corner of the pub, with his backplates to the wall and his optics sweeping idly over the crowd as he sipped on his energon cube. It was a corner that was partially shadowed because of the location of the pub lights, and was also very close to Fast Track’s own hiding spot. So close that Fast Track had to almost press his faceplates against the grating in order to clearly see his newest art subject.</p>
<p>The mech’s antennae-like audio amplifiers flicked faintly back and forth from the sounds of the pub and Fast Track frowned as he struggled to get the shape of them correctly. He was used to drawing Optimus’s, Jazz’s, and Starwish’s audio amplifiers, but this mech’s amplifiers has a slightly more sharp and angled appearance than those. Pursing his lips at the developing drawing, Fast Track looked down to compare it with his art subject and found himself locking gazes with the new mech’s hard blue optics. Automatically, Fast Track snapped his optics shut, turning his datapad over at the same time in order to cut off any light in the ventilation shaft that would give him away.</p>
<p>It was a trick their dad Sideswipe had taught them for when they were setting up a prank in dark areas. No unnecessary motion, just shut off all light sources and the darkness would hide them until the scrutiny went away. Zipline and he had pranked so often over the vorns, especially from the vents, that it was a habit by now to simply hold still and snap his optics shut when he was at risk of being spotted. Carefully counting off two whole breems, Fast Track dared to open one optic and look down again.</p>
<p>Sure enough, the new mech had gone back to watching the pub crowd, showing no signs that he suspected Fast Track’s presence. Inwardly, Fast Track huffed a sigh of relief, some mechs took offense to Fast Track “spying” on them. Even though he, Zipline, and their dads had assured said mechs that he was only up there to practice drawing, they still insisted Fast Track stop doing it. Something about not liking their conversations to be overheard. Fast Track had never seen the problem, if it was really private, they could just talk somewhere more private, or use a private com channel.</p>
<p>What did it matter that Fast Track overheard some of their talk? It wasn’t like he cared or would tell anyone. Why would he care about the location and numbers of illegal high-grade stills? Or that Hot Shot was planning an unsanctioned gambling game three cycles from now in storage shed 25b? Or that one of the Autobot flyer squadrons liked to hide extra rations up in the external nooks of Iacon’s various spires where no one other than a flyer could get to and hardly anyone else knew where to look? All he wanted to do was practice drawing in a quiet place where no one else would disturb him or laugh at his quiet hobby.</p>
<p>The only time he had ever repeated what he’d overheard the time when he’d been crawling around in the vents to set up a prank and had heard the security mech Tyre trying to convince one of Elita-1’s femmes to do something with him that she didn’t want to do. The femme, Lickety-Split, had slapped Tyre and escaped to tell her superiors, and when Fast Track had heard from Sunstreaker that Tyre would get off with a warning for lack of evidence, he had spoken up about what he’d seen and overheard.</p>
<p>Tyre had been put in the brig, demoted, and then reassigned to another base for that incident, and now some of the mechs seemed to think Fast Track would tattle on them for no reason.</p>
<p>Fast Track wasn’t sure if the new mech would react badly like that, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He remained hidden there for a while longer, carefully sketching the new mech and being extra cautious about remaining unnoticed, when Zipline appeared in the vent just behind him with a flicker of impatience, <em>“Are you done yet?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track looked down at his picture, then at his art subject, then at Zipline and shrugged reluctantly, <em>“I guess so … I can color him in later. What were you doing?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline waved a servo dismissively before leading Fast Track back through the vents toward their guardian’s quarters, <em>“Talking with a bunch of different mechs about their functions. You know, trying to figure out which one would be best.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track scowled faintly as he carefully dragged his datapad along with him. With their upgrade coming up, they would soon be expected to go into training to join one of the various military functions in the Autobot army. Fast Track hated just thinking about it, and he got the distinct impression that their dads hated thinking about it too, but Zipline was excited and they <b>did</b> have to pick which function to specialize in so that Optimus could start making arrangements for a teacher.</p>
<p>According to Sunstreaker, they normally would have been turned over to a drill sergeant and been given basic training, but there had been no new recruits for the war effort in vorns and the training programs for new recruits had been shut down because of that. Plus, Optimus was firm on allowing Zipline and Fast Track to choose which part of the Autobot army they joined for themselves and then receive training based on that.</p>
<p>Zipline was very much in favor of the front-line functions. Things like Front-Liner, Brute, Guardian, Scout, any function that tied him to what Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Hardwire did. Anything that would get him in the thick of the fighting. Fast Track, on the other servo, adamantly refused those functions and argued in favor of the Science caste, Engineering, the Seekers, and even the Tactical Division run by Prowl.</p>
<p>For the first time in vorns, the twinlings had experienced vicious and repeated arguments over which one to join. They couldn’t join separate functions, not as split-spark twins, but their desires were so different on the matter that they could find almost no middle ground. So far, the only thing they had managed to agree on was that neither of them wanted to join the Medics.</p>
<p>They had managed to avoid fighting with each other the past few cycles by simply not talking about the problem, acting as if nothing had changed between them, but now it sounded as if Zipline was going to bring the issue up again.</p>
<p>Dropping out of a vent and into an empty room below, Fast Track changed the subject in an effort to stave off a fight, “There’s a new mech in Iacon Main, I’ve never seen him before.” Fast Track sent a quick mental image of the mech to Zipline through their bond, silently asking if Zipline recognized him.</p>
<p>Zipline paused, curiosity stealing onto his features as he shook his helm, “Never seen him before. I wonder what his function is? Think we should go ask?”</p>
<p>Fast Track shuffled his pedes a bit, “I … guess so. Maybe later, though. I don’t know how friendly he’ll be. He doesn’t seem very talkative either. Couldn’t we go talk to Fermium or Que instead?” Fast Track loved the two wacky mechs, they were fascinating to talk to and neither minded when Fast Track asked questions or tried to help them. Even Zipline, with his general detest for all things mathematical or formula-like, loved hanging out with Que.</p>
<p>The two of them were half the reason Fast Track wanted to be a Scientist or an Engineer so badly. Que could make the most amazing things, even if they usually blew up later, and told the twinlings all sorts of fascinating trivia about engineering. How to disassemble various ordinary items and use their parts for much more interesting, and explosive, purposes. How to reassemble and repair tech so that it worked better and faster. Que could build, or rebuild, anything from an energon dispenser to an alt mode model to a plasma cannon. Half of Fast Track’s and Zipline’s pranking ideas came from things Que had taught the two of them and most of their pranking materials had been salvaged from Que’s towering piles of random junk.</p>
<p>There were times when Fast Track could almost convince Zipline about becoming an Engineer with a science sub-speciality like Que, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe didn't know that the twinlings still visited the explosion-prone mech and that made using Que as an example of awesomeness difficult.</p>
<p>Zipline scowled faintly and shook his helm, “Nah. Not in the mood. Besides, Que is on probation ‘cause of his last experiment, remember? He’ll get in trouble if we visit.”</p>
<p>Feeling a touch stubborn, Fast Track pushed, “What about Fermium?”</p>
<p>Zipline crossed his arms over his chest plates and shook his helm more firmly, “No. He’ll just mess with all of those funny-colored tubes again and say stuff I don’t understand. Let’s go see if Cliffjumper’s back yet.” A brief staring match ensued between the twinlings before Fast Track submitted with a faint sigh and followed Zipline out of the room and into the halls.</p>
<p>Zipline didn’t like Fermium. He hadn’t minded the mech at first, but now that Fast Track and he were squabbling over functions so often, Zipline couldn’t stand the rambling mech. To Zipline, Fermium was a slightly more fun version of an incredibly boring function that used five-syllable words even Sunstreaker didn’t understand.</p>
<p>Personally, Fast Track found him even more fascinating that Que. While Que built interesting things, blew things up, then built new interesting things, Fast Track had long ago learned that everything he made was from readily acquired material. It was cool, and he enjoyed it, but it wasn’t the same as Fermium’s specialty.</p>
<p>In Fast Track’s mind, while Que was an inventor, Fermium was a <b>magician</b>. Fermium worked not only with parts and lug nuts and bolts, but with chemicals and fluids and raw metals that somehow all combined together to make new, grander things. The small, neon-colored mech seemed to know every possible chemical reaction between any element and every other element including what happened if you either froze those two elements together or set them fire.</p>
<p>Fermium could melt metals, create metals, make solvents, paints, cleaners, smoke bombs, primitive signal flares, and a hundred other things … all by just combining or removing different elements. It as like Sunstreaker’s art, only much more useful and dangerous. Best part of it all, he was happy to explain it step-by-step to Fast Track. Of course, Prowl hadn’t been too happy the time Fast Track had put that newfound knowledge to use in turning his paint neon pink and lime green instead of black and white, but still.</p>
<p>Fast Track sighed longingly, he’d been hoping to visit Fermium and see what else he could learn from the mech that cycle. However, Zipline clearly wasn’t in the mood to visit the slightly quirky mech and Fast Track wasn’t in the mood for another argument. As they scurried down the halls, taking care to avoid the looming, bustling pedes and legs of much taller mechs, Zipline paused, pulling Fast Track to the wall to avoid being in the way as he hissed over their twin bond, <em>“Hey! Isn’t that the new mech you were drawing earlier?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track looked up and around in the direction Zipline was mentally indicating just in time to see the new white and black mech walk leisurely around the corner of another hall. Fast Track blinked once in surprise, <em>“Yeah, it is. I wonder why he’s leaving the rec room so soon? Mechs usually stay there for joors if they can…”</em></p>
<p>Zipline tugged excitedly on Fast Track’s servo, interest in finding Cliffjumper completely forgotten for the moment, <em>“Let’s follow him and see if he’ll talk to us!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track hesitated uneasily, <em>“I don’t know, Zip. What if he’s mean? Or busy? Dads probably wouldn’t want us approaching a stranger either, even if he is an Autobot.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline rolled his optics and tugged Fast Track along, <em>“If he’s mean, we can run away. If he’s busy, we’ll just follow him and see what he’s doing without letting him know. As for meeting a stranger, there’s lots of Bots we do know in the hallways, if he makes trouble, we’ll have </em><b><em>plenty</em></b><em> of backup!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track let himself be dragged reluctantly along, his own curiosity beginning to gnaw at him but his caution still stubbornly holding on, <em>“But-”</em></p>
<p>Impatiently, Zipline reverted to their original twin speak, “It’ b’ fi’! Do’ b’ su’ a scar’ bo’!”</p>
<p>The insinuation that Fast Track was a scaredy bot successfully pushed down the last of his caution and, with a huff, Fast Track began to scurry willingly beside his twin in search of the new bot. It wasn’t too hard to catch up with the mech, they’d been exploring and learning Iacon’s many hallways for twenty vorns now, they could practically map it out in their recharge by this point, ventilation shafts included.</p>
<p>Besides, after spending so long seeing and memorizing everyone’s legs, pedes, and tread, the new bot’s glossy white legs and soft, unfamiliar tread stuck out like a seeker among Grimlock’s gang. Confidently, they trailed after the mech, for now content to follow him rather than confront him. Scurrying in amongst the taller bots and sticking to the walls when the traffic got thicker, Fast Track and Zipline followed him deeper and deeper into the base.</p>
<p>Fast Track glanced briefly up at a window as they passed it, scanning the skyline it revealed to help pinpoint their location, <em>“We’re heading toward the officers’ offices.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline nodded absently as the new mech turned another corner and temporarily disappeared from their view, <em>“Yeah. That probably means he’s heading to report to somebody. I’ll bet we can figure out his function if we can spot which office he goes into!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track hummed faintly, about to make a further response when they rounded the corner and abruptly felt servos clasp the backs of their neck plating. Squawking indignantly, the two squirmed and wiggled in the air, trying to free themselves from the humiliating position. They hadn’t been grabbed and held like that since they were around thirty-six vorns.</p>
<p>“Well, well, well. You two must be the twin younglings I’ve heard so much about.” The deep, slightly clipped voice brought the twins struggles up short. Blinking, Fast Track looked up at the bot holding them and found his optics instantly locking with the same icy blue ones that had nearly spotted him in the ventilation shaft earlier. It was the new mech.</p>
<p>Zipline kicked out slightly in irritation, “Oi, put us down!”</p>
<p>The mech’s helm tilted slightly to one side, ignoring Zipline’s demand as he asked near lazily, “Now, why are two younglings like you, following a mech like me? Don’t your Guardians or handlers know where you are?”</p>
<p>Zipline cross his arms aggressively, “We don’t need a handler! We’re old enough to go around base wherever we want!”</p>
<p>The mech’s helm went back to being perfectly straight, his optic shutters drooping into a deadpan expression instead, “So you chose to stalk a mech you have never met before and have no clue as to the temperament of.”</p>
<p>It was clearly a statement, spoken in the same kind of tone Sunstreaker used when Sideswipe had said something particularly stupid, but Fast Track treated it like a question, “We were curious. You’re new and we wanted to know what your position in the Autobot army is.”</p>
<p>The mech snorted through his vents and set them down, “Next time, try either being actually subtle, or just ask. Don’t clatter down the hallways like two glitched out turbo-puppies.” Without saying anything else, the mech turned and resumed his trek down the hall, apparently dismissing their presence.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track chased after him, Zipline calling, “Hey, wait!”</p>
<p>The mech sighed faintly, not bothering to look back at them as he rumbled, “I’m busy, youngling. Go bother someone else.”</p>
<p>Jogging in order to keep up with his long strides, Zipline demanded, “At least tell us your name!”</p>
<p>For a moment, the mech paused and Fast Track thought he would answer the question, but then the mech seemed to blur and by the time the small traces of static had disappeared from Fast Track’s vision, both his and Zipline’s backs were lightly magnetized to the wall with the strange mech walking calmly away. Zipline squawked indignantly, “Hey! <b>Hey</b>! What are you doing?”</p>
<p>The mech waved a servo lazily over his shoulder, “Making sure you don’t follow me. Have fun on the wall for the next five breems.” Then, without waiting for Zipline or Fast Track to say anything more, he had rounded the corner and was gone. Fast Track hung there in stunned silence, trying to process just how … unbelievably rude and <b>stupid</b> the new mech was.</p>
<p>Zipline hissed faintly, “H’ pra’ u’…”</p>
<p>Fast Track slid his gaze over to his twin, silently exchanging opinions and ideas through their gazes alone. Finally, Fast Track grinned, his inner imp rising to the fore, “Pa’ ba’ ti’?”</p>
<p>Zipline’s scowl morphed into a sly smirk, “O’ <b>‘tely</b>. Furni’ swa’, neo’ repa’, glit’, ‘ment mal’, ‘r poli’?”</p>
<p>Fast Track bared his denta vindictively, “Al’ o’ the’.”</p>
<p>Zipline nodded approvingly and they silently exchanged a high-five to seal the plan. The new mech was going to <b>regret</b> brushing off the Terror Twins’ younglings. Deeply. Regret.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Doubletake stood at perfect attention, waiting patiently for his superior to finish assimilating the report he had just given. Jazz idly tapped his fingers on his desk, lip plates tugging downward slightly in contemplation for almost a full breem before querying, “You’re absolutely sure o’ this?”</p>
<p>Despite knowing that Jazz was more speaking aloud than actually questioning him, Doubletake nodded firmly, “Yes, First Lieutenant, I am absolutely certain.”</p>
<p>Jazz sighed faintly as he shifted to perch on his desk rather than sit in the chair like a normal mech, “Well, thah ain’t good. Not good at all. Here Ah was thinkin’ thah Megatron was just gettin’ greedy.” Tilting his helm briefly in Doubletake’s direction, Jazz made an idle motion for his subordinate to relax.</p>
<p>Doubletake scoffed faintly as he shifted into a more at-ease position, “Megatron has always been greedy, now he’s just being desperate about it.”</p>
<p>Jazz resumed tapping his fingers on his desk, “Explains a few things, sure enough. But it’s not tha best strategy. Even if he overruns and claims tha Chiat energon reservoirs, he’ll have wasted too much energon taking them for it ta matter. Then again, Megsy always was spiteful. It’d probably be worth it ta him just ta make sure we didn’t have tha reservoirs anymore.”</p>
<p>Doubletake shrugged fractionally, the assessment was sound, so there was really no point in adding to it. They both knew that Megatron was indeed very spiteful when he wanted to be, Doubletake even more personally than Jazz. Underneath his armor, the old scars on his protoform, cuts and lashes that had not been treated properly until too late, throbbed just a bit in memory. With an internal scowl, he firmly pushed those thoughts away as irrelevant to the current situation.</p>
<p>Jazz made the odd, almost musical sound he’d taken to using the past eight vorns when he was coming to a decision, and said, “Ah’ll bring this up with tha Prime an’ Prowl. Oh, an’ you’re on leave for tha next three metacycles.”</p>
<p>Doubletake twitched faintly in surprise, “…Sir?”</p>
<p>Jazz flapped a servo at him as the smaller mech jumped off of the desk, “You heard meh. You’ve been taking ta many missions one after tha other, you’re gonna get yourself offlined at tha rate you’re going an’ you’re too valuable ta lose like thah. So, unless an emergency comes up, you’re off tha mission roster for three metacycles. Quickshadow’s been complaining about her medical leave anyway.”</p>
<p>Doubletake withheld a protest, he took so many missions because he was needed on the field, because he needed to do everything he could for the Autobots, because he needed to <b>atone</b>. Not because he was suicidal or stupid or reckless. He didn’t need any leave time, he didn’t <b>want</b> any leave time. Especially not when he would have to stay in Iacon, where every mech outside of the Special Ops would shoot him not-at-all-subtle looks and exchange rumors over his past and how untrustworthy they thought he was.</p>
<p>But, being insubordinate to the only Autobot officer that had seen fit to give him a second chance would be even worse that just accepting the leave time. Besides, Jazz probably thought he was being nice by offering time off of the mission roster. Carefully hiding his distaste, Doubletake saluted his superior and, after being absently dismissed, left to go find something to do.</p>
<p>It took Doubletake all of three hallways and five breems to realize that, outside of mission prepping, he didn’t <b>have</b> anything to do. He hadn’t had a real hobby in vorns, and he had already stopped by the rec room for his mandatory refuel/be-gawked-at-time. Reading was an option, but he certainly didn’t want to read the same datapad for three metacycles straight. The simulation rooms were no longer a challenge to him and had the risk of being observed. He had never seen the point in simply “going for a drive” without a purpose or destination in mind, and socializing outside of the Special Ops was … no. Just no.</p>
<p>Jazz could pull it off, as could a select few mechs and femmes who remembered how to smile and laugh without it being an infiltration ploy, but most of the Special Ops division were absolute recluses when not on mission for good reasons. Socializing with others was no longer pleasant once a mech had been in Special Ops long enough. It was hard to relax when you kept automatically delving for information or devising methods to slip poison into your conversation partner’s drink. Not because of suspicion or dislike, but just because it was a habit by then. A behavioral subroutine etched into one’s very core coding.</p>
<p>Even as he delved deeper into his thoughts, Doubletake found himself proving his own point by subconsciously cataloging every mech that passed within a certain radius of him and plotting how best to offline them should they attack. With a faint huff of his vents, Doubletake realized that he was going to have to clean his quarters. Again. Just to have something to do. <em>No doubt about it. The next few metacycles are going to be very, very long.</em></p>
<p>Doubletake continued to think that for the next five cycles as he fell into a near-robotic routine. He would clean his quarters, read a datapad he had already read to the point of memorization, go to the rec room for his energon/rumor monitoring session, train/be gawked at in the simulation rooms for several joors, circle back to his room to meticulously clean his equipment, recharge, then start all over again. His leave was just as boring, processor-numbing, and aggravating as he had thought it would be.</p>
<p>Until the cycle he returned from the rec room to discover that the ceiling of his quarters had traded places with the floor.</p>
<p>Doubletake stared blankly down at what should have been the floor. He then looked up at what should have been the ceiling, only was now equipped with all of his furniture. The furniture he had personally welded to the floor seventy vorns ago because he was tired of his old roommate rearranging everything. Looking back down at the bare surface that should have had his furniture, he noted that the small blaster scorch mark in the far-left corner of the ceiling he had never been able to quite scrub away was now seemingly staring back at him from the far-left corner of the floor.</p>
<p>Silently, he took a long step backward out of the doorway, allowing the door to slide shut in front of him and block his view. Resetting his optics, he counted off a breem and stepped forward again. The door slid open. The furniture was still on the ceiling, and the blaster-scorch mark was still on the floor.</p>
<p>Now that he was looking for them, so were the tiny puncture marks left behind by the knife-throwing habits of his long-ago-offlined roommate.</p>
<p>Resetting his optics again, Doubletake scanned the room for a hologram. When that came up clean, he ran a self-diagnostic to determine if he was overcharged or glitching. When that too came up clean, he cautiously crept further into the room to investigate. Five breems later, after scanning, tapping, touching, and examining the welds holding the furniture to the ceiling that were <b>identical to the ones he had done to the floor</b>, he wordlessly turned around and went to go get Buffer. Maybe Buffer could explain this new phenomena of ceiling-to-floor swaps.</p>
<p>He barely spared the other mechs in the hallway a glance as he hurried back to the rec room. Sweeping through the rec room doors, Doubletake made a straight line for the bar, ignoring the looks other mechs shot at him. Buffer looked up from where he was serving a customer, surprise flickering through his optics as he opened a private com so as to be heard over the noise, ::Doubletake? You were just here a few joors ago.::</p>
<p>Doubletake pressed his lip plates together tensely, ::Are there any new and unorthodox security measures or training exercises being used by Special Ops or the security division?::</p>
<p>Buffer chewed on his bottom lip plate in thought, ::…No. Not that I am aware.::</p>
<p>So, that was out then. It had been a slim chance anyway. Changing his line of thought, Doubletake asked, ::Then can you provide me with a list of names and trademarks of the pranksters currently on base?::</p>
<p>Buffer set his current customer’s drink on the bar and turned fully to Doubletake, ::That would take several joors worth of analysis, even if I didn’t include the sheer depth of creativity that is the Terror Twins. Why…?::</p>
<p>Doubletake vented slowly to remain calm, ::The furniture I welded to the floor seventy vorns ago is now stuck on the ceiling via identical welds. There are also a scorch and several small puncture marks on the floor that should be on the ceiling. It was not like that when I left my quarters at the beginning of the cycle, so some kind of outside interference must be involved.::</p>
<p>Buffer stared at him for several long breems, something akin to skepticism radiating off of him in waves. With a flash of impatience, Doubletake commed, ::Perhaps it would be better if you studied the event for yourself. Then you would better be able to explain?::</p>
<p>Buffer nodded slowly and came around the bar. Doubletake turned on his heel strut and left the rec room without a backward glance, Buffer following close behind. The walk back to Doubletake’s quarters was silent, Doubletake was not much of a conversationalist and Buffer seemed unsure as to what to say. Finally, after many stares in the halls from normal mechs, they arrived at the door to Doubletake’s quarters.</p>
<p>Buffer crossed his arms over his chest plating, “Alright then, let’s see this floor-to-ceiling swap of yours.” Doubletake frowned at his fellow Special Ops mech for a moment, <em>Is that laughter in his tone? Does he not believe me?</em></p>
<p>With a faint glower, Doubletake jabbed the security code of his room door into the pad and motioned for Buffer to enter first. The other mech tentatively padded in, Doubletake following a moment later.</p>
<p>The room was perfectly normal. The furniture was on the floor and the scorch and puncture marks were on the ceiling.</p>
<p>Doubletake stared, then blinked, then stared some more, “But … but…”</p>
<p>Buffer looked around the room, looked at Doubletake, looked thoughtfully at a section of ceiling in the room, then did the one thing Doubletake did not want him to do. He started to snigger. Doubletake gave a choked off noise of disbelief, “It was all reversed just a few breems ago…”</p>
<p>Buffer’s snigger grew to a rolling chorus of guffaws, his servos clasping his sides. Doubletake glared for the entire four breems it took Buffer to calm down. Once the other mech had his laughter under control, Doubletake growled out, “I don’t suppose you have an explanation for what transpired?”</p>
<p>Buffer smiled at him, mischief shining in every line of his frame and his two word reply, “I do.”</p>
<p>Doubletake mentally begged Primus for patience with his fellow Special Ops mech, “Is it classified?”</p>
<p>Buffer shook his helm, “No.”</p>
<p><em>Punching a mech of the same faction is not the Autobot way. Punching a mech of the same faction is not the Autobot way. Punching a mech of the same faction is not the Autobot way,</em> “Then would you share this explanation with me?”</p>
<p>Buffer snorted, “Not a chance.” Doubletake’s glower took on dangerous proportions and Buffer held up his servos in defense, “You were complaining just a few cycles ago about how boring being on leave was, weren’t you? So, here’s a project to occupy yourself with. Figure out who pranked you, how, and why.”</p>
<p>Doubletake deadpanned, “Without any prior clue as to their identity or the methods by which they performed their prank.” At Buffer’s nod, Doubletake twitched in frustration, “Would you be amendable to at least offering a hint to your fellow Special Ops member?”</p>
<p>Buffer’s grin was devilish by this point, “I can guarantee that you have met them before, while in Iacon main base.”</p>
<p><em>That … is the definition of unhelpful. There are thousands of mechs on base, all of whom I have “met” in some way or another.</em> Doubletake’s stare conveyed his thoughts to Buffer, who just shrugged and sauntered back out into the hallway, “Good luck.”</p>
<p>Doubletake glared at the closed door through which Buffer had disappeared before he sighed and moved to begin his investigation. At least he would have something to do for the next cycle or so it would take to identify and catch the prankster or pranksters.</p>
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<p>Outside and already far away in the hallway network, Buffer paused and looked up at the air vents, “Nice work, you two. Just remember to put Que’s invention back before it explodes, okay?”</p>
<p>Two pairs of blue optics blinked at him before there was a muttered assent and Buffer continued on his way, leaving the twinlings to grin at each other in the vents and high five.</p>
<p>Step one of pranking revenge was complete. Now it was time for the <b>real</b> fun to begin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0069"><h2>69. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(8 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Doubletake scrubbed at his armor with the vicious strength of the frustrated. It had been a metacycle and three cycles now since the floor-and-ceiling swap prank and the pranksters were still unidentified and at large.</p>
<p>More to the point, they were still at large and taking great pleasure in unleashing all Pit in the form of pranks upon him. In the metacycle since the start of his leave, Doubletake’s only non-report datapad had been magnetized to his servo for an entire cycle, had had obnoxious music blast over his com system on repeat for five joors, had onlined only able to speak backwards, and had been forced to wrestle his berth into submission a grand total of seven times because it would not stop rocking back and forth.</p>
<p>Also, his door was <b>still</b> talking back to him, even though he had checked it exactly eighty-two times for bugs, transmitters, or viruses, and had rewired it twice.</p>
<p>This cycle had started with yet another prank, albeit one almost more disturbing than any of the others. He had gone into recharge after triple-checking his new security measures and non-lethal traps, only to online and discover that the pranksters had struck again. This time. it was his armor they had targeted. Namely, all of the white paint had been changed to an optic-searing neon chartreuse while the black paint had been layered with a special polish that gave it a pinkish tinge. To round off the entire, humiliating, appearance change, the pranksters had applied patterned swirls of bright pink glitter over the chartreuse paint.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure what was more disturbing, the atrocious colors, or the fact that the pranksters had managed to apply it all without waking him from his recharge or triggering any of his new security measures. He would almost say that the newest prank was the most disturbing except for the fact that the talking backwards prank had required that the pranksters drug his energon without his notice.</p>
<p>Doubletake, now sitting waist deep in the soaking pool of the mech’s washracks, scowled down at the alterations to his armor that refused to come off. <em>What kind of paint and polish did they use? It’s barely reacting to the cleaning solution!</em> His mental complaints were interrupted by the sound of the washracks’ door sliding open to admit more mechs.</p>
<p>Doubletake raised his helm and glared at the newcomers, silently daring them to make a comment. First through the door was Mirage. His fellow Special Ops mech paused just long enough to take in the sight of Doubletake sitting in the soaking pool, completely unarmored and with said vandalized armor soaking in the cleaning solution all around him, and snorted softly before continuing toward the shower-heads.</p>
<p>Hound, trailing after Mirage, stopped in shock, stared at Doubletake for about half a breem, then relaxed. With a chuckle and a shake of his helm, Hound too moved around the soaking pool to stand underneath a shower-head.</p>
<p>The last two mechs rolled in, their synchronized movements marking them out as the infamous Terror Twins just as easily as their signature wheeled frames and differing paint jobs. Doubletake increased the potency of his glare. The Terror Twins were near the top of his suspect list because of their reputation for elaborate and continued pranks, but their position on the duty roster and watch schedule clashed repeatedly with his estimated times of when the pranks were set up and unleashed, so he did not outwardly accuse them of anything.</p>
<p>Frankly, he had no clues as to who the pranksters really were, aside from the fact that there had to be more than one in order to complete pranks of such complexity. That made the Terror Twins both more suspicious and less so, frustratingly. On the one servo, there were two of them and they were used to working in perfect synchrony with the other. On the other servo, all records and reports he had gleaned about their pranking escapades indicated a lack of subtly and a distinct need to brag about their pranks after the fact, an event which had not occurred over the past metacycle and three cycles.</p>
<p>The red twin, Sideswipe, glanced at him briefly then whipped his gaze back to Doubletake with incredulity, as if just now noticing Doubletake’s predicament. The mech’s mouth flopped open and he patted his twin’s shoulder plate frantically, ignoring Doubletake’s warning glare the entire time. The golden mech glanced at him, first with disinterest, then with a flicker of what Doubletake thought was pride. Suspicious, Doubletake grunted coldly, “See something you’re proud of?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe guffawed loudly at that, while Sunstreaker acted against his psychological profile and gave an actual, if small, smile, “Immensely.”</p>
<p>Doubletake narrowed his optics and made to stand up when Mirage commed him from across the washracks, ::It wasn’t them, Doubletake. They’ve been on night patrol with Hound and I for almost the entire lunar-cycle. Besides, when they adapt a victim’s armor, they never alter the paint, polish, <b>and</b> pattern it with glitter. Sideswipe doesn’t have the patience for it and Sunstreaker is too perfectionist to stand for the half-done job Sideswipe would make of it.::</p>
<p>Sitting down slowly, Doubletake queried in agitation, ::Then who <b>is</b> responsible for this prank and why would Sunstreaker claim to be ‘immensely’ proud?::</p>
<p>Mirage glanced over his shoulder at Doubletake, ::Ask them yourself.:: Doubletake shot Mirage a frustrated look, the entirety of Special Ops mechs regularly stationed in Iacon had been unhelpful to the extreme in the matter of tracking down the pranksters. He knew that they knew who was plaguing him, yet for some reason they refused to help him. He would have suspected it was petty revenge for his … background, but they had freely shared their own horror stories of becoming the targets of the mystery pranksters, and even offered tips with how to fix some of the pranks. The only thing they truly withheld information on was the identity of the pranksters.</p>
<p>Looking back at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who were still staring at his ruined armor with definite pride in their optics, Doubletake asked through gritted denta, “You two are not the responsible parties for this … prank. Why would you take pride in it?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe’s grin grew as he rolled over to the nearest shower-head and began to remove his armor, “Because we trained the ones who did it, that’s why!”</p>
<p><em>The Terror Twins took on pranking proteges? Why did that never come up in the reports? Surely Prime would want to keep an optic on them, if for no other reason than occurrences such as what has been happening to me.</em> “You’ve taught other mechs how to prank.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker dipped his helm in an affirmative as he began meticulously scrubbing his armor. Doubletake fought down a bout of impatience, “So you know exactly who has been incessantly pranking me.” There was another nod from Sunstreaker and another snort of laughter from Sideswipe. Taking a deep vent, Doubletake ground out as politely as possible, “I do not suppose you could tell these … proteges to cease and desist?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge and shifted to face him, something very dark flickering through his gaze that startled Doubletake. The golden mech then lowered his optic ridge and responded curtly, “After what you did to frag them off? No.”</p>
<p><em>Frag them off … so I angered the pranksters somehow. This is all petty revenge?</em> “If I somehow offended the mechs in question, I apologize.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe emitted the odd musical noise every mech stationed for long periods of time in Iacon seemed to use, “It’ll take more than that to stop them.” Doubletake started to speak but Sideswipe cut him off flippantly, “No, I’m not going to elaborate, or tell you more, or offer assistance. You got yourself into this mess, so we get to enjoy the show while you get yourself out. Besides, you’re one of Jazz’s mechs, aren’t you? You must have infiltrated and cracked the security of Decepticon strongholds hundreds of times. You should be able to figure this out.”</p>
<p>The words were much too similar to what other members of the Special Ops had told Doubletake for him to not feel both insulted and frustrated. Because they were right, he <b>should</b> have been able to figure it out long ago. Yet he hadn’t. The pranksters remained unidentified and at large despite his best efforts. A low growl slipped out of his engine as he mused bitterly, <em>this probably </em><b><em>is</em></b><em> petty revenge for what I used to be. That would explain why no one else will deign to help me.</em> A moment later and Doubletake was grudgingly correcting himself, <em>No. That can’t be it. Jazz would never allow it. He possesses many traits, but being unfair or cruel to the mechs under his command are not among them.</em></p>
<p>He spared a brief glance down at his armor before addressing the Terror Twins again, “I suppose you would also be adverse to telling me how to undo this … enthusiastic repaint?”</p>
<p>Sideswipe sniggered unashamedly, but Sunstreaker deigned to leave his shower long enough to roll over to the soaking pool, snatch a piece of Doubletake’s armor out of the cleaning solution, and examine it. After studying it with a critical optic, Sunstreaker smirked, “57 grade. Interesting choice.” Doubletake shot Sunstreaker a blank look and was surprised when the mech bothered to elaborate, “Paint tint strength is rated by grade. The stronger the grade, the harder it is to get off and the more likely it is to permanently stain the surface to which it is applied. Mech armor is usually only painted with grades 25 to 32, depending on the size of the mech and how physical their occupation. This,” he hefted the neon-colored armor piece in example, “is the kind of paint they used to use on cargo transports, energon haulers, or even old space frigates. It’s meant to withstand anything from a blaster bolt to a three joor downpour of <b>acid rain</b>.”</p>
<p>He tossed the piece back to a silent Doubletake, “You aren’t going to be able to get that off with normal cleaner. You’re going to need the paint stripper solution the mechs down in maintenance use on the dropships. Lots of it. Several joors of spare time too.”</p>
<p>Doubletake stared down at his brightly repainted armor in despair, already dreading the long walk down to the mechanics’ level to acquire paint stripper, with every mech in the hallways getting the opportunity to gawk at him. Finally looking away from his armor, he addressed Sunstreaker, who had already returned to his shower, “…Thank you for the tip.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker flashed a grin that would have looked much more appropriate on a Decepticon torture specialist than an Autobot front-liner, “Save the thanks for after you’ve paraded all the way down to the mechanics’ level, then back to your quarters, where everyone can see the fine work they did on that paint-job along the way.”</p>
<p><em> I knew there was a catch. He just wants to ensure that as many mechs as possible see what his …proteges can do.</em> With a tired vent, Doubletake just dipped his helm in acknowledgment of Sunstreaker’s words and began the process of drying his armor. No sense in going out there with such an atrocious paint-job <b>and</b> wet armor. That would really make him look like a vagrant.</p>
<p>Drying off his armor and reluctantly clipping it back onto his frame, Doubletake made for the exit to the washracks, barely aware of Mirage’s brief expression of sympathy. He gave no sign of having seen it at all, he was far too busy bracing for the oncoming trial of acquiring the paint stripper. It was going to be a long cycle.</p>
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<p>Starwish paused in her meticulous cleaning of medical tools when she felt arms wrap gently around her waist and pull her against a familiar chest plate. A soft, loving feeling caressed her over her sparkmate bond as lips pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her helm. A smile fought for existence on her mouth as she murmured softly, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m on duty right now.”</p>
<p>The figure chuckled faintly and pressed another kiss to her helm before whispering, “Whah’s tha matter? Am Ah…” a light kiss to the tip of her audio amplifier, “distracting yah?” To the credit of her cyber-ninja training, Starwish did not physically shiver at the kisses, but the smug feeling coming from the other end of the bond told her that her internal shiver of pleasure had been sensed.</p>
<p>With traces of exasperation she did not actually feel, Starwish replied, “Immensely. Don’t you have reports to deal with or something?” The smug feeling increased in intensity and Starwish sighed with real exasperation this time, “You’re going to get on Prowl’s black list again if you keep mixing your unfinished reports with his, you know. Didn’t he threaten to move your desk to a brig cell and lock you in it next time you tried that?”</p>
<p>She could literally feel the pout her words caused, “Prowler wouldn’t dare. He knows Ah’d be out an’ causing trouble in breems. But thah’s beside tha point. Ah’m currently on a perfectly sanctioned break,” <em>“but my own sparkmate is ignoring me…”</em> The last part came over their bond as a whine that would have had any Autobot who knew the speaker doing a doubletake of disbelief. Mostly because unlike Starwish, they wouldn’t be able to tell that he was just pretending to whine.</p>
<p>She made to ignore him and resume cleaning the medical tools in preparation for the next inevitable wave of patients when denta ever-so-lightly nibbled on her audio amplifier and successfully jerked all other thought processes to a halt. Her body stiffened as she gasped, “Jazz!”</p>
<p>Instantly, the nibbles stopped and her sparkmate had turned her around to look at her anxiously, “Sorry. Was thah … too much?”</p>
<p>Placing a servo over her chest plate in an effort to calm the pulse of her startled spark, she whispered, “I- well- no, but-” she shook her helm to clear it, then tried again, “Where did you learn to do that?”</p>
<p>Jazz shrugged slightly, his arms still wrapped lightly against her waist, “Ah was reviewing some o’ tha memories yah shared with me over our bond an’ Ah saw a human mech do thah ta his femme on one o’ tha vids yah used ta watch.” He tilted his helm a bit, concern radiating through their spark bond, “Sorry, <em>Melody</em>, did I overstep?”</p>
<p>Her spark having now resumed its normal beat, she moved her servo from her chest plate to his, “No. You just … took me by surprise.” Jazz’s look went from worried back to smug as he sensed that underneath the surprise, she had enjoyed the sensation he had caused with his new trick. Starwish deadpanned and gave his chest plate a light slap, “Don’t get cocky. I’m still on duty.”</p>
<p>The pout returned before Jazz suddenly looked contemplative. A few moments of silence later and he was grinning unashamedly at her, “Ratch’ says yah can take a break.”</p>
<p>Starwish narrowed her optics and started to question the validity of Jazz’s statement when Ratchet commed her. As she opened the channel, the CMO’s gruff voice barked, ::Yes, you have my permission to take a break. I can sense you two engaging in public displays of affection from here and that is not something my patients or the other medics need to walk in and see by accident. So shoo. Take a joor or two off to spend with your mate. Primus knows you two don’t get much chance for it with your functions.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt her faceplates relax into a smile, ::Thank you, Ratchet. We’ll relocate somewhere private right away. Are you sure you don’t need help with the twinlings’ frame designs?::</p>
<p>::No. I can’t go beyond the basic design until they determine what function they want to join anyway. Now go on, get out of my medbay! Your mate has a big enough ego without getting to show off his courting skills.::</p>
<p>Closing the channel, Starwish gave a playful roll of her optics, “Do I even want to know how you bribed Ratchet into giving me impromptu time off?”</p>
<p>Jazz shifted his grip from her waist to her servo and led her out of the medbay, “Probably not. You an’ Prowler share a similar moral code an’ all.” Starwish rolled her optics again, but the smile on her lips was genuine and the anticipation in her spark very real. It was rare that they had time to see each other save for when they both went to their quarters to power down for the cycle. Even then, it was hit and miss what with Starwish often working all lunar-cycle on a patient and Jazz often getting called away for a late rendezvous with one of his agents.</p>
<p>She tilted her helm in question, <em>“Where are we going?”</em></p>
<p>Jazz sent her a pulse of mischief, <em>“You’ll see.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish sighed at that, but still let herself be pulled along by her mate. With his clearance level and her own status as both Yoketron’s and Ratchet’s apprentice, there were very few places that could be considered off limits to the two of them. Not that Jazz would let them get caught if they did go somewhere she wasn’t allowed to. Being the sparkmate of the head of Special Ops made for airtight alibis and distractions.</p>
<p>Which in turn caused Prowl to lecture Jazz over the irresponsibility of using his Special Ops subordinates to make said alibis and distractions, but that was a moot point.</p>
<p>Jazz led them to a turbolift that was, much to her suspicion, utterly empty despite the usual bustle of the base. She shot her sparkmate a look only to receive a pulse of exaggerated innocence over their bond. With a faint sigh, Starwish stepped inside and let Jazz queue in his desired floor number. She gave the high number a puzzled glance as the turbolift swept them up to one of the very top floors of the base, where the Autobot Flyer hangars were located.</p>
<p>Jazz led her out of the turbolift and down a set of hallways that were only vaguely familiar to her, she didn’t come up here often and the times she did she had been busy prepping to take care of a flyer too badly damaged to be moved down to the medbay. When they finally reached their destination and Jazz guided her through a small, round door that looked suspiciously like an airlock, Starwish gasped.</p>
<p>They were outside, on a ledge only a mech and a half wide and maybe three mechs long. Below them, Iacon stretched out and curled in on itself in intricate patterns of roads, buildings, lights, and people that never ceased to amaze her. A steady wind whistled around the hangar towers and batted at her, coaxing her closer to the edge than was strictly safe for a non-flyer.</p>
<p>Jazz held on to her servo as she took a few steps forward to look down over the edge. For a moment, her spark jumped in fear at the sheer height from which she could fall if not careful. Then it settled and she felt only wonder at the view of the city she had somehow never seen before despite how many vorns she had lived there.</p>
<p>He optics swiveled to Jazz, “Jazz … it’s … it’s amazing up here. How did you even find this place?”</p>
<p>Jazz smiled at her brilliantly, “Ah always knew it was here, part o’ my job ta know every nook an’ cranny after all. But it finally occurred ta me that you’ve probably never been up here, so Ah decided Ah’d take ya next time Ah could.”</p>
<p>They slowly sat down, Jazz with his back against the wall and his legs spread apart so that Starwish could relax against his chest plates with her legs dangling over the edge. His servos drifted down to rest against her stomach plating, relaxed at the moment yet ready to tighten and anchor her at a nano-klik’s notice. Starwish hummed as she felt her frame truly relax for the first time in cycles, her fingers caressing Jazz’s servos as she took in the sight of the sky and the city all around and below.</p>
<p>Out of sheer habit, Starwish asked teasingly, <em>“Am I cleared for this area?”</em></p>
<p>Jazz’s engine purred a soft note against her back, <em>“Now, my dear Melody, when have I ever taken you somewhere you weren’t supposed to go?”</em></p>
<p>A faint scoff escaped her, <em>“So many times I would need Prowl’s super-processor to recall them all.”</em></p>
<p>He pressed another kiss against her neck cables, <em>“You’re cleared. This is just an emergency exit for the flyers if anything should ever block the hangar doors for some reason.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish traced a circle pattern into Jazz’s willingly offered palm in thanks. She took a deep vent, a holdout from her time as a human when she would have taken a deep breath to appreciate being outside, and released it in a sigh. Playful banter whispered back and forth over their sparkbond as they simply enjoyed each other’s company and the astounding view Jazz had procured for them, a thousand emotions and sub-tones passing back and forth to lend a depth to the conversation that most mechs and femmes could never even begin to contemplate.</p>
<p>They lay there blissfully for a joor and a half before there was a flicker of resigned annoyance from Jazz’s end of the bond and a pause in their lazy conversation. A moment later, the annoyance turned to confusion, then to baffled disbelief. Starwish shifted and twisted a bit to look at Jazz questioningly. It took a few breems for Jazz to be finished with his private com conversation and pay attention to her again, “Sorry, <em>Melody</em>, Ah’m gonna have ta cut this short. One o’ my mechs has just <b>now</b> decided ta inform me thah he’s being pranked with everything from repaints an’ room hacks ta drugs an’ finally ask for my help.”</p>
<p>Starwish sat up in astonishment and worry, “Drugs? A repaint prank I can understand, but <b>drugs</b>? That could get a mech offlined from overdose! How long as this been going on? Do I need to prep the medbay?”</p>
<p>Jazz waved a servo and sent a wave of calm her way, “Not thah kinda drug. It was jus’ Fermium’s ‘vocalizer soother’. Still, Ah didn’t think tha pranking had gotten thah bad.”</p>
<p>Starwish narrowed her optics at her mate, “You knew this was going on and didn’t stop it?” She knew that the twins and several other mechs enjoyed unleashing pranks on occasion, it was an effective way to raise morale and get a laugh out of someone most of the time. But Starwish could still recall the times long ago when she was human that she had been on the receiving end of some vicious pranks not meant to cause laughter but to cause hurt.</p>
<p>If someone was continuously pranking a single mech, with such varied and potentially dangerous methods, then it clearly wasn’t because one of the base pranksters had decided the base needed a good laugh or two.</p>
<p>Jazz made another placating motion, “Ah knew thah tha mech was gettin’ pranked, but Ah didn’t know it was thah bad. Ah figured he needed something ta do while on leave an’ thah gettin’ into a competition with the pranksters would keep him occupied. Ah didn’t think he’d <b>still</b> have no clue as ta thah perpetrators. Or thah they’d be willin’ ta go thah far.”</p>
<p>His helm tilted and Starwish caught a flash of the head of Special Ops that lurked within her mate. She could practically hear the clinical interest, the impersonal fascination at the perpetrators succeeding so thoroughly against one of his agents. Starwish got the sudden impression that she was not going to like what Jazz planned to do next.</p>
<p>Still, she allowed herself to be untangled from Jazz’s frame and followed him back inside. Jazz shot her an apologetic look and a deep feeling of remorse as he said, “Ah gotta go, <em>Melody</em>, sorry. But this has gone on long enough an’ Ah need ta … look into a few things.”</p>
<p>Starwish caught his servo before he could go, “Do you know who’s been doing the pranks?”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded, “Ah do.”</p>
<p>The feeling that she was not going to enjoy what Jazz had planned grew, and not because they had to cut short their rare time together, “What do you plan to do, Jazz?”</p>
<p>Jazz took a deep vent to steady himself, a habit he had picked up from Starwish, and turned toward her. With gentle fingers, he pried her servo off of his. When he was done, he held her servo in both of his for several kliks before he looked up into her optics and whispered, “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to do this. It’s my job, it’s my duty.”</p>
<p>A shiver of fear went through her, “You won’t hurt them.” Her question came out more as a desperate statement, even if she wasn’t <b>sure</b> who they were talking about, the lack of accent and the sheer solemnity in Jazz’s tone made her spark skip a beat in concern.</p>
<p>Jazz gave her a tight smile, “I promise.” <em>“I just can’t promise that they won’t get hurt anyway if this works out the way I think it will.”</em></p>
<p>With that last statement hovering in the air between them, Jazz let go of her servo and hurried off. Starwish let him go, knowing that she could no more stop him from his duties as the head of Special Ops than he could stop her from rushing out onto the field to act as an emergency EMT.</p>
<p>Still, for him to be so solemn over stopping pranksters, so certain she would be angry at him later for whatever he was planning…</p>
<p>Starwish suddenly had the deep, unshakable urge to go back to the medbay and go over the twinlings upgrade schematics and make sure they would be as physically ready and invulnerable as she could possibly make them. She had a feeling they would need it.</p>
<p>And Master Yoketron had taught her to never ignore those feelings that sprung from her subconscious instincts.</p>
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<p>Jazz stepped into Doubletake’s quarters to find the mech exactly as he had said Jazz would, struggling to remove the paint and polish inflicted upon his armor by the twinlings. Not that Doubletake knew who had done it yet. The mech in question made to stand to attention the moment Jazz entered, but Jazz waved him off, “At ease, mech.” He studied Doubletake thoroughly, noticing the signs of stress and frustration leaking through Doubletake’s stoic facade as well the deactivated booby traps and the flicker of suspicion in the mech’s optics.</p>
<p>Internally, Jazz winced as he moved to lean against Doubletake’s desk. The mech was obviously growing paranoid with the repeated pranks, stressed that no one would reveal the identity of the pranksters to him, and suspicious that this was all retribution for a mistake made long ago. Jazz shook his helm, “Why didn’t ya call me in on this earlier?”</p>
<p>Doubletake glanced down at the floor in something akin to shame, “I did not think it wise to disturb you with such a petty matter while you were busy managing the entire Special Ops, sir. I know that the mission queue has become … long, as of late.”</p>
<p>Jazz rubbed his neck cabling, “Thah’s no excuse for not telling me thah ya needed help.”</p>
<p>Doubletake growled low in his engine in a rare show of anger, “I should have been able to handle it myself, sir. I am a competent member of the Special Ops and I-”</p>
<p>Jazz held up a servo to halt the flow of his subordinate’s words, “Had absolutely no chance o’ findin’ out who was prankin’ yah, trust me. Tha only reason tha other mechs on base know is ‘cause they’ve lived in Iacon HQ long enough ta recognize their … unique prank signature. Yah don’t have tha experience, an’ Ah’ll be thah first ta admit thah tha pranksters are easily overlooked if yah don’t know ‘em. Though frag if Ah know why they’ve been harassing yah like <b>this</b>.”</p>
<p>Doubletake glanced down at his armor before he admitted slowly, “The Terror Twins indicated that I had done something to anger their … proteges and that was what prompted the wave of incessant pranks.” Doubletake shot Jazz a vaguely helpless look, “However, I have yet to conclude what I could have done within the first few cycles of being here that could have provoked such a response.”</p>
<p><em>Provoked…?</em> A theory clicked together as the new data fell into place with what he knew of the twinlings insatiable curiosity and Doubletake’s aloof demeanor, <em>Oh. </em><b><em>Oh.</em></b><em> No wonder Sunstreaker and Sideswipe didn’t make any move to stop the twinlings.</em> Over the vorns of watching their family unit constantly go off to battle, listening to the various war stories, and being raised by the infamously vengeful Terror Twins, the twinlings had developed the nasty habit of grudge-holding.</p>
<p>While they were nowhere near as stubborn about holding on to their grudges as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, until they were properly apologized to or bribed, any slights or insults to them and theirs would be avenged mercilessly. Sometimes, if the offense was deemed large enough, they even held onto the grudges despite being apologized to or bribed by the offender for orns afterward.</p>
<p>They had never taken their revenge pranks this far though, and Jazz suspected that the continued abuse to Doubletake was less out of getting even and more from the stress of their upcoming upgrade and the looming deadline to decide on their function in the Autobots.</p>
<p>Jazz heaved another sigh and waved a servo at Doubletake’s armor, “We’ll deal wit’ tha later. For now, put on one o’ your backup sets an’ go about your normal cycle. Ah’ll go have a … chat with tha relevant mechs an’ get this taken care of.”</p>
<p>Doubletake nodded seriously and moved to his locker to retrieve a spare set of armor, something he had clearly been reluctant to do because spare armor sets were expensive and were usually only pulled out for emergencies when a mech was needed in battle but his usual armor was too damaged to protect him. As Doubletake opened his locker, he asked quietly, “May I know the identity of the pranksters?”</p>
<p>Jazz paused, debated for a moment, then said blandly, “Ah’m sure you’ve heard by now thah tha Terror Twins have younglings.” Jazz watched as Doubletake went rigid, a low curse slipping from the taller mech’s lips as the pieces finally came together.</p>
<p>With one last curt order to stay put until Jazz said so, Jazz left Doubletake to his realizations. As he hurried down the halls, excitement and dread curled in his spark in near equal measures as he commed the twins, ::Jazz to the Twins. Grab your younglings and rendezvous with me in my office in ten breems.:: He paused and then added a curt, ::Yes Sunstreaker, that is an <b>order</b>.:: before the taciturn golden mech could ask the question. Closing the channel, Jazz made his way to his office, processor whirling with a thousand arguments, counter-arguments, and reasons for the impending discussion.</p>
<p>A part of him, the part that was the unofficial morale officer of the Autobots, the part that still remembered a time without war and deception and life-energon on his servos, recoiled from what he was doing. What he was about to do. Oh, the twins would have full rights to shoot his idea down, but he knew they wouldn’t.</p>
<p>They wouldn’t because of the other part of him. The part of him that ran the Autobot Special Ops, the part of him that lied and killed and deceived without hesitation in defense of his Prime and cause, the part of him that, by necessity, thought of things in terms of assets and resources, would convince the twins not to. That part of him that was trembling in anticipation, delight, at the discovery of such sheer, raw talent hiding right under his olfactory sensor.</p>
<p>He could only hope that Starwish and the others would forgive him for allowing that second part of him to win out over the first in this matter.</p>
<p>By the time the twins swept into his office with the twinlings in tow, Jazz had carefully put away any doubts about his decision, locked them away where they would not affect his words and deeds. There was only confidence, intelligence, and assurance. The twinlings glanced around in interest, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe kept their attention on Jazz.</p>
<p>“This is about Doubletake.” Sunstreaker was the first one to speak, his tone flat and unreadable.</p>
<p>Jazz dipped his helm in assent, “It is.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe growled in his engine, “What, he finally went whining to his superior because he couldn’t handle a few little pranks-”</p>
<p>“The twinlings drugged him.” Jazz cold words, spoken without inflection or accent, brought the twins up short. The twinlings went very still by their Guardians’ sides, no doubt sensing that the conversation was too serious for their normal antics and smart remarks.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker blinked once, then vented slowly, “What. Did you say?”</p>
<p>Jazz leaned his hip against his desk, “I said that the twinlings drugged one of <b>My</b>.<b> Mechs</b>.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker shot a look at the twinlings that had them sticking out their chins defiantly before addressing Jazz, “When was this? I didn’t hear anything about drugs.”</p>
<p>Jazz crossed his arms over his chest plate, “The backwards-talking incident. They pulled that off by slipping a minor drug into his drink that caused his vocalizer to malfunction.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe hissed, “Twinlings!”</p>
<p>Zipline scowled, “What? It didn’t hurt him!”</p>
<p>“That’s not the point,” snapped Sunstreaker darkly, “you <b>know</b> you’re not supposed to mess with other bots energon for pranks.”</p>
<p>Fast Track tilted his helm, “But you two spiked everybot’s drinks that one Christmas!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe glared, “That was just high-grade. It wasn’t <b>drugs</b>.” Sideswipe glanced up at Jazz, a genuinely apologetic look on his faceplate, “Sorry, Jazz, if we’d known the details of that one…”</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, “I know you would have stopped them, but that isn’t why I call you in here.” Tapping the holographic emitter on his desk, Jazz pulled up video feeds of all of the twinlings recent pranks against Doubletake, either the effect or glimpses of the setup. He let them play out in their entirety before he turned back to the twins and twinlings, “Doubletake,” he said softly, “is one of my top mechs. He is one of the few bots in my <b>entire operation</b> that I rely on to take on <b>Level X</b> classified missions and he has never disappointed me. I’ve seen him calculate enough plans and objectives to qualify for the Prowl’s top tactical unit.”</p>
<p>From behind his visor, Jazz’s weighty gaze fell on the twinlings, “and you had him completely at your mercy. He didn’t figure it out until I laid out it for him and he’d been investigating for over a metacycle. Even with all of the bots on base keeping quiet about you two, he should’ve picked up at least a clue before I intervened. But he didn’t. You didn’t let him. That’s more than hundreds of Decepticons of varying ranks can say.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had gone slowly rigid during Jazz’s accent-less speech, but now Sunstreaker moved to stand defensively in front of the twinlings and hissed, “No. <b>No</b>. You <b>are not</b> about to say what I think you are about to say. Not if you value your spark, Jazz.”</p>
<p>Jazz tilted his helm faintly, “It’s their decision, Sunstreaker and you have no right to stop me from offering.” Sunstreaker growled deep in his engine, but Jazz kept his focus on the twinlings as he asked, “Zipline and Fast Track, would you consent to joining my Special Ops?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track exchanged shocked glances while Sideswipe snarled at Jazz and Sunstreaker made an aborted motion toward the silver saboteur. Fast Track shifted uneasily, “Why? Aren’t you mad about what we did to Doubletake?”</p>
<p>“Even if that mech started it?” Added Zipline snappishly.</p>
<p>Jazz dipped his helm, “I am. You are both near your upgrade into second frames, by all rights I can and <b>should</b> have you thrown in the brig for overstepping several base rules over the course of your pranking spree. But I’m willing to pardon all of that if you join my Special Ops.”</p>
<p>A golden blur shot toward Jazz and he allowed himself to be pinned against his desk by a furious Sunstreaker, “You cannot be seriously asking <b>my younglings</b> to join the Special Ops.” The words were accompanied by a low, dangerous rumble of Sunstreaker’s engine and dark hiss from Sideswipe.</p>
<p>Jazz whispered softly to Sunstreaker, “You know you can’t keep them here forever. Zipline will never agree to joining a rear-line profession and Fast Track’s pacifism will offline him as a front-liner.” Sunstreaker made an almost feral noise and pushed Jazz harder against the desk, but Jazz stood his ground, he knew what buttons to push, what game to play to get his way even if it sickened a small part of him, “All Special Ops mechs go through an intensive training regimen and are assigned a field mentor for the first ten vorns of active service. I have a backlog of Level A missions long enough to keep them busy for at least twenty vorns.”</p>
<p>Jazz could detect a hint of paternal fear and despair in Sunstreaker’s optics and stubbornly refused to feel pity, not yet anyway, “They are naturals at the kind of work my mechs do, Sunstreaker, maybe even Gifted. You know there is no safer place for a mech than in his area of expertise, the area of his Gift. Besides,” Jazz took a soft vent and pressed the last button, “you can’t stop them from choosing and you <b>know</b> what the alternative will be.”</p>
<p>Because Zipline was too reckless to accept anything less than a combat function and Fast Track, for all of his stubborn pacifism, was not the leader of their little duo. If not given a suitable alternative, he would give in to Zipline’s demands eventually and the sheer carnage of the open battlefield would surely break Fast Track emotionally, if it didn’t offline him first.</p>
<p>Special Ops was a dark, dirty function in a way most mechs would never know, but there was much less open carnage and much more subterfuge. Mental challenges and observations, tricks and ploys the kind of which the twinlings would be able to not only learn but master,<b> rule</b>. It would still break the twinlings emotionally at some point, it broke everyone eventually. But it was close enough to the things they already knew, the things they thrived on, that they would be able to survive long enough to pick up the pieces and put them together in a stronger pattern. Just as all the other successful Special Ops agents under Jazz’s command had.</p>
<p>Just like Jazz himself had done vorns before the War had ever started.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker let Jazz go, his servos slowly unwrapping from the smaller mech’s armor, and stepped back with an unreadable expression. Sideswipe’s armor bristled in agitation as he watched his twin back away from Jazz and shifted to shoot a dark, hateful glare at the wall. Jazz eased himself up from where he’d been pinned, running an internal diagnostic to check for damages even as he turned back to the twinlings, “Well?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track shifted to stand closer together, identical nervous looks in their optics as Zipline asked, “What would we do? None of the Special Ops mechs would talk to us about their function.”</p>
<p>Jazz felt a bitter smile tug on his lips, but forced it to change into a confident smirk before its original form could be seen, “For the most part? What you’ve done to Doubletake and most of the other mechs on base, only with less restrictions on what you can do and the Decepticons as your targets. You’d also collect intel about locations and Decepticons for Prowl and Optimus use in planning the next battle.” Among many other, much darker things that were classified and would remain so until they were fully inducted into his division.</p>
<p>The twinlings’ gazes shifted to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, a silent conversation going between the four of them before Zipline and Fast Track shifted to stare hard into each other’s optics. Jazz waited patiently for them to come to the answer he already knew. Finally, they turned to Jazz and chorused, “Okay. When do we start?”</p>
<p>In the corner, Sideswipe sagged slightly while Sunstreaker’s armor bristled aggressively for a moment before he forced it back into a neutral position. Jazz pushed aside the part of him that wanted to react the same way and instead smiled at the twinlings easily, his accent returning, “Well first, we’ve gotta get yah upgraded. Then tha real fun begins. Now, why don’ ya head on over ta tha medbay an’ let Ratchet know ya’ve finally picked your function.”</p>
<p>The twinlings smiled back at him, their apprehension eased by his reverting to his normal voice and actions, and left his office. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused before leaving, their optics boring into him dangerously as Sideswipe warned lowly, “If they break or get offlined because of you-” Sideswipe stopped, vented harshly, then attempted to start again.</p>
<p>Jazz cut him off with a soft tone, “I know.” The Terror Twins stared at him for several kliks longer, their past experiences of war, and of the gladiatorial rings before that, haunting their gazes as they did so. Then, without another word or threat, they left.</p>
<p>Once they were gone, Jazz sagged against his desk, the part of himself that he had locked away rising up with a vengeance to rail at him for recruiting the twinlings, the mischievous, blessedly naive twinlings, into Special Ops.</p>
<p>Raising his visor in order to rub his optics with a servo, Jazz reminded himself that everything he had told Sunstreaker and Sideswipe was true. The Special Ops was, in a twisted and ironic sort of way, the twinlings best chance as survival aside from a rear-line function.</p>
<p>Now if only he could convince his conscience of that.</p>
<p>Shaking off his sudden exhaustion, Jazz sat down and began to make preparations, starting with pinging his parts-hoarding Special Ops members with a list of certain upgrades that Ratchet would need to include in the twinlings’ new frames. There was no way they would be able to stay off the field until they upgraded into their final frame, so he’d have to make sure their second stage frames could handle the stress of mission work.</p>
<p>He also began to plan out two training schedules for the twinlings. A light, purely academic one that would start the very next cycle, and the true, intensive one they would get starting the cycle they were upgraded.</p>
<p>He had gotten the twinlings to join, now he was going to do everything he could to make sure they survived the decision.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0070"><h2>70. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(11 vorns after 12 vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline panted as he burst onto a seeker platform, his frame aching from the various blows and glancing shots he had accumulated over his frantic retreat. He spun into a crouch, the axe of the Decepticon who had tried to take him from behind missing his helm by only a narrow margin. A knife dropped out of his subspace and Zipline flicked it upward, the momentum burying it into the mech’s throat just beneath his chin. The light faded from the mech’s optics as his spark signal dropped off of Zipline’s scanners.</p>
<p>But Zipline had no time to contemplate that, he was too busy evading the other seven mechs all bent on his destruction. Panic and desperation pulsed in a never-ending loop between Fast Track and himself, both desperate to reunite, both still stuck in their respective locations. Zipline rolled away from a hail blaster bolts, stumbling as the injury in his left leg acted up and a harsh wind pulled viciously at his wiry frame.</p>
<p>The mechs drew closer, not even faltering as Zipline took down another of their number with a quick shot from his blaster. He aimed at another mech and pulled the trigger, only to be met with the tell-tale click-click-click of an empty weapon. Cursing, Zipline feinted to the left as he subspaced the empty blaster and reached for another one. Whipping around unexpectedly to the right, Zipline managed to slip by the Decepticons’ mech-made blockade, slamming a knife into the knee joint of a particularly large one as he went by.</p>
<p>The mech roared and swung his sledgehammer, catching Zipline with a glancing blow to his backplates before the younger mech could get out of range. Zipline stumbled, off balance from the blow as the endless, high-altitude wind battered him again.</p>
<p>His mentor’s tight, deep voice cut across the three-way com channel, ::Zipline, I’m almost there with a transport, just stay online for one more breem.::</p>
<p>Zipline cried out as a blaster bolt slammed into hisleft shoulder plate. He retaliated by finally unsubspacing his scatter blaster and firing away at the mechs attempting to surround him and bring him down, ::I don’t <b>have</b> another breem, Doubletake!:: The number of enemies were increasing as more poured onto the high-altitude seeker platform onto which Zipline had fled.</p>
<p>Doubletake snapped grimly in response to Zipline’s com, ::Then <b>make</b> one more breem, youngling!::</p>
<p>Fast Track was frantic on Zipline’s behalf now, just as desperate as Zipline to be reunited with his twin, <em>“Zip? Zip, just hang on!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline feinted left, then right, trying to find a way out of the corner into which the Decepticons were slowly forcing him. They were cautious as they closed in, wary. Despite their overwhelming numbers, none of them wanted to get too close to him again. Not with a trail of offline frames testifying to his desperate prowess. Zipline swallowed back the lurch in his tanks at the half-formed thought of said trail. <em>So many dead, energon-everywhere-make-it-stop-</em></p>
<p>Someone fired at him from the left and Zipline instinctively jumped backwards to get away from the blast. His legs extended for the landing even as horror ripped across his twin bond with Fast Track and his twin screamed, <em>“Zipline!”</em> Zipline was confused for a nano-klik, uncomprehending at to why Fast Track was suddenly so spark-wrenchingly terrified, when he realized it.</p>
<p>His pedes should have already touched the ground by now.</p>
<p>The startled roars from the Decepticons sounded muted beneath the static in his audios as he watched, dumbfounded, as the lip of the platform seemed to rise up through his field of vision, like it was growing taller. The world slowed until each breem was a pulse of his horror-numbed spark, <em>no. It’s not growing taller…</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>I’m falling.</em>
</p>
<p>And the ground was much, much too far away for his landing to be anything other than fatal.</p>
<p>Two voices, one in his spark and one over his com, screamed futilely at the exact same moment, <em>“</em><b><em>Zipline!</em></b><em>”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <b>Four Cycles Earlier:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track looked up from the console they were hacking together as the room and everything in it froze, flickered, then dissolved into pixels. The two straightened up and turned toward the door to the simulation room, identical expressions of quiet curiosity on their faceplates as Doubletake stepped inside from the observation room.</p>
<p>Fast Track shifted, “What did we do wrong? I thought we were doing well?”</p>
<p>Doubletake nodded toward the hallway outside, “First Lieutenant Jazz requires our presence in his office immediately.”</p>
<p>The twinlings exchanged excited glances at that, it probably meant they were being assigned another mission. That would make it their fifth so far. Without another word, they followed Doubletake out of the simulation room and down the hallways, easily falling into step just on either side and behind him.</p>
<p>Three vorns had passed since their fateful pranking spree that had led them to joining the Special Ops and even that short span of time had changed much about them and their way of life. Starting with their upgrade.</p>
<p>Gone were the tiny frames of younglings. In their place were the specially customized second frames Ratchet and Starwish had built with their chosen function in mind. The twinlings now stood at twenty feet in height, with wiry, acrobatic frames that allowed them to still slip through small vents with silent ease. Their paint schemes were still the same as their old frames, emerald and ruby primary colors with light grey stripes on their helms, shoulders, and from their hips to the sides of their knees.</p>
<p>They had decided against the wheeled pedes of their fathers. While fast and useful in battle, those would make it hard to sneak around on uneven ground. Instead, all four wheels of their alt modes were subspaced, with the doors on their forearms being one of the few clues as to what their alternate modes really were.</p>
<p>It had taken some time to get used to their sudden and extreme jump in height, as well as their new abilities to subspace items and transform.</p>
<p>Doubletake had been the second big change to their lives. Jazz had assigned the mech as their mentor and trainer whenever he was not on mission and, now that he knew who had been pranking him so mercilessly, he had proceeded to become an uncatchable target and a merciless instructor. He was good enough to not be outwitted ninety-nine percent of the time and just vengeful enough to not take it easy on the twinlings because of their young age as others might have done.</p>
<p>The three had been at odds for orns before Doubletake’s “tough love” approach had won the twinlings respect, and they in turn had proved themselves to not be complete and petty nuisances. Now though, the twinlings listened to Doubletake instinctively and he, in turn, knew how to handle the unique problems and advantages that came with split-spark twins.</p>
<p>They slid into a turbolift without a sound, all three taking up positions with their backplates to the walls and their arms loose at their sides. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the other Autobots in the turbolift, it was just that all of the Special Ops mechs, Doubletake in particular, were paranoid fraggers and they had forcibly beaten some semblance of that same paranoia into their newest recruits.</p>
<p>Opening the private, three-way com set up for training and missions together, Zipline asked excitedly, ::What mission do you think we’ll get this time?::</p>
<p>Fast Track ruffled his armor in the barest impression of a shrug, ::Probably another Level A long-range observation or scouting out a potential energon deposit.::</p>
<p>Zipline carefully avoided showing any disappointment at that thought. They had been trained into the ground for three vorns now by whatever Special Ops mechs were available to do so. Not to mention all of the academics and “extracurricular” learning they’d had to do. Surely they were ready for something a little more important that looking for a tiny energon deposit or using high-powered binoculars to observe Decepticon outposts for activity.</p>
<p>Somehow, despite Zipline’s efforts to hide it, Doubletake still sensed his disappointment and scolded, ::Don’t be so eager to get harder missions, youngling. You’ll be looking back on and longing for energon runs and long-range observations soon enough.::</p>
<p>Zipline vented softly, knowing better than to argue, ::Yes, Doubletake.::</p>
<p>The turbolift slid to a stop on their desired floor and the three slipped out, the twins turning sideways so that they were back to back as they maneuvered through the crowded turbolift and out into the corridor. Doubletake and a party of his fellow Special Ops mechs had taught them that particular trait via repeated and randomized ambushes around hallways corners, in doorways, and when exiting turbolifts. The twinlings didn’t appreciate it, but the others firmly believed that a large dose of paranoia was healthy and must be imprinted into their rookies’ processors had soon as possible.</p>
<p>Neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe had been amused the one time they got caught up in that.</p>
<p>::Focus, younglings.:: Zipline shook his helm and shot Doubletake a long look, how the mech always knew when their attention was drifting, they had yet to understand.</p>
<p>Though the journey was a relatively short one, it still took far too long to reach Jazz’s office for Zipline’s tastes. By the time the door slid open and they came to attention in front of Jazz’s desk, Fast Track was scolding Zipline over their bond for making them both feel jittery with excitement. Zipline merely gave Fast Track the equivalent of a poked-out tongue over their bond before focusing on Jazz.</p>
<p>Jazz looked up from the datapad he’d been scanning as they’d come in and nodded, “Ya took your time.”</p>
<p>Doubletake saluted, the twins belatedly following his example as he intoned, “I had to retrieve my apprentices from the simulation level.”</p>
<p>Jazz waved a servo, “It’s fine. Now,” all three agents straightened up as they sensed that the briefing was about to start, “this is one of tha many Decepticon bases in tha Uraya region. It was built shortly after tha start o’ tha great war, but was abandoned around a hundred vorns ago, presumably ‘cause o’ its poor strategic location at tha time.” He plugged a datachip into the holographic projector on his desk as he spoke, causing a small but detailed 3-dimensional blueprint of a squat building with a very tall spire jutting out of its center to appear on the center of the desk.</p>
<p>Manipulating the image with his fingers, Jazz zoomed it in, “Tha Uraya region, especially near where Uraya City once stood, has been a neutral wasteland for almost sixty-five vorns now. After all tha energon reservoirs in tha area were pumped clean an tha speedways destroyed by all tha fighting, it just wasn’t worth it ta either sides ta keep fighting over it.”</p>
<p>Zipline piped up, “I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming up.”</p>
<p>Jazz shot Zipline a tired grin but Doubletake immediately commed Zipline with a stern, ::Silence and respect during briefings.::</p>
<p>Zipline resisted the urge to stick his tongue out, it had been made very clear to the twinlings early on that mission briefings were not the place for their usual sass. Occasional bouts of sarcasm were allowed, but utmost attention had to be paid.</p>
<p>Jazz dipped his helm in Zipline’s direction to acknowledge his statement, “<b>But</b>, our latest intel probe inta Kaon picked up signs thah Megatron has set up a garrison in Uraya and is funneling an unusually high amount of resources and materials ta tha reclaimed Uraya base.”</p>
<p>Doubletake’s armor flared ever so slightly in realization while both twinlings felt excitement course through their sparks as Jazz folded his arms over his chest plates and said, “Your mission is ta get in tha base an’ find out why Megatron is suddenly so interested in tha Uraya region. Tha estimated garrison strength is a hundred and seventy mechs. A hundred front-liners, forty-two aerials, and thirty Brutes. But seeing as how Megatron is keeping any an’ all info on this locked down tight, ya should be prepared for additional hostiles an’ mechs o’ different functions than assumed.”</p>
<p>“Sir.” Jazz tilted his helm in Doubletake’s direction at the curt word, “what is the Level ranking for this mission?”</p>
<p>Jazz stared at Doubletake from behind his visor for several kliks before he answered in a low tone, “This is a Level C infiltration mission with a potential ta raise to a Level D.”</p>
<p>Doubletake’s armor flared aggressively and there was a prolonged silence that indicated Doubletake was protesting over a private com. Meanwhile, Zipline and Fast Track exchanged looks.</p>
<p>Zipline felt his spark race with excitement and a grin tug at his lips. At last, a mission that was more than tiny energon deposits and low-risk observations. After three vorns of intensive training and Level A’s, they were finally getting a mission that was actually worthwhile. Fast Track shared a similar sentiment, albeit with a greater tinge of nervousness than Zipline.</p>
<p>The presumed com conversation between Doubletake and Jazz continued for another breem before Doubletake grudgingly dipped his helm, “Understood, sir. I cry pardon for my insubordinate attitude.”</p>
<p>Jazz flicked a servo in dismissal of the problem, “It’s forgiven, Doubletake. You’re only doing your job.” Even though he had a visor, Zipline could tell that Jazz shot the twinlings a serious look as he added, “If there was any other agents available at tha moment, ya would never even have heard o’ this. But Ah don’t have any mechs ta redirect ta this an’ Ah can’t go myself, so Ah have no choice but ta assign this ta you three. This <b>does not</b> mean yah are ready for higher level missions. This is purely an exception because it’s tha lowest-risk mission Ah have thah <b>needs</b> ta be looked into as soon as possible. Don’t get cocky, listen ta <b>everything</b> Doubletake tells ya, and if ya meet unexpectedly high resistance or trouble, pull out an’ haul aft ta tha extraction point. Understood?”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track saluted diligently and chorused, “Understood, Sir!”</p>
<p>Jazz studied them for several more kliks before he moved on and outlined the fine details of their mission. Things such as start time, the location of the extraction point, mission timetable, mission requirements, and known or estimated facts about the surrounding area and the formerly abandoned base. It wasn’t much, truth be told.</p>
<p>They were to gather their gear and leave within three joors of being dismissed from Jazz’s office. The insertion and extraction point was on the very edge of the Uraya region, making it a long drive to their objective. However, with the suspicious activity and the secrecy involved on the Decepticons’ end, it was the closest they could get without risking blowing the mission before it started. They had twelve cycles to complete the mission and retreat to the extraction point, where a dropship would retrieve them at 40:00 joors of the twelfth cycle.</p>
<p>The Uraya region was mostly large stretches of ridges and valleys, with ruinous pockets leftover from the cities and outlying estates that had once dotted the landscape. The Decepticon base in question had forty levels, most of which had been used for processing material in its original cycles of inhabitation. The upper levels were reserved for the actual garrison, with the original control room on the thirtieth floor and the original data room on the twenty-first. Considering it had been abandoned for some time and was now being used for an unknown purpose, Jazz expressed doubt in the validity of the old schematics, but it was the best they could do at the moment.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track paid close attention, determined not to mess up their first “real” Special Ops mission. Once Jazz had covered all the relevant details and reluctantly dismissed them to get their gear together, Doubletake swooped in and insisted they all bring medical kits along with their normal mission gear.</p>
<p>::Remember to clean and prep your weapons as well.:: Doubletake lectured as they headed for the turbolifts again, ::Stock up on ammo and knives, and <b>triple-check</b> your hacking tools. At a minimum. Quadruple-check would be better if you have the time to do so.::</p>
<p>Fast Track patted Doubletake’s arm lightly as they stepped inside the lift, ::Stop fussing, Doubletake. We’ll be fine. This is what we’ve been training for remember?::</p>
<p>Doubletake shot fast Track a dark look, ::Training and experience are two very different things, mechling.::</p>
<p>Zipline dared to jostle his mentor’s side a bit, ::We’ve done mission preps before, ‘Take. We’ll be fine.::</p>
<p>Doubletake transferred his dark look to Zipline, ::Don’t call me ‘Take, Mechling. I am your superior officer.::</p>
<p>Zipline rattled his armor in silent, if jovial, submission to Doubletake’s retort and allowed silence to fall over the three of them as they all mentally prepared for the twinlings’ first Level C mission.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <b>One Cycle Earlier:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline lay stretched out on his stomach plating, high powered binoculars assisting the natural zoom function in his optics as he picked out details of the looming structure ahead of them. Fast Track poked their bond from his position halfway along the ridge, <em>“I’m counting ten front-liners spaced out along the perimeter. Assuming they’ve got a matching number of guards on each side of the structure, that brings the total outside patrols to forty mechs.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline gave a pulse of agreement, <em>“We’ll have to wait until Doubletake comes back to be certain, but that sounds like a safe bet. List of possible entries? I’ve picked out three. There’s a waste grate halfway down the slope leading to the base, a ventilation shaft on the outside near the far right corner about a level and a half up, and an emergency seeker airlock five levels up.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track gave a tiny hum over their bond, <em>“I see them. See that indent ten levels up? I think its an old fracture that’s only been recently patched. It probably wouldn’t take much to reopen it and slip inside. The walls are pretty pitted and rough from all the vorns of being abandoned, shouldn’t be too hard to climb.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline shot Fast Track a glance, <em>“How would we climb that high unnoticed?”</em></p>
<p>The reply was positively haughty, <em>“Diversion Technique Five, obviously. Technique Seven if they’re being particularly alert.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Sounds good,”</em> Zipline admitted with a grin, <em>“Now we just need to figure out which of the entrances to use.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline’s stretched out sensors picked up the whisper of a familiar E.M. field and he silently signaled Doubletake’s return to Fast Track, who immediately began to make his way back across the ridge to his twin’s side. A very light scuffling sound from behind heralded Doubletake’s arrival on Zipline’s right. A moment later and Fast Track had slithered into place on Doubletake’s right.</p>
<p>Not taking their optics off of the Decepticon base, Zipline and Fast Track reached out a servo each to lightly touch Doubletake’s armor. With a click inaudible to all but them, the three initiated a touch-based com, ::We’ve picked out four possible entrances on this side of the base. There are ten front-liners on patrolling on this side, but we think they have a blind spot by the far corner when they turn around to restart their patrol.::</p>
<p>Doubletake’s engine gave the faintest rumble, ::The numbers are the same on the other sides, with thirteen possible entrances scattered across the other three walls.::</p>
<p>Fast Track’s ruffled his armor faintly, ::Why aren’t there any aerial patrols?::</p>
<p>Doubletake twitched a finger in the direction of the sky, ::There’s an acid storm brewing. None of the aerials are going to risk running patrols with that over their helms, especially with their sensitive wing sensors.::</p>
<p>Zipline scowled, ::Acid storm. Which we will probably get caught in. Wonderful.::</p>
<p>::Focus on the objective, younglings,:: Doubletake scolded, ::We will worry about the storm when it comes.:: The twinlings chorused grudging assents over the com and they resumed plotting how to get inside the enemy base.</p>
<p>In the end, they determined that the best time to infiltrate would, ironically, be during the acid storm itself. It was a risky plan, there was no way to determine the severity of an acid storm until it hit and if it was a particularly severe one, there was a good chance it would offline them. However, because of that risk, all of the outside perimeter guards would be recalled into the base itself, making it that much easier to slip inside.</p>
<p>They would just need to time it very, very carefully.</p>
<p>The three of them hid in the ruins clustered around the south side of the Decepticon base, as close as they dared to come with the guards still out and about, and waited for the storm to start. As the joors dragged on while they waited for the gathering clouds to finally unleash their deadly acid loads, Doubletake drilled the rest of the plan into the twinlings’ helms again and again.</p>
<p>As soon as the acid storm began and they determined that it was not heavy enough to offline them, they would make their way to an old waste grate buried halfway up the hill on which the base was built. They would then sneak into the waste disposal facility and from there the twinlings would take to the ventilation system in order to find the control room. Doubletake would scout out the lower hangars for an emergency escape transport just in case and also provide diversions as needed while the twinlings hacked into the network and uncovered why Megatron was suddenly so interested in the Uraya region again.</p>
<p>Not the most detailed plan, with complications guaranteed to arise, but Special Ops literally survived on their ability to walk into situations half-blind and adapt from there. They didn’t get nice intel packets and strategy plans for their operations like the front-liners did, Special Ops were the ones who had to go in and get the information said strategy plans used in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Several Joors Earlier:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track peeked out from under the low-hanging piece of rubble as the sky rumbled and an unnerving plop-hiss-plop-hiss-plop-hiss began to sound all around. He watched uneasily as several unnatural looking greenish droplets smacked onto the ground just outside his shelter and hissed their way deeper into the metal ground. He shivered at the tiny scratches and marks that began to appear, or grow deeper, every time more of the many droplets hit the ground and sizzled away into nothing.</p>
<p>He sent the emotional equivalent of a shudder of disgust to Zipline, who echoed it vehemently. No matter many times other Cybertronians told them that acid storms were a natural, if dangerous, phenomenon, the twinlings could simply never accept it. To the twinlings, who remembered the storms on Earth, storms meant falling water, churned up mud, and puddles to play around in later. Not greenish drops of stinging death.</p>
<p>Fast Track shifted his attention away from the falling acid and focused his long-range scanners on the perimeter of the enemy base. Sure enough, the Decepticon life-signs were rapidly retreating into the structure, not daring to be out in the potentially lethal storm. When the life-signs had all disappeared into the base, Fast Track and Zipline looked over at Doubletake, who had been studying the amount of acid-fall intently the entire time.</p>
<p>Doubletake’s lips twisted into a thoughtful expression, optics narrowing as he gave the ground outside their shelter one last look before he touched the twinlings shoulders, ::It’s only a moderate shower, we should be fine as long as we hurry. On my signal, run for the waste grate as fast as you can. Don’t stop for a moment, keep your battle masks on, your visors down, and <b>don’t transform</b>. Your armor can take the brunt of the acid, but your tires would be destroyed in breems even in this. Understood?::</p>
<p>Shifting into a better position, Fast Track braced himself, ::Understood.:: Zipline echoed Fast Track’s acknowledgement as they both triggered their battle masks and lowered their visors over their optics. Fast Track grimaced at the sensation of the mask closing over his face. He knew it was for protection, but it felt oddly suffocating, even though he didn’t technically need to breathe anymore.</p>
<p>Doubletake crawled forward so that he was just ahead of the twinlings, then pushed himself up into a tense crouch. Raising a servo, Doubletake held up three fingers. A klik passed and it was two fingers, another klik and there was only one finger left. A third klik passed and all three exploded into motion, pelting out into the open as fast as their pedes could carry them. Fast Track’s armor instinctively tamped down as much as possible over his frame, trying to keep out the acid rain that drizzled from the sky.</p>
<p>A droplet or two slipped through the minute gaps in his armor and Fast Track hissed at the sharp sting of it. He sent a sharp complaint to his twin, <em>“It’s as bad as those bee stings we got as a kids on Earth!” </em>Zipline gave a pulse of silent agreement as he too suffered acid droplets finding ways underneath his armor.</p>
<p>Thankfully, thirty kliks of hard sprinting brought them out of the acid shower and skidding down to their chosen entry point. Fast Track shook himself violently the moment he was underneath the overhang of the tunnel, an action which Zipline repeated and Doubletake gave a growl of disapproval at.</p>
<p>The grate preventing them from heading up the tunnel and into the base was old, worn, and partially rusted over. It was clear that for all of the resources being shipped to the Uraya base, no one had thought to use it for maintenance. At least not for the lower levels and the possible infiltration points. <em>Idiots. Works in our favor though.</em></p>
<p>Fast Track’s visor automatically scanned the grate and the tunnel just beyond it for traps, lasers, or other security triggers and he gave a grudging point to the Decepticon when two lasers, one at ankle height, one at chest height, cropped up on the scan results. Doubletake fearlessly tapped the metal with a finger, triggering vibrational scans for old sensor grids that might not have completely degraded under the rust before he unsubspaced a long energon scalpel and set to work creating an entrance.</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track flanked him as best they could under the tiny overhang, sensors spread as far as possible in case of any unexpected visitors. Zipline watched the tunnel, the more likely point of intrusion, while Fast Track stared out into the acid rain. He noted with a touch of anxiety that during the time it had taken for Doubletake to begin his work on the grate, the storm had increased from a moderate shower to a noticeably heavier downpour. <em>Good thing we ran as fast as we did.</em></p>
<p>Doubletake’s scalpel, originally made for cutting open damaged Brute-class armor, made quick work of the rust-weakened grate and the twinlings were soon helping him carefully shift a rough circle of metal to one side so that it wouldn’t fall over and make a lot of noise. Fast Track slipped in first, gaze flicking up and down the expanse of the curved walls to pinpoint the origins of the two security lasers. While he and Zipline were small enough to duck between the two lasers with ease, Doubletake was a lot taller and broader than they and there was a risk of his armor catching one of the beams. If he could, it would be much better for the mission if Fast Track could somehow ease Doubletake’s entrance into the tunnel.</p>
<p>After locating the small recesses in the walls from which the lasers emerged, Fast Track hummed softly to himself and slipped between the beams to the other side so that he could maneuver better. <em>Can’t break the beam, obviously. Can’t take the simple way out and redirect it with a single mirror. If the beam isn’t connected to both projectors for more than a nano-klik, it’ll trigger the alarms. Hmmm…</em></p>
<p>Fast Track’s optics lit up from behind his visor as an idea came to him. Unsubspacing four small pieces of mirror attached to pegs, he carefully arranged them on the floor into a shape reminiscent of rectangle, only missing a side closest to the waiting Doubletake. He started from the top two pegs, making sure that they were in the exact place and angle needed to pull off his idea. He then tossed one of the pegs to Zipline as he moved to the right-side projector. He sent swift pulse of calculations and a picture of his desired outcome to Zipline, who nodded and crouched by the left-side projector.</p>
<p>From behind their visors, the twinlings locked gazes and on an unspoken signal, dropped the last two mirror pegs into place. The lowermost laser was instantly redirected by the mirrors. It was forced to bend and lengthen into the desired shape by the first three mirrors, up-across-back-down, where the fourth refracted it back into the opposite projector, keeping the connection steady and tricking the sensor in thinking it had not been disturbed.</p>
<p>Fast Track stood up with a pleased smirk and stood aside for the other two. Doubletake scanned his work, able to see the lasers via his visor, and nodded in approval at what the twinlings had done. Ducking under the upper laser, he took three steps forward before stepping carefully over the extended lower laser.</p>
<p>After carefully removing the mirrors and restoring the laser just in case someone came by to check on it, the three ghosted up the rusted and grimy tunnel. It was not a pleasant trip. The tunnel was old and its bottom was slick with layers of grime and the remnants of the various unpleasant substances that were inevitably created when a large group inhabited the same place for a long period of time. Old energon traces, partially melted-down scrap metal, the dumped reservoirs of cleaning drones after they’d completed a cycle of duties…</p>
<p>Fast Track curled his lip a fraction, <em>“Ugh. Next time we infiltrate, we need to skip the waste tunnels and go straight to the ventilation shafts.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline sidestepped a large patch of rust with a wary look, <em>“Agreed. Very much agreed.”</em></p>
<p>Thankfully for the twinlings the tunnel, while steep, was not an overly long one. Within breems of careful sneaking, the three mechs were faced with another grate and the central waste disposal chamber beyond. Fast Track craned his neck cables, peering through the slots in the grate to visually check for guards while Zipline and Doubletake scanned for energy signatures.</p>
<p>Brushing his arm against Doubletake’s, Fast Track commed, ::Nothing. Why is no one here?::</p>
<p>Doubletake set to work on cutting through the grate, ::Mechs rarely come down here. It is more a punishment than an actual assignment among the Decepticons. So long as the upper levels function, it is likely that the current occupants will not set pede here. Be on the lookout for drones and other automated security measures instead.::</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded once, ::Right.::</p>
<p>After the grate was cut through and set aside, Zipline and Fast Track carefully assessed the walls of the room in which they now stood. Mentally matching up the old schematics Jazz had shown them with what he could see, Fast Track pointed out a large ventilation grate to his high right, <em>“That one should take us directly to the higher levels.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline briefly focused his gaze on the indicated vent before he shook his helm, <em>“It’s too big. There’s a big-blade fan down that vent as likely as not. I say we take that one.”</em> He motioned to a smaller vent directly across from them.</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded in agreement to his brother’s logic and they started to move forward only to have Doubletake pull them back with a sharp warning, ::Security cameras.::</p>
<p>Fast Track felt his cheek plates heat a bit and his spark swoop with fear as he realized that in their eagerness to prove themselves, they’d almost made a rookie mistake. Granted, they were rookies in Special Ops, but they had been avoiding Red Alert’s security cameras in order to pull off pranks for <b>vorns</b>. They knew better.</p>
<p>::Right. Sorry, Doubletake.:: Doubletake gave them both a stern warning look before letting them go.</p>
<p>Now taking extra care to avoid the range of the two security cameras set up in the room, the twinlings slunk for their chosen vent. Doubletake made for a panel on the wall that would give him access to the wiring of the camera overlooking the door so that he could make his exit while the twinlings carefully climbed up the wall, unscrewed the vent cover, and crawled inside.</p>
<p>Pulling the vent back into place was tricky, as was maneuvering the tiny magnets Zipline had brought so that they would be unnoticed but also hold the vent cover in place so as to avoid potential suspicion. But those were both things that they had been doing for vorns in the Autobot base. Fast Track slipped ahead of his twin, leading the way to the nearest vent intersection so that Zipline would be able to turn around. <em>“This was so much easier when we were tiny.” </em>He thought dryly at Zipline as they carefully wiggled around a corner, taking care not to make too much noise.</p>
<p>Zipline sent the equivalent to a grunt of exasperation as he finally managed to turn around and follow Fast Track properly, <em>“Tell me about it. We used to be able to turn around in the tunnels, not have to wiggle around backwards until we hit an intersection.”</em></p>
<p>They moved slowly, peering through every grate they came across and audios heightened to pick up any sound that would indicate either their current location or discovery. The higher they went, the more activity they heard outside the ventilation system. Pedesteps vibrated either above, beside, or below them at any given time as they crawled, and they paused frequently to eavesdrop on random snippets of conversation.</p>
<p>Fast Track paused just over the twentieth grate they had come across when he heard a low snarl just below him, “Great, just great. More slagging acid rain. Why are we even out here?” Fast Track peered down through the grate at the speaker, a burly front-liner with a pitch black paint-job.</p>
<p>“You know why,” snapped a much more wiry mech that Fast Track tentatively identified as a member of Megatron’s duel sword-wielder caste, “the Science Division’s new toy has to be tested and this is the best place to do it without risking collateral damage or Autobot notice.”</p>
<p>The first mech ruffled his armor unhappily, “So why do <b>we</b> have to be the ones to guard the deadly experimental weapon that could possibly blow up and kill us all?”</p>
<p>“Because we’re not Megatron or his command staff.” Was the deadpan reply.</p>
<p>The bigger mech shifted and tapped his fingers against one arm, “So we’re expendable, is that it? Great, just great.”</p>
<p>His companion revved his engine aggressively, “Oh, shove it up your exhaust, Caltrop, at least you get to sit in the control room monitoring everything from a safe distance. <b>Some</b> of us have to actually be in the same room as that thing while the pseudo-Shockwaves fiddle with it.” <em>New toy of the science division? Must be a new weapon of some kind.</em></p>
<p>A third voice broke in, high and imperious, “Oi! What are you two doing? Get back to your stations!”</p>
<p>The firs two mechs moved away from each other with identical grumbles and Zipline hissed to Fast Track hastily over the bond, <em>“You follow Caltrop, I’ll follow the little guy.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track gave a curt nod and began to crawl through the vents after the mech named Caltrop. It was difficult to follow the mech when he could only catch glimpses of him through the vent grates and the ventilation system didn’t strictly follow the hallways. Still, Caltrop was a rather noisy mech, even among the other Decepticons in the hallways, and if Fast Track could be considered a veteran in one thing, it was following an unsuspecting target via the ventilation system.</p>
<p>::Doubletake to Twinlings.:: Despite it being an internal com, Doubletake kept his voice low and his transmissions short. The Special Ops had extremely high encryption on their mission channels, but one could never take enough precautions. The shorter the transmission burst, the less chance there was of it being picked up on and hacked, ::Status.::</p>
<p>Fast Track clicked open his com briefly as he wiggled carefully around a sharp right corner, his shoulder-plates brushing too close for comfort against the walls, ::Fast Track en-route to first objective.::</p>
<p>There was a faint click and Zipline whispered over the line, ::Zipline en-route to second objective.:: He paused and then added in a separate transmission, ::Evidence points to this being a new weapons testing facility, Doubletake.::</p>
<p>Several kliks passed before Doubletake commed again, ::Acknowledged, Zipline. Investigate the nature of new weapon. Fast Track, initiate protocol seven on lower hangar bay 2A when you reach the first objective.::</p>
<p>Fast Track mentally reviewed which protocol was which this metacycle, <em>Protocol seven … ah. Shut down the hangar security from the control room so Doubletake can secure our emergency exit.</em> Satisfied that he knew what Doubletake wanted of him, he clicked an acknowledgement and shut off his com again.</p>
<p>Peaking through a grate, Fast Track realized that Caltrop was heading for the turbolifts and he cursed internally. There was no way he’d be able to keep up with a turbolift when he had to crawl his way up the shafts via small magnetic pulses. But he couldn’t afford to lose Caltrop either, they had already passed the floor that contained the original control room and Fast Track had no other lead to his desired destination.</p>
<p>Swallowing down his fear, Fast Track unsubspaced a tiny tracking beacon and crawled ahead of Caltrop to the next vent grate. It was risky planting a tracker on a mech in the middle of an enemy base. Not only could someone else possibly pick up its signal, but a passing guard could spot the irregularity on Caltrop’s armor and raise the alarm once they figured out what it was. Still, Caltrop was bulky enough that there was chance no one would notice, and Fast Track didn’t really have any other choice.</p>
<p>Holding the tiny, circular beacon delicately between his fingers, Fast Track counted off Caltrop’s lumbering pedesteps and prepared to take advantage of the three to four-klik window he’d have to drop the beacon onto Caltrop’s armor. Hopefully onto a part of Caltrop’s armor that no one would pay much attention to. <em>Five … four … three … two … one … </em>Caltrop passed below him and Fast Track dropped the beacon. His spark felt like it skipped a beat when it missed Caltrop’s shoulders and back plating entirely, <em>no-!</em></p>
<p>With a faint ping audible only to Fast Track, the beacon attached to Caltrop’s outstretched heel strut and turned on. Fast Track exhaled softly in relief, <em>close one.</em> With a way of tracking Caltrop despite the turbolifts ensured, he turned his attention to finding a way up however many floors it was to the control room.</p>
<p>He stretched his sensors out in an effort to map the ventilation system around him and sighed faintly when he realized that the nearest vent that could take him upward wasn’t very near at all. There was also a small but potentially deadly fan he would have to disable in order to proceed to his objective. <em>Hope Doubletake’s order isn’t terribly time-sensitive. Cause this could take a while.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <b>Several Breems Earlier:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline stared down at the rows of vials being fussed with by three Decepticon scientists and felt his his spark skip a bit for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. He risked a light, swift scan of the items in question and waited for his HUD to sort through the results. The results weren’t all that comforting. The vials were made out of a completely nonmetallic material. If he remembered Fulcrum’s babbling lectures on protocols for handling various dangerous chemicals correctly, nonmetallic <b>anything</b> was an extremely rare and expensive commodity that was only used for either extremely sensitive chemicals, or ones that reacted violently when exposed to common metals. Things such as more potent acids or certain artificial mixtures that were very dangerous to handle without a nonmetallic buffer between the bot and the project.</p>
<p>But the contents of the vials didn’t <b>look</b> like the mixtures, compounds, or acids Fulcrum had used as examples. It didn’t glow, he didn’t see any bubbles even when he zoomed-in his optics and visor, and it had none of the colors of the compounds he remembered.</p>
<p>It was just … silver. It looked like hundreds of little silver flakes that swirled madly in the vials whenever one of the scientists picked one up and babbled out a reading. Zipline narrowed his optics in frustration as he tried to make sense of the scientific babble, <em>should’ve had Fast Track come down here instead. He’d understand what all of these seven-syllable words meant.</em></p>
<p>Two sentences caught his attention in the back and forth stream of words, “-inoculation serum is not progressing as hoped. If a solution is not found soon, the project may have to be suspended as too dangerous for use.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” scoffed a tall, lime-green mech as he lightly tapped the vial he was holding, causing the unknown substance inside to swirl even more frenziedly than before, “it would merely be restricted to long-range use. So long as any Decepticon forces were out of the blast radius, risk of infection would be negligible.”</p>
<p>The first scientist, the one who had mentioned an inoculation sent a scathing look at his companion, “A ‘negligible’ risk is still far too high when considering the potency of the strain.”</p>
<p><em>Strain. Inoculation. Blast radius. </em><b><em>Infection</em></b><em>.</em> Zipline’s optics went wide behind his visor as he frantically opened the private three-way channel between himself, his twin, and his mentor, ::Doubletake, it’s a bioweapon. I repeat, the Decepticons are using this site to refine a <b>bioweapon</b> and use it as a <b>bomb</b>.::</p>
<p>Somehow, Doubletake’s voice became even more serious, ::Secure a sample at all costs. Set charges for remote detonation. We’ll destroy the rest once we’re clear.::</p>
<p>::Wait!:: Fast Track cut in on the conversation, ::Zipline, what kind of bioweapon is it? What is it’s transmission method?::</p>
<p>Sensing a longer conversation in the making, Zipline switched over to their bond, <em>“What do you mean?”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Viruses and other types of infections are only contagious if they have a way to spread. Like how poisoning an energon reservoir causes anyone who drinks from it to become sick. If it’s a bomb, then it has to have a way of spreading the infection. Like … lacing the shrapnel of something. Depending on </em>
  <b>
    <em>how</em>
  </b>
  <em> the bioweapon is transmitted, blowing up the samples might just spread it through the entire base and kill us all.”</em>
</p>
<p>Zipline’s armor fluttered faintly in unease at Fast Track’s explanation, <em>“I don’t know how it spreads!”</em></p>
<p>For a moment, Fast Track didn’t reply and sent a pulse that indicated he was distracted. Several kliks passed and, after a flutter of shaky anxiety, Fast Track responded,<em>“Then let me listen in. Or better yet, pull up the data they have on the weapon and send me an image.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline vented slowly and tensed his frame, <em>“Right, give me a few kliks.”</em> Leaning a touch closer to the grate, Zipline swept his optics around the lab, triple-checking the positions of each Decepticon in the room and mentally ranking which ones were the most dangerous. <em>Gotta do this fast and careful, can’t have any of those vials breaking until I know they won’t kill me instantly.</em></p>
<p>Pulling back a bit, he curled in on himself as much as he could and shifted so that his left shoulder was facing the grate. With a lurch of motion, he uncoiled and slammed shoulder first into the grate. The metal screws holding it in place snapped under the sudden pressure and Zipline rolled out of the vent as the grate hit the opposite wall with a loud bang.</p>
<p>Halfway between the vent and the floor, Zipline twisted in the air and flung high-level EMP mini-grenades at the four guards in the lab. The small devices clamped onto their targets via a small magnetic charge and detonated, sending the mechs down to the ground without even time for a cry.</p>
<p>Hitting the floor, Zipline twisted to his pedes and flung three more mini-grenades in the direction he recalled the scientists being. Two went down with garbled cries while the third hurled himself behind a data-station to avoid the others’ fate, <em>scrap! “Track, jammer! Now!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline lunged for the data-station, intending to leap over it and take out the scientist before he could get word out of Zipline’s presence, but froze when the scientist abruptly stood up again with a large blaster pointed right at Zipline’s helm, “Don’t move, Autobot!”</p>
<p>Zipline went still, optics flicking frantically from side to side for a piece of cover large enough to protect him from the blaster the other mech was carrying. The scientist hissed demandingly, “How did you get in here? Where are the rest of your kind?”</p>
<p>Zipline mentally gauged the distance between himself and the blaster, “Walked in the front door, obviously, and why would there be more of me? I’m enough to handle <b>this</b> place.”</p>
<p>The lime-green scientist curled his lips into a sneer, “Apparently not, Autobot. More guards are on their way right now and you will make a most excellent test subject.”</p>
<p>Zipline flattened his armor in fear and slowly raised his servos, <em>just need him to come out from behind there,</em> “Now, now, let’s not do anything hasty…”</p>
<p>The scientist waved the blaster menacingly, “Oh this is not hasty, just fortuitously timed. Test subjects are always so hard to requisition from Kaon, Shockwave keeps all of the best ones for himself, you know.”</p>
<p>Panic clawed at the edges of Zipline’s mind as he struggled to distract the Decepticon and make him come out from behind the data-station into Zipline’s reach, “Is that so?” <em>“Track, tell me the Decepticon coms are jammed. Please.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Working on it! The firewalls in the network are way tighter than I thought they’d be. I’m a little busy trying to bypass them without setting off every alarm in the base!”</em> His brother sounded frazzled, but with a blaster so close to blowing his helm off, Zipline could not really find it in himself to sympathize.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Yeah, well, </em>
  <b>
    <em>I’m</em>
  </b>
  <em> going to be a little busy putting my helm back together if you don’t jam the coms and lower the blast doors between me and this ‘Con’s reinforcements!”</em>
  
</p>
<p>The scientist was coming out very slowly from behind the station as he talked, “Oh, don’t patronize me. I am aware that you cannot possibly understand the frustrations of being a researcher under Shockwave’s command and no amount of talking will stall your fate.”</p>
<p>Zipline felt one of his legs twitch with the urge to lunge, but the mech was still too far away to risk rushing him or pulling out a weapon of his own. The scientist inched closer to the long tray of vials and held one up tauntingly, “No doubt your superiors wanted you to recover more information about this? Well, I’ll be happy to demonstrate once the proper … accommodations have been arranged for you. Though, unfortunately for you, you will be in no condition to report to your superiors after the demonstration.”</p>
<p>The fear was growing, spurned on by the sudden spike of alarm from Fast Track and his chronometer ticking down the time until more Decepticons showed up, “Why wait? I mean, the guards might just shoot me and have done, which would be a waste of a ‘test subject’ to you, wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>The mech laughed, not a nice sound by any stretch of the word, “Oh, I am not <b>stupid</b>, mechling. This,” he jiggled the vial, causing the contents to swirl madly, “is not something you just open and use. No. This is something entirely new, you see.” The mech’s sneer turned to an unhinged smile, “Tell me, Autobot, have you ever seen a scraplet horde? How they fly through the air in hunt of their prey, unstoppable, unrelenting, small enough to infiltrate any hiding place?” He didn’t wait for Zipline to answer, “Now imagine, if you will, if a virus could be made to fly and hunt in the same manner as the scraplets. A virus that would affect anything within its range of motion save for those with the proper anti-viral code. Imagine a bomb, dropping a payload of tons of this flying virus onto enemy lines.” The mech didn’t seem to notice Zipline’s look of dawning horror and he purred, “Wouldn’t that just be <b>glorious</b>?”</p>
<p>Zipline didn’t think so. He thought the opposite in fact. He snapped open his com frantically, ::It’s an airborne virus. They’ve created an <b>airborne virus</b>.::</p>
<p>Doubletake sounded both alarmed and incredulous, ::…That’s impossible, there is no way to transmit viral codes through the atmosphere.::</p>
<p>Zipline didn’t get a chance to reply as the door behind him finally slid open and two Decepticons came running in, “Hold it right there, Autoslag!” The panic in Zipline’s spark worked its way into his vents and then into his cables, cutting off his ability to think tactically and leaving behind only his ability to <b>move</b>.</p>
<p>Servos grabbed his wrists and made to force them behind his back as the scientist’s gloating voice faded to unintelligible background noise. The moment the fingers had begun to close on his wrists, Zipline was moving, instinct from Doubletake’s training and terror working together to make him lunge forward in a roll, dragging his surprised would-be captor with him.</p>
<p>Blaster shots went off as Zipline curled to the ground, the Decepticon who had attempted to grab hold of him ending up draped atop him like a living shield while he unsubspaced a blaster. Throwing the Decepticon off of his frame so that he crashed into the scientist, Zipline fired at the second Decepticon, his many, many joors in the simulation room making him aim for the mech’s neck cables. The three shots slammed into the Decepticon’s chest-plates and lower throat cables, smashing open the energon lines in the mech’s neck and sending blue arterial spray everywhere as he went down.</p>
<p>Twisting on his knees, Zipline fired at the Decepticon he had thrown. The mech’s helm snapped to one side as Zipline’s energon rounds smashed into it and he slumped forward, pinning the scientist partway beneath the offline frame. Zipline staggered forward, blaster pointed at the struggling scientist’s helm, “Surrender-”</p>
<p>The mech screeched a note of pure malice and wrenched one servo free, aiming to throw the vial in his grasp at Zipline’s faceplate-</p>
<p>Zipline’s was pulling the trigger before he was even aware of it, his reflexive flinch away from anything being thrown toward his faceplate causing him to snap off the rest of the clip in his pistol before he was able to regain control of his reflexes. When he did, Zipline recoiled and felt his his tanks roil with the need to eject their contents, <em>I … I just … he … I didn’t mean-</em> He wanted to tear his optics away, but for some reason, they wouldn’t obey his commands.</p>
<p>A growing puddle of energon pooled around the blackened shrapnel and broken parts that used to be the scientist’s helm, singe marks on the floor testifying to the fact that some of Zipline’s shots had gone clean through the mech’s helm, while it had still existed, and into the floor itself. <em>I offlined him.</em> Zipline’s gaze jumped without his consent to the other two mechs, <em>I offlined all of them… oh AllSpark. Oh AllSpark, I- I-</em></p>
<p>A loud noise wailed through the room, yanking Zipline out of his spiral of horror and back to his endangered present. Over their bond, Fast Track was using every curse he’d ever overheard, english and swedish ones intermingling freely with Cyber-Standard ones even as he roared over their com, ::Failsafe switch! They had a fragging, glitching, pit-spawned failsafe switch programmed into the com frequencies! We need to evac! Now!::</p>
<p>::I have procured our escape route. Twinlings, rendezvous at hangar bay 2A! Zipline, we need that sample!::</p>
<p>Doubletake’s familiar rumble pulled Zipline the rest of the way out of his stupor. Ejecting the empty clip and slamming a new one into the receiver, Zipline swallowed back his ejected energon and pried the somehow still-intact vial from the scientist’s stiff fingers and subspaced it, ::On my way! Track, shut down the ventilation system, I’ll seal the door on my way out but we’ll need to move fast!::</p>
<p>::Make it snappy, Zip, I’ve got company headed my way!:: Nodding despite Fast Track being unable to see the motion, Zipline pulled two remotely detonated plasma grenades out of his subspace and tossed them under the tray holding the other vials.</p>
<p>He ran out of the room without looking back, only pausing to break the door controls so that it automatically slid shut and locked tight before he began to run down the halls, <em>“Track!”</em></p>
<p><em>“Vents are sealed!”</em> Zipline heaved a shaky sigh of relief as he keyed the detonation sequence into his HUD. A muffled “oomph” sound behind him signaled the explosion of the samples. Zipline made to inform Doubletake of the successful detonation when blaster-bolts whipped past his helm and forced him to make a sharp detour, <em>scrap-scrap-scrap-scrap!</em></p>
<p>Zipline ran faster, trying to fight down the panic that crawled through his lines as he found himself cut off over and over again from the routes that would take him down to hangar bay 2A, ::I’m cut off!:: He screeched frantically as he retreated upward, the only direction that wasn’t overrun with Decepticons. A quiet part of his processor dimply noted that they must be the rest of the reinforcements that the scientist had commed for. The two he had … disposed of must have simply been the closest at servo. Not that the assumption helped him any.</p>
<p>The world began to devolve into a energon-pumping blur of motion, narrow escapes, and constant blaster fire. He was dimly aware of Doubletake announcing that he was pulling his stolen dropship out of the hangar and for Zipline to get to one of the open-air seeker platforms for pickup. He was also distantly aware of when Fast Track began to panic over the seekers swarming the now rainless skies trying to shoot down the stolen dropship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <b>Present Time:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline panted as he burst onto a seeker platform, his frame aching from the various blows and glancing shots he had accumulated over his frantic retreat. He spun into a crouch, the axe of the Decepticon who had tried to take him from behind missing his helm by only a narrow margin. A knife dropped out of his subspace and Zipline flicked it upward, the momentum burying it into the mech’s throat just beneath his chin. The light faded from the mech’s optics as his spark signal dropped off of Zipline’s scanners.</p>
<p>But Zipline had no time to contemplate that, he was too busy evading the other seven mechs all bent on his destruction. Panic and desperation pulsed in a never-ending loop between Fast Track and himself, both desperate to reunite, both still stuck in their respective locations. Zipline rolled away from a hail blaster bolts, stumbling as the injury in his left leg acted up and a harsh wind pulled viciously at his wiry frame.</p>
<p>The mechs drew closer, not even faltering as Zipline took down another of their number with a quick shot from his blaster. He aimed at another mech and pulled the trigger, only to be met with the tell-tale click-click-click of an empty weapon. Cursing, Zipline feinted to the left as he subspaced the empty blaster and reached for another one. Whipping around unexpectedly to the right, Zipline managed to slip by the Decepticons’ mech-made blockade, slamming a knife into the knee joint of a particularly large one as he went by.</p>
<p>The mech roared and swung his sledgehammer, catching Zipline with a glancing blow to his backplates before the younger mech could get out of range. Zipline stumbled, off balance from the blow as the endless, high-altitude wind battered him again.</p>
<p>His mentor’s tight, deep voice cut across the three-way com channel, ::Zipline, I’m almost there with a transport, just stay online for one more breem.::</p>
<p>Zipline cried out as a blaster bolt slammed into hisleft shoulder plate. He retaliated by finally unsubspacing his scatter blaster and firing away at the mechs attempting to surround him and bring him down, ::I don’t <b>have</b> another breem, Doubletake!:: The number of enemies were increasing as more poured onto the high-altitude seeker platform onto which Zipline had fled.</p>
<p>Doubletake snapped grimly in response to Zipline’s com, ::Then <b>make</b> one more breem, youngling!::</p>
<p>Fast Track was frantic on Zipline’s behalf now, just as desperate as Zipline to be reunited with his twin, <em>“Zip? Zip just hang on!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline feinted left, then right, trying to find a way out of the corner into which the Decepticons were slowly forcing him. They were cautious as they closed in, wary. Despite their overwhelming numbers, none of them wanted to get too close to him again. Not with a trail of offline frames testifying to his desperate prowess. Zipline swallowed back the lurch in his tanks at the half-formed thought of said trail. <em>So many dead, energon-everywhere-make-it-stop-</em></p>
<p>Someone fired at him from the left and Zipline instinctively jumped backwards to get away from the blast. His legs extended for the landing even as horror ripped across his twin bond with Fast Track and his twin screamed, <em>“Zipline!”</em> Zipline was confused for a nano-klik, uncomprehending as to why Fast Track was suddenly so spark-wrenchingly horrified, then he realized it.</p>
<p>His pedes should have already touched the ground by now.</p>
<p>The startled roars from the Decepticons sounded muted beneath the static in his audios as he watched, dumbfounded, as the lip of the platform seemed to rise up through his field of vision, like it was growing taller. The world slowed until each breem was a pulse of his horror-numbed spark, <em>no. It’s not growing taller…</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>I’m falling.</em>
</p>
<p>And the ground was much, much too far away for his landing to be anything other than fatal.</p>
<p>Two voices, one in his spark and one over his com, screamed futilely at the exact same moment, <em>“</em><b><em>Zipline!</em></b><em>”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0071"><h2>71. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Part 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(11 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wind rushed past him. Howling and battering his frame as he fell, it tossed him about like a toy as he screamed. The world spun as he was rolled and flipped uncontrollably. Around him the sky, with its swarm of seekers and the dropship frantically trying to break through and catch him, swapped places with the rapidly approaching ground too many times for him to count. <em>No-no-no-no-no!</em> Denial and terror filled him and overrode every other thought or instinct as he plummeted ever faster toward his doom.</p>
<p>At some point in his flailing, he managed to right himself so that he was no longer spinning and instead had an uninterrupted view of the ground rushing ever closer. His spark thundered its chamber as both his terror and Fast Track’s continually crashed over him. <em>Falling-no-no-I-don’t-want-die-stop-falling-someone-something-save-me-!</em></p>
<p>Something trickled in past his predominant hysteria, causing his mouth plates to suddenly snap shut and his screams to fall silent. It was a voice, Zipline could barely hear it over the wind and the fear, yet it called to him, confronted him, demanded his attention above everything else. Most of what the voice said was lost to his terror-haze, yet through the haze and the static and the wind, the intent of the words slipped through and imbedded themselves into his memories as images. For a moment, Zipline could no longer see the ground surging up to meet him, or feel the wind battering and tearing at his frame.</p>
<p>He saw a wild creature, staring down at him from atop its outcrop of metal, free and aloof and savage. He saw a mini-bot with a crazy grin, he saw a praxian with his doorwings spread wide. The praxian suddenly looked up at the sky and for an instant Zipline saw through his optics, saw the expanses above him …</p>
<p>And then he saw the wings.</p>
<p>The world snapped back into place, revealing the ground to be a lot closer than before and still approaching. Terror spiked but then was replaced by confusion as words began to scroll rapidly through his HUD.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Situation Analysis: Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Situation: Critical.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Guardian Mode: Required For Continued Function.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Selecting Gear: … Gear Four Selected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installing Gear Four Drives: … 10% Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ground was getting closer, Zipline was beginning to be able to make out individual outcrops and ridges across the metal surface. Fast Track had gone eerily silent over the bond, but Doubletake was still frantically pinging him with com messages Zipline didn’t bother to read. He was too busy alternately watching Cybertron surge up to meet him and reading the rapid scrawl of words flowing across his HUD.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Synchronizing with Sensor Grid: … Synchronized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives: … 30%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Synchronizing with T-Cog: … Synchronized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives: … 63%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Unlocking Subspace Alt Pocket: … Unlocked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives … 89%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ground was disturbingly close now. Zipline gritted his denta, <em>whatever is happening, hurry it up!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives … 97%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ground was much, much too close now. He was going to hit in just a few more kliks-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives: … 100%</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Gear Four Drives: Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Guardian Mode: Activating … Activated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Commencing Guardian Mode: Gear Four.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something surged through Zipline, an impulse that overrode whatever else might have been in his helm and buzzed straight down to his T-Cog. With a yelp, his plating split apart and whirled into a complicated transformation he was certain he hadn’t had the schematics for before now.</p>
<p>The transformation completed nano-kliks before he could hit the ground, some foreign-yet-familiar impulse causing him to pull his body into a vertical position to the ground and fire his engine at the same moment. For a moment, the world froze. Zipline stopped falling, held motionless in the air by the push of gravity and the roar of his own engine, both forces warring with the other, the struggle pinning Zipline in place mere feet off of the ground.</p>
<p>Then Zipline’s engine won the war with gravity and he was <b>soaring</b>.</p>
<p>Upward he surged, reclaiming his lost altitude at five times the speed with which he had lost it. Zipline gave a wild cry of elation and disbelief as he shot upward, past the dropship which had been futility diving after him, through the swarm of startled seekers, and up, up, up, into the suddenly endless sky.</p>
<p>His com pinged again and Zipline finally opened it to Doubletake’s incredulous shout of, ::Zipline? What are you…? <b>How</b> are you…? What did you <b>do</b>?::</p>
<p>Zipline flipped and twisted in the air, something deep inside him that had never existed before purring at the feeling of the wind rushing over his wings, ::I’m flying! Doubletake, I’m <b>flying</b>!::</p>
<p>Before Doubletake could say anything in response to Zipline’s elated cry, red blaster rounds whipped past his frame, the turbulence caused by the passage making the wind buck underneath him, “Whoa!”</p>
<p>::Explanations later, fly youngling! Follow me!:: The dropship swerved up into a shaky formation next to Zipline and began to fly away from the Decepticon base at top speed. Zipline wrestled his alt mode back under control and took off after him, Decepticon Seekers following right on their afterburners.</p>
<p>The next two breems was a blur blaster fire, curses from Doubletake, and Zipline obeying his new, foreign instincts to avoid getting shot down. There was no instinct that told him how to fight back, or if there was, Zipline couldn’t hear it. The only impulses from his new instincts was to dip, roll, dive and spin out of the way of attacks as he and Doubletake’s dropship fled for the rendezvous point. Considering that the instincts were the only things keeping Zipline in the air and away from a panic attack over the fact that he was <b>flying several thousand feet above the ground</b>, he wasn’t very inclined to disobey the urge to flee and not fight.</p>
<p>Fast Track had snapped out of whatever trance had fallen over him during and just after Zipline’s unexpected transformation, and he was now using the emergency top turret on the dropship to fire at the seekers chasing them. Zipline ducked under a large red round and snapped, <em>“Watch it, Track!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track apologized instantly, <em>“Sorry, sorry! I’m trying, but there are just so many of them! Fly in front of us or something! Or, you know, help me fight them off!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline jinked back and forth, <em>“How?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track sent him a pulse of agitated anger, <em>“You can </em><b><em>fly</em></b><em> can’t you? Shoot them down!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline barrel-rolled away from a projectile missile, <em>“I don’t know how!”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Well think of something! We’re going to get shot to pieces at this rate!”</em>
</p>
<p>If Zipline could have bitten his lip, he would have, <em>do I even have weapons systems in this form?</em> His HUD pinged helpfully, producing pop-up schematics of the blasters on the very tips of his wings and an unsubspacable missile launcher Zipline was sure he had never had before. <em>I’m going to regret this. </em>Scrounging around in his helm for the various stunts he’d seen Autobot Aerials do during their practices, Zipline tilted his nose to the sky again and then just kept tilting. The world spun dizzyingly and the sensors in his wings flared desperately in an effort to keep himfrom losing track of his position.</p>
<p>The Decepticon Seekers shot underneath him, surprised by his sudden change of tactics. Zipline settled unsteadily into place behind the seekers and fired. His shots went wild, only succeeding in breaking up their formations as they split apart and several moved to engage him in an aerial fight Zipline was definitely <b>not</b> prepared for. <em>Oh-scrap-oh-scrap-oh-scrap!</em></p>
<p>Pulling into a wild dive to avoid the flanking maneuver of the seekers, Zipline screeched, <em>“That was a bad idea, Track. </em><b><em>Bad idea</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p><em>“You had a better one?”</em> Snapped his stressed twin in retort.</p>
<p>Zipline pulled out of his dive with a scream of his engine and the howl of the wind across his wings, <em>“Yeah! Not picking a fight with Seekers when I </em><b><em>don’t know how to fly</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“You’re flying right now aren’t you?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t know how I’m doing even that!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Then why did you listen to me?”</em>
</p>
<p><em>“I </em><b><em>don’t fragging know</em></b><em>-”</em> Zipline yowled as a seeker dived right past his nose, throwing him off balance with the wild turbulence the move caused.</p>
<p>::Zipline, make for these coordinates! Iacon is going to open a groundbridge!:: Zipline twisted and bobbed in the air, frantically trying to regain his equilibrium as the remains of a seeker Fast Track had shot fell past him in a blaze of fire and smoke, adding to the turbulence.</p>
<p>::Trying!:: With an unsteady jerk of his wings, Zipline regained control over his alt mode and took off toward the coordinates Doubletake had sent him. His engine whined under the strain as he tried to coax more speed out of it. A third of the seeker force had been shot down by Fast Track, but the rest were still stubbornly pursuing and Zipline could see a worrisome banner of smoke emitting from the right side of the dropship.</p>
<p>Zipline’s HUD began to ping feverishly, pop-ups with glaring red words of “enemy missile lock detected” seared across his vision. Zipline swore to himself as he pushed his engine, <em>faster!</em></p>
<p>Another pop-up formed, warning of a potential engine overheat if Zipline did not slow down, but it was ignored in favor of the missile-lock pop-ups, ::Doubletake, where’s the bridge?::</p>
<p>::They’re working on it!::</p>
<p>The pop-ups changed to even bigger “missile inbound” messages and Zipline pushed his engine even harder, <em>faster! Faster! </em>They were almost at the coordinates, but Zipline didn’t see the familiar swirl of groundbridge energy anywhere, ::Doubletake, I’m not seeing a groundbridge!::</p>
<p>The dropship shuddered violently as it took several more blaster hits, ::Just keep flying!::</p>
<p>A miniature radar appeared on Zipline’s HUD, blinking red dots that signified the location of the approaching missiles making Zipline push his screaming engine even harder, <em>faster-faster-faster!</em> He couldn’t drop his altitude in an attempt to shake the missiles or he would miss his chance to enter the, as yet non-existent, groundbridge. Groundbridge protocols dictated that it was only supposed to stay open for a few kliks when evacuating Special Ops mechs. Mostly because they tended to have unwelcome company right behind them when missions went wrong. Such as right that klik.</p>
<p>His only chance was to outrun the missiles and go through the groundbridge before they hit him. If he got through in time, the groundbridge would close and the missiles would be trapped on the other side where they couldn’t reach him.</p>
<p>Assuming the groundbridge actually opened, of course.</p>
<p>::<b>Doubletake</b>!:: The missiles were almost on him, he wasn’t going to make it-</p>
<p>A groundbridge swirled into being centimeters in front of his nosecone and before Zipline could fully register what was happening, he and the dropship were through it and inside the massive groundbridge hangar. Metal groaned and screamed as the dropship crashed to the ground, sliding to a stop.</p>
<p>Zipline wasn’t quite so lucky. The instincts that had kept him alive screeched for him to slow down <b>now</b> and Zipline’s engine twinged with pain as he reversed the flow of his burners. An experienced seeker or aerial would have been able to stay balanced in the air and slow down into a hover before landing. Zipline, having exactly no experience whatsoever, overcompensated and made the singularly stupid mistake of jerking his nosecone upward at the same time.</p>
<p>His flipped crazily backward and up, nose over tail in the air before his engine finally gave out, he stalled near the ceiling of the hangar, and plummeted gracelessly to the ground. He transformed halfway through his fall, crashing onto his backplates with a wheeze of pain and an agonizing crack of one shoulder-joint.</p>
<p>Zipline blinked dazedly up at the blurred figures of Autobots crowding around him, trying to think past the throbbing of his broken engine and shoulder-joint. His systems, overworked from the stress, excitement, and repeated near-death experiences of the cycle finally gave out just as the hazy silhouette of a large Autobot loomed over him and he fell abruptly into unconsciousness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline groaned as he came slowly back online. The heady rush of elation over his bond with Fast Track jolted his onlining process from slow to fast and Zipline whimpered at the momentary helm-ache it gave him.</p>
<p>A shaking servo patted his arm as the elation turned to overwhelming relief, “Zip! Yo’ ‘ake!”</p>
<p>Zipline groaned again and twitched his patted arm in protest, “N’ ‘ally. Le’ m’ sle’…”</p>
<p>Fast Track patted Zipline’s arm more instantly, “Yo’ ne’ ‘ake u’ no’! Med’ wi’ b’ co’!” <em>Medics will be coming? Why would they-</em> His memories files finally booted up and Zipline’s optics snapped open, <em>frag!</em> He sat up hastily, only to double over with a whine at the sharp throb of pain that went through his midriff at his sudden motion.</p>
<p>Fast Track fluttered worriedly. However, before he could state the obvious and tell Zipline to not move so fast, the door swished open, someone strode briskly inside, and rapped him hard on the helm with a wrench.</p>
<p>“Ow!” Zipline clapped his servos over his helm, “What was that for?”</p>
<p>“Do you <b>really</b> want to make me answer that?” Zipline went very still at the icy voice, a bit of fear crawling up his spinal strut.</p>
<p>Peering shyly at the medic bristling by his berth, Zipline squeaked, “Oh. Hey Star … uh, we’re home?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optic twitched and she rapped him firmly on the helm again with a wrench. Moments later, before Zipline could recover from Starwish’s second assault, Ratchet entered the room and nailed him with a wrench between his optics. Zipline fell back with a yowl of pain which Ratchet successfully drowned out with his roar of, “What the frag did you think you were doing, you meltdown piece of scrap-metal forged from a glitched cyber-dog and an <b><em>Earth Lemming</em></b>? Do you even know what kind of repairs we had to make on your sorry aft to stabilize it? No, of course you don’t, because you’re just like your <em>dads</em>, <b>never</b> thinking ahead to the consequences, oh no.”</p>
<p>Zipline rubbed his new dents and attempted futilely to defend himself, “Hey, I didn’t ask the ‘Cons to shoot at me!” <em>Or knock me off the tower…</em></p>
<p>Both medics gave him identical looks that meant “like frag” before Starwish left him to Ratchet’s mercies in favor of tending to Fast Track on the berth next to Zipline’s. Zipline blinked shyly up at Ratchet as the medic fussed over the monitoring equipment and ran repeated scans over him. Seeing the blink, Ratchet snarled, “Don’t even try it, youngling, or I’ll give Sunstreaker and Sideswipe the full medical report of your injuries <b>before</b> I let them visit you, Special Ops patient confidentiality be slagged.”</p>
<p>Zipline and Fast Track shared terrified looks. Bad enough that this incident would probably be classified over their dads’ clearance levels, but to only let them know just how badly Zipline had been injured without the details of <b>how</b>? It would be a Grimlock-level disaster waiting to explode.</p>
<p>Then another thought occurred to Zipline and he asked, “How badly was Track damaged?”</p>
<p>Fast Track snorted, “Nowhere near as bad as you, Zip- ow! <em>Sis</em>!”</p>
<p>Starwish calmly subspaced her wrench and folded her prosthetics again, “That isn’t something to be proud of Fast Track. Especially considering the fact that you ran around on a cracked leg strut and got thrown into a wall by a ‘Con Brute. Repeatedly.” Fast Track frowned and opened his mouth but was cut off by a dry, “I work primarily in the trauma ward, Fast Track. I know what it takes to get those kinds of indentations down the length of your entire back plating.”</p>
<p>Fast Track pouted but didn’t push the point and the twinlings spent the next few breems reassuring each other that they were both fine while the two medics scanned, checked, rescanned, and occasionally bopped them on the helms for their stupidity. Finally, after making sure that Zipline hadn’t broken his temporary internal welds and that Fast Track’s leg repairs were holding just fine, Ratchet stepped back and demanded, “Alright, youngling, how did you do it?”</p>
<p>Zipline cocked his helm cautiously to one side, “Do … what?”</p>
<p>Ratchet scowled, “Destroy your engine. And I do mean <b>destroy</b>. It was irreparable. You’ll be off the field for at least two metacycles until a replacement one becomes available and then at least three more metacycles until it integrates properly. You slagged some of your piping too, which is unheard of in a mech your size, so I want to know <b>how</b> you managed to pull that off.”</p>
<p>Zipline started to speak when Starwish glanced at Zipline with a dark expression that promised horrible retribution if he attempted to pull a “classified”. Ratchet was the Autobot CMO and she was the sparkmate of the head of Special Ops, they both had more clearance than Zipline himself did.</p>
<p>He sighed through his vents and shrugged helplessly, “I fell to my near-offlining off of a seeker platform, turned into a jet, and then got into a dogfight with a bunch of seekers before escaping through the groundbridge?”</p>
<p>Silence fell, thick and uncomfortable while both medics glared holes into his helm. Fast Track deadpanned from his berth, <em>“Way to go, Zipline. You took an already hard-to-believe situation and made it sound even more ridiculous in front of our overprotective Cyber-Ninja Medic sister and the crankiest mech on all of Cybertron.”</em></p>
<p>“What.” Ratchet’s tone was flat and too controlled to be anything but dangerous.</p>
<p>Zipline hastily tried to amend his statement, “Well, you see, I kinda- It sort of- The thing is…” He faltered as remembered the images he had seen, the words that had scrawled through his HUD, the sensation of … something, overriding his panic and giving him <b>wings</b>-.</p>
<p>Three sharp intakes and a pulse of shock from his bond drew him out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see Starwish, Ratchet, and Fast Track gaping at him, “What?” He demanded defensively, something pinning flat against his back in unease-</p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>The somethings jerked upright in shock on his back as he whipped his helm around to stare over his shoulder. A sleek green wing with a grey stripe running down the middle twitched under his scrutiny and Zipline’s jaw dropped. <em>What. The. Frag. Where did those come from?</em></p>
<p>The wing -no, wings, there were two of them- twitched again and suddenly both Starwish and Ratchet were on either side running scans over the new appendages and babbling incoherent medical terminology. Zipline just continued to stare stupidly at the wing until Ratchet tried to lightly grip one with a servo.</p>
<p>Zipline instantly yanked the wing out of Ratchet’s reach, a low warning hiss escaping his vocalizer before he realized what he was doing. Ratchet froze, then stepped back slowly, “Easy, youngling, I just wanted to have a look.”</p>
<p>“<b>Look</b>, don’t <b>grab</b>, filthy grounder.” The words left Zipline’s vocalizer without his control and it wasn’t until they had already been spoken and Ratchet had jerked back as if slapped that Zipline realized just what was wrong with that statement. Zipline blinked once, then twice, then his optics widened in horror, “Ratchet, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I mean I meant it when I said it but I don’t mean it <b>now</b> and I don’t even know why I said it in the first place and-!”</p>
<p>Ratchet held up a servo to stop the flow of Zipline’s words before he cautiously stepped closer again, a strange glint in his optic, “It’s fine, Zipline.” He hesitated a moment and then said softly, “I’m going to touch your wing, alright? Just with my fingertips, no grabbing. Will you let me do that?”</p>
<p>Zipline faltered in his response. He wanted to say it was fine, after all, he trusted Ratchet. But at the same time, a part of him recoiled violently at the thought of letting this … this <b>grounder</b> touch his wings. What if he damaged them? Grounders had no concept of just how sensitive wing-sensors were. A light touch to a grounder’s sensors could easily hurt the wings of an unprepared Seeker.</p>
<p><em>But … I’m a grounder too, aren’t I? At least, I was before the mission…</em> Pushing aside the part of him that was still shrieking and recoiling with surprising difficulty, Zipline gave a shaky nod to Ratchet. The CMO carefully approached Zipline’s right wing, Starwish moving around the berth to stand by Ratchet’s shoulder in case he needed anything while Ratchet reached very slowly for the wing. Zipline’s new appendages went rigid, his entire frame going tense despite his constant self-reassurances and Fast Track’s puzzled yet supportive emotions through their bond.</p>
<p><em>It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You don’t need to be so tense. You know Ratchet, he won’t hurt you. He’ll figure out what’s going on. Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.</em> Zipline continued to chant that to himself as Ratchet’s fingers finally made contact with his wing and began ghosting gently up and down its length. Zipline was dimly aware that he was venting hard and that it was taking a lot more control that it should have to simply stay still. Fast Track flooded him with as much calming emotion as he could, but it wasn’t working somehow. The part of him that was causing all the panic was also chanting over and over that Fast Track just couldn’t understand his problem, what it was like, why the grounder medic shouldn’t be touching him.</p>
<p>Desperately, Zipline opened his bonds with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, silently begging for support and calm. There was a moment of surprise from them, they had thought he was still recharging, but then they began to immediately flood him with soothing, protective feelings and demands to know why he was so upset.</p>
<p><em>“I don’t know. I should be fine. I-it’s just Ratchet and I should be totally calm-”</em> Gently exploring fingers brushed the under edge of his wing, close to where it connected to his frame, and the panicking part of him snapped. Flattening his wings defensively against his back, Zipline lashed out wildly at the mech who had touched him with a feral shriek of, “<b>Don’t touch me</b>!”</p>
<p>Before Zipline’s blow could make contact and he could gouge out the mech’s optic as he’d intended, a slender yet strong servo clamped down on his wrist, pushing his blow down and to the side so he harmlessly struck the berth instead, “<b>Zipline</b>!”</p>
<p>Starwish’s sharp bark snapped Zipline out of his trance and he blinked rapidly, “I … I …” He glanced worriedly at Ratchet, his sudden fear and insecurity leaking over his bonds and triggering even more inquiries and protectives rumblings from his dads, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I just…” he shuddered faintly, “don’t do that again. Please, Ratchet, don’t do that again.”</p>
<p>Ratchet stared at him grimly for several kliks before he turned to Starwish, “We need to run deep processor scans. Now.”</p>
<p>Two joors and half a dozen tests later, Zipline’s and Fast Track’s private medical room was being used as an emergency meeting place for the Autobot High Command and a select few others. Hardwire rumbled deep in his engine as he glanced worriedly from the twinlings to the two medics. He looked like he was about to ask as to the purpose of the emergency meeting when Sunstreaker beat him to it from his position between the twinlings berths, “Alright, everyone is here, now what’s going on with Sideswipe’s and my younglings?”</p>
<p>Ratchet grumbled at his datapad, not happy that the meeting was taking place in the tiny medical room and not a proper conference room while his patients got some rest. Starwish spoke up, not waiting for Ratchet to finish his muttering, “The twinlings have unlocked their programs.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s engine instantly stopped rumbling, everyone going very still in shock as they processed Starwish’s words and their meaning. Shortly after the twinlings had upgraded, Ratchet had run in-depth scans of their processors and discovered that, as he had suspected, the twinlings had had unknown programs implanted in their processors just like Starwish and Hardwire had. The programs had been tightly locked and hadn’t seemed to be causing the twinlings any problems, so he had merely kept a careful optic on them, occasionally running checkup scans to make sure the programs were unlocking or deteriorating without their notice.</p>
<p>But there had been no way to tell what the programs would do to the twinlings once unlocked, so those who knew of the programs’ existence had worried a lot as to what they would do and what the criteria for unlocking them was.</p>
<p>The twins shuffled closer to their younglings while Optimus vented slowly and took charge of the meeting, “How did this come to pass, and what do the programs do?”</p>
<p>Ratchet took over for Starwish, “Just as I hypothesized from Starwish’s and Hardwire’s activation, the programs only unlocked when the twinlings were placed under great stress and in … intense situational danger.”</p>
<p>The twins’ engines roared at the implications and Ratchet resumed speaking hurriedly, “<b>Unlike</b> Hardwire’s and Starwish’s activations however, Fast Track’s program did not actually go active. It merely unlocked the first stage before falling into standby. We ran a few tests on it and … it would seem that Fast Track is able to trigger it at will.”</p>
<p>One of Prowl’s doorwings twitched, “What is its function?”</p>
<p>Fast Track piped up, “I … I’m not sure what it’s <b>meant</b> to do in a combat function, but when I triggered it during the tests, everything slowed way down. Everything also became really … clear? Understandable? I don’t know how to describe it…”</p>
<p>Starwish stepped in, “From what we can tell, Fast Track’s program connects with his logic center, tactical computer, and general CPU and stimulates them. To put it simply, he’s able to temporarily enhance his thought processes far beyond its normal rate. He thinks faster, he processes his surroundings faster, he reacts faster, he would be able to calculate plans and outcomes faster … his processor works at almost fifty times the speed of an normal cybertronian processor.”</p>
<p>She tilted her helm fractionally to one side in brief consideration, “To give you a comparison; Blur, the fastest Autobot we have, only processes at <b>thirty</b> times the rate of an average cybertronian. When he’s concentrating. Blur’s average processing rate is around twenty-three to twenty-five times faster than how fast you or I process data.”</p>
<p>Fast Track piped up again, “Which fragging hurts by the way. I almost knocked myself out the third time we tested it.”</p>
<p>Ratchet snapped, “Only because you attempted to extend it past its set five breem time-limit!”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s growing scowl transferred from Ratchet to Fast Track and the mechling wilted, “I was getting a breakthrough about the use of my program, but I can’t remember all the variables unless I’m using it. I didn’t know it would hurt so much to go past the time-limit.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe lightly cuffed Fast Track’s helm, “Glitching idiot.”</p>
<p>Optimus cycled his vents pointedly, causing them to settle down and allow the medics to speak again. Ratchet nodded his thanks to Optimus and glanced down at his datapad again as he resumed, “I need to run more tests to confirm just how the program stimulates his processor to such a degree while preventing it from overheating. However, the program seems to have no ill-effects aside from mild disorientation at the sudden reversion to normal processing speeds and a <b>self-induced</b> helm-ache when he attempts to bypass its time-limit. All in all, compared to Starwish’s and Hardwire’s programs, it is extremely harmless and holds a lot of potential. However, considering the fact that Hardwire’s and Starwish’s programs are multi-tiered, I can only assume the Fast Track’s is the same and there is another facet to it that requires enhanced processing. We will be carefully monitoring this and running scans after every use.”</p>
<p>Jazz tapped a finger against his hip plating from his corner, “If Fast Track first activated it here in tha medbay, why did it unlock on tha field?”</p>
<p>Ratchet and Starwish exchanged glances before Ratchet answered, “That … would be because Zipline’s program activated and the circumstances under which it went active. The emotional stress on Fast Track’s part, coupled with that of his twin over their bond caused a … chain reaction of sorts.”</p>
<p>All optics swung to Zipline as the unspoken question of “what is his program” hovered in the air. Zipline shifted nervously under the scrutiny. His wings had disappeared sometime during the deep processor scans because of how uncomfortable they made him feel while lying on his back and he had no idea how to bring them back out to show everyone. That, and the thought of pulling out wings, and the instincts that came with them, in the crowded, semi-claustrophobic room made him cringe.</p>
<p>Finally, Doubletake broke the silence, “It made him a triple-changer, did it not?”</p>
<p>All helms whipped around to stare at Doubletake at his statement and the twins both shouted, “It <b>what</b>?”</p>
<p>Doubletake fluttered his shoulder armor uncomfortably for a moment before he elaborated, “I was attempting to extract Zipline from the enemy base when he fell from one of the … higher levels. Shortly before he could make impact with the ground, he transformed into a small jet and took off. We retreated through the groundbridge shortly thereafter.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe calmed a bit at the explanation. Sideswipe gave a weak grin that didn’t really hide his concern over the “fell from a great height” part of Doubletake’s explanation, “Well, that’s harmless enough. Useful too.”</p>
<p>Ratchet corrected glumly, “It didn’t make him a triple-changer. Frankly, I wish it were that simple.” Attention shifted back to the CMO and he waved off the dangerous revving of the twins, “Oh, hush and I’ll explain. First off, the program has partially integrated with his lower processor and completely integrated with his transformation protocols. Secondly, Starwish and I discovered that Zipline actually has a <b>second</b> subspace pocket that, until now, was locked down. It unlocked presumably at the same time his program activated, which enabled him to transform into a jet as Doubletake witnessed.”</p>
<p>Ironhide rolled his shoulders uneasily, “So what’s the problem?”</p>
<p>Ratchet’s expression soured, “Well for one thing, a program meant to merely enable a second alternative mode would not need to integrate with his lower processor at all. For another … it isn’t just an alternative mode. Take a look.” Ratchet fiddled with the datapad in his servos for a moment before holding it out screen up. The screen shifted into its 3D mode and Zipline was surprised to see a still image of him sitting on the medical berth, two slender wings jutting up out of his back in tense, surprised positions.</p>
<p>Several sharp intakes rippled throughout the room and Zipline hunched his shoulders a bit. Ratchet waited for a moment so that everyone could process what they were seeing before he continued, “As far as I can determine, Zipline’s program has made him a Seeker, complete with the instincts and subroutines all naturally forged Seekers have, while still allowing him to retain his ground-based mode and subroutines. He can unsubspace his wings at will and the presence of his wings appears to trigger the Seeker subroutines now installed in his lower processor.”</p>
<p>Hardwire raised a tentative servo, “How is that different from a triple-changer, exactly?”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a long-suffering noise before he elaborated, “A triple-changer has three modes. Their bipedal mode and two different vehicular modes. They are <b>not</b> able to subspace or unsubspace different elements of those vehicular modes while in their bipedal mode, nor to they have additional subroutines attached to either of those vehicular modes. A triple-changer with a flight-capable vehicular mode, assuming his original alternate mode was ground-based, would not have the same reservations or automatic reactions to certain situations as a mech forged as a flyer. Even then, flyers and Seekers are different and have different subroutines.”</p>
<p>Rubbing his nasal ridge in exasperation, Ratchet continued, “Our Autobot Aerials only have minor subroutine differences from a ground-bound mech. Those subroutines mostly just help them remember up from down during their acrobatic stunts and give them a heightened awareness of altitude and proximity to solid surfaces. That is why some Autobots are allowed to change their alternate modes from ground-based to aerial so long as they are then given the proper training. Seekers … are an entirely different matter. Their subroutines are complex and vastly different from any other subroutine matrix on Cybertron. By installing Seeker subroutines into his lower processor, whoever installed the program ensured that Zipline would be instantly able to adapt to and manage his new mode. Which would be highly fascinating if there wasn’t the complication of him being able to unsubspace his wings and trigger his Seeker subroutines while in his bipedal mode.”</p>
<p>Starwish spoke up, “It isn’t a debilitating complication, it just means he’ll need training from another Seeker, someone to show him how to manage his instincts and his wings. Not to mention give him proper flight training so we can avoid another engine overheat.”</p>
<p>Zipline piped up quietly, almost afraid to allow the words out of his vocalizer, but knowing that it the others in the room should know, “I don’t think the program will <b>just</b> make me a Seeker.”</p>
<p>All gazes swung to Zipline yet again, Ratchet’s expression turning into an even deeper scowl. Zipline pushed on, “When I was … falling. There were words across my HUD. Something about … selecting a fourth gear? Then the rest of my fall was because it took so long to download and install the ‘Gear Four Drives’ … or something.”</p>
<p>Ratchet and Starwish both made identical twitching motions that indicated they wanted to unsubspace wrenches and use them on Zipline’s helm. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe also made aborted motions, but theirs were more along the lines of wanting to shake Zipline silly. Zipline hunched his shoulders a bit, “I should’ve mentioned that sooner … shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>Ironhide deadpanned, “No slag, youngling.”</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a low wordless grinding sound before he vented deeply and said, “That … changes everything. I’ll need to run more tests, schedule another deep processor scan…” he trailed off muttering and an awkward silence developed around him.</p>
<p>Finally, Optimus broke it with a gentle rumble of, “I believe this concludes our meeting for the moment. We will reconvene to discuss this matter once Ratchet has discovered more or something changes. For the time being, Jazz, you will schedule regular lessons for Zipline with one of our Seekers once he has recovered. Doubletake will continue to oversee their … usual activities. Starwish, analyze Fast Track’s program as best you can, try to determine if there is anyone in the Autobot forces who could assist him in learning to control his new program.” Starwish nodded obediently and Optimus nodded toward the door, “Everyone dismissed.”</p>
<p>Hearing the finality in their leader’s tone, everyone save the patients and the resident medics filed out of the room to resume their regular duties. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused on their way out, fondling their younglings helms and holding a quick conversation over their bonds before obeying their Prime’s order and leaving.</p>
<p>Jazz was the last to leave, lingering only long enough to check with the medics how long it would take before they would allow him to debrief the twinlings. He also accepted the vial Zipline had stolen from the Decepticon base before slipping out, no doubt to have it analyzed by his more science-orientated agents.</p>
<p>Zipline lay back on his berth as Ratchet and Starwish finally left to discuss further courses of action and deal with their other patients. His helm spun a bit with Ratchet’s explanations and his own theories. It dimly occurred to him that a lot of things in his life were going to change, and the catalyst for that change had happened so … quickly. One moment he had been falling, the next he had been soaring into the sky. One moment he was passing out on the floor of the groundbridge hangar, then next he was awake and unintentionally unsubspacing wings and the instincts that came with them.</p>
<p><em>Is this how Star and Hardwire felt when they first unlocked their programs? Like the world had tilted on its axis and they had to pick up the pieces somehow?</em> Sensing his thoughts, Fast Track whispered over their bond, <em>“It’ll be alright. At least we aren’t Bāsākā like Hardwire, or unable to control our actions like Starwish. We’ll figure this out and own these new programs.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline hummed faintly in agreement before he abruptly asked, <em>“Track?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Yeah?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Remember how I said that the Seeker wings and stuff were called Gear Four on my HUD?”</em>
</p>
<p>Fast Track shifted on his berth to better meet Zipline’s gaze, <em>“I remember.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline recalled the images he’d seen during his fall and murmured, <em>“I think I know what the other Gears are. I think I saw them … I think …”</em> He hesitated before pushing on, <em>“I don’t know what I think. I just remember that while I was falling, I saw things. The last one I saw was a seeker, and that’s what I transformed into. So maybe, just maybe, I can transform into the others too.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track low, fascinated noise, <em>“That … that makes sense. What were the others?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline blinked in thought, <em>“Well … one was a mini-bot.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track stilled on his berth for a moment, before a pulse of mischief rippled over their bond, <em>“If you could turn into that, you wouldn’t have to worry about not fitting so well in the vents anymore.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline tilted his head to meet Fast Track’s gaze, a tiny flicker of interest sparking inside him at Fast Track’s words, <em>“Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track flashed him a smile, <em>“What else do you think you could do with those potential alt-modes of yours?”</em> Zipline paused to seriously consider the question, a grin slowly spreading over his lips as possibilities, <b>potential</b> began to unfold in his mind. Up until that point, he had been secretly scared of his program. Scared of the thought of transforming into so many different things and, if his Seeker mode was any indication, having the instincts to go with those things. But Fast Track’s easy acceptance and questions had prodded him into realizing that maybe, just maybe, if he was right about those images he had seen, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.</p>
<p>His grin grew bigger as his fear fell away, <em>“I could do a </em><b><em>lot</em></b><em>, Fast Track.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Sounds like fun. When do you want to start practicing?”</em>
</p>
<p>Zipline laughed softly as the last of his tension eased from his frame, <em>“As soon as we can get away from the medbay without our Dads or the medics offlining us.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track hummed in amusement, <em>“In other words, as soon as we can run without hurting?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Exactly.”</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe having the mystery programs wouldn’t be so bad after all. They just had to figure out exactly what they could do, and what limits they would have to blow past.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0072"><h2>72. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Part 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arcee stepped out onto the high platform that ringed one of Iacon main base’s many spires, sighing faintly as she spotted the object of her lunar-cycle search. Padding quietly to his side, Arcee murmured over the wind, “The <em>dreams</em> again?”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t take his optics off of the horizon as he gave a wordless rumble of assent. Arcee sighed again, this time from worry. For the past thirty or so vorns, Hardwire had been having strange holographic fluxes that seemed to have nothing to do with any of his actual memories. Arcee had never heard of anything like that before, but Hardwire had told her that they were called “<em>dreams</em>” in his native language.</p>
<p>At first, they had only happened once in a while. A short one every few orns to half a vorn. But over time their frequency had increased, as had their intensity and duration. It was getting to the point where sometimes, though thankfully only sometimes, Hardwire acted out, behaved as if he was still trapped in the <em>dream</em> even though he was awake.</p>
<p>Arcee suspected that it had something to do with the reason Ratchet called Hardwire in for a deep processor scan after every mission without fail. Something about the program in his helm that kept his Bāsākā from going out of control slowly altering itself for an unknown purpose. But what that purpose was, and how it could possibly trigger Hardwire’s reoccurring <em>dreams</em>, was beyond Arcee’s ability to guess.</p>
<p>Brushing her servo gently against his arm, she asked quietly, “What was it this time?”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t answer for several breems, his optics sweeping from the horizon to the sky then back several times before he spoke, “I was free.”</p>
<p>Arcee tilted her helm, trying to get a better look at Hardwire’s expression as she waited. She knew if she was patient, Hardwire would tell her more. Sure enough, he rumbled a deep note in his engine and continued, “I’ve always been uneasy about heights, you know that. As a sniper I’ve learned to push that fear back, but this was different. I was up high, on a mountain I think, with nothing below me but wilderness and nothing around me but wind and … and I felt so free. Like there was nothing that could touch me, no one who could catch me, like fear just … did not exist. It was just me, the wilds, and the sky.”</p>
<p>Hardwire closed his optics briefly, as if savoring the memory, “When I came back online, the room … it was too small. I felt like I was going to- to <em>suffocate</em> somehow. So I came out here, thought maybe mimicking the dream would calm me down.”</p>
<p>Arcee pressed her lips together for a moment, “Did it work?”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a low noise of discontent, “No. Not really. Looking over all of this … I just feel empty.” His voice lowered a bit, entire revving briefly to give it a dark undertone, “I feel chained.”</p>
<p>Arcee leaned against her partner’s frame reassuringly, trying to anchor him in reality with her presence, “You aren’t chained, ‘Wire. We have a lot of responsibilities, I know, but you aren’t chained. No one is going to chain us, either of us, down.”</p>
<p>Hardwire shifted one arm to wrap around Arcee’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him as he finally lowered his gaze from the horizon, “Thank’s for coming. Again.”</p>
<p>She chuckled lightly as she allowed his arm to remain where it was and rested the side of her helm against his side, “Hey, you’ve handled my holographic fluxes about Tailgate, remember? Now it’s my turn to help with your <em>dreams</em>. Fair is fair, right?”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s lips curled into a tiny smile as he hummed an agreement, bending down to briefly press his lips against the top of her helm. Arcee suppressed a jerk of surprise at the action. Even though he had been officially courting her for five vorns, she still had yet to grow completely accustomed to his random displays of affection. Admittedly, that was probably because he hardly ever did it unless she asked for it first.</p>
<p>Recovering from her surprise, she twisted her helm and managed to press a quick kiss to the line of his jaw before his helm was out of reach again. His engine rumbled a brief note of pleased surprise at her immediate return gesture and his arm squeezed her lightly before they returned to contemplating the horizon.</p>
<p>Gradually, Arcee sensed his frame relax and mentally congratulated herself on calming her partner down from his <em>dreams</em> once again. <em>Now if I can just figure out what is causing them and how to put a stop to it.</em> Pushing that thought away, she was no medic and Ratchet was doing his best whenever he had time, Arcee decided to change the subject at random, “Any word from the twinlings?”</p>
<p>Hardwire shook his helm, “No. But you know them, long-term missions are like energon to them. I’ll never understand why.” There was trace note of worry in his voice, but much less than there had been even ten vorns ago. Ever since his siblings had unlocked their programs twenty vorns ago, they had positively thrived in their chosen function.</p>
<p>Arcee didn’t get to hear much about their escapades, Special Ops was heavily classified for a reason after all. However, she did keep an audio on the rumors and news in the various Autobot bases and she didn’t think it a coincidence that the Decepticons had begun cursing the existence of the “Chaos Mechanics” not too long after Zipline and Fast Track graduated from having a battle mentor.</p>
<p>She still wondered what they had done to earn that epithet though.</p>
<p>“What do you think they’re doing right about now?”</p>
<p>Hardwire chuckled dryly at her idle question, “Causing trouble so large they have to scramble to escape it themselves.”</p>
<p>Arcee smirked, “Like you then?”</p>
<p>Hardwire glanced down at her, “Hey now…”</p>
<p>Her smirk grew, “Hey now yourself, I’m not the one who jumped out of a forty story window and onto a passing Decepticon dropship just so he wouldn’t have to waste time taking the stairs.”</p>
<p>Hardwire growled, but there was no aggression in the sound, “I had it handled.”</p>
<p>She raised an optic ridge, “You crashed it into literally the only statue left standing in the entire main square.”</p>
<p>His answer was a loose shrug, “I never said the landing was going to be pretty. Besides, it took care of the Brutes inside didn’t it?”</p>
<p>Her optic ridge went up a notch, “As well as dented the majority of your back plating, fractured one of your leg struts, again, and knocked your helm against the ground so hard that you asked if there were really <b>two</b> of me when I got there. Again.”</p>
<p>Hardwire rolled his optics, “You make it sound like it’s some kind of regular occurrence-”</p>
<p>“It happened in Altihex, and again on the Iridium Plateaus, and during the battle for the mines in Dydax and-” Hardwire stepped well back from the edge of the platform on which they were standing, jerked her around to his front and leaned down sharply.</p>
<p>Arcee remembered, during her attempts to better understand Hardwire and some of the things he did once they started courting, going to Starwish and asking questions. Starwish had done her best to answer, once she was done giggling, and had casually mentioned that it was a bit of a custom where they came from to kiss their Courted in order to silence them without starting a new argument or seeming rude.</p>
<p>Arcee had not understood how that worked at all, until the first time Hardwire had done it to her during one of their rare but heated arguments. Much to her conflicted combination of irritation and pleasure, it still worked perfectly on her despite repeated exposure.</p>
<p>He growled softly against her lips and Arcee’s engine revved sharply in response as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist for better reach, allowing him to hold tightly to her back plating until he could spin them around so as to place her against the wall.</p>
<p>Strange <em>dreams</em> and silly arguments were quickly forgotten, but then, who could blame her?</p>
<p>She suddenly had something much, much better to do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nightracer watched the main compound through her scope, waiting. She was supposed to be off duty, in her quarters, recharging for her next assignment. No doubt the rest of the base believed she was doing just that.</p>
<p>Yet despite all logic telling her to just pack up her rifle and go get some recharge, here she was instead, on top of the cliff looming over the back of the base, waiting. What she was waiting for … she honestly wasn’t sure, though she had a sneaking suspicion that caused conflicted feelings to rampage through her spark.</p>
<p>She had been here for joors, ever since she had started to get that strange twitching feeling in her spark. It had been sunset then, it was well into the lunar-cycle now, and she had yet to see anything to explain the stubborn pull of her instincts aside from a lone cyber-wolf that had circled the area twice and then left to hunt somewhere else.</p>
<p>Below her, the activity of the base had wound down to nothing more than the lunar-cycle patrol mechs walking up and down in bored, inattentive lines that would have gotten them killed in nano-kliks had she been an Autobot sniper rather than a fellow Decepticon.</p>
<p>Yes, the base was deep in Decepticon territory, but that was no reason to relax. No matter what the propaganda vids said, the Autobot Special Ops mechs were neither incompetent nor cowardly. They had infiltrated enough Decepticon outposts and strongholds the prove that fact a hundred times over.</p>
<p>As she watched one of the guards actually slip into a light state of recharge while still walking, then look insulted when he tripped over his own pedes and face-planted, she despaired. <em>Maybe I can shoot some of the dumbest ones and say it was an Autobot sniper instead. It’s not like the war effort would exactly be </em><b><em>hindered</em></b><em> by their offlining.</em> She grudgingly dismissed the thought. There was a faint possibility that the guards weren’t as incompetent as they looked. She could just be biased about security matters after how many times she had had personal encounters with a certain Autobot Special Ops glitch-</p>
<p>“So … are you going to take a shot or are you just admiring the view?” She barely took the time to register the quietly mischievous voice before she was whirling with a curse, sniper rifle poised to fire-</p>
<p>Servos twisted the rifle out of her grasp, tossing it to one side with a soft clatter while a larger frame pinned her to the ground with expert skill. His darkened blue visor somehow manage to convey amusement from over his battle mask as he chirped, “Hello again.”</p>
<p>Nightracer snarled at him as she tried repeatedly to open her comlink. Static met her efforts and she hissed up at the mech pinning her, “Slagging piece of a glitched turbo-rat’s melted aft-!”</p>
<p>Her ambusher’s helm tilted to one side and he had the audacity to chuckle, “Good lunar-cycle to you too. Now, what’s it going to be this time around? Going to be quiet? Or do I have to knock you out early again?”</p>
<p>She went very still at the casual threat, knowing he would carry it out if she tried to shout a warning to the guards below. Finally, after wrestling her temper and twisting spark under control, she growled softly, “I’ll be quiet.”</p>
<p>The visor brightened subtly in a show of pleasure and the figure slowly shuffled off of her so that she could sit up. He made sure to stay between her and her rifle though, and Nightracer knew better than to bother attacking him at this point. Fragger always won their close-combat fights, reacting to her moves with a preternatural ability that sometimes made her wonder if he was a telepath. His helm tilted the other way, somehow giving the impression of a bright smile despite the mask on his faceplates and Nightracer snarled past her own battle mask, “What do you want?”</p>
<p>One shoulder shifted into a shrug, “What? Can’t I come say hello to my favorite sniper?”</p>
<p>Nightracer didn’t deign that with a response, she just waited with a bland expression behind her mask and red visor. Either oblivious to the expression she was projecting through her frame or deliberately ignoring it, he continued, “Come on, you can’t still be mad over the bridge incident can you? I already apologized for that … even if I didn’t really mean it … and I totally saved you from falling to your offlining anyway…”</p>
<p>She bristled at the memory of their last meeting, “Go to Unicron.”</p>
<p>“Femmes first, <em>Moonbeam</em>.” Her engine revved a low note at the irritating sounds that rolled off of his glossa. They weren’t Cyber-Standard, she frankly didn’t even believe they meant anything or served any other purpose than to annoy her.</p>
<p>Crossing her arms over her chest plates, she hissed, “Don’t call me that.”</p>
<p>Another light shrug, “But I don’t have anything else to call you. Besides, it fits you.”</p>
<p>“Glitch.”</p>
<p>“You called?”</p>
<p>She took a deep vent to remain calm, releasing it slowly, “Why do you insist on this?”</p>
<p>His helm bobbed from side to side in a so-so manner, “Because. So, how was your cycle?”</p>
<p>Nightracer paused, wondering if he was seriously asking that, then remembered who she was talking to. <em>Of course he did.</em></p>
<p>Approximately fifteen vorns ago, she had been stationed on a different base when the as-yet-unknown Chaos Mechanics had struck, sending everything into chaos. She had tried to snipe off one of them from her chosen position, but had been roughly tackled at the last moment by the other one. They had fought even while the base was exploding around them because of the sabotage of the two Autobots, and in the end Nightracer had been trapped under some rubble too large for her small frame to lift. For reasons still lost on the femme sniper, her opponent had doubled back long enough to free her and drag her to safety before escaping.</p>
<p>After that, he had seemed to come to the, completely erroneous, conclusion that because he had saved her spark that one time he was allowed to pester her incessantly whenever their paths crossed. Which happened far more often than she would have liked. Especially since he had ended up saving her spark three more times and there was that one time where someone could possibly mistake her actions as having saved his. Possibly.</p>
<p>That cyber-lion had been meltdown and needed to be offlined for the good of her fellow Decepticons. It had nothing to do with the fact that it had managed to catch the fragging glitch of an Autobot and was about to rip his neck cables out. Not at all.</p>
<p>She would swear that on Primus himself and go to the Well with that declaration still on her lip plates if she had to.</p>
<p>Moving on.</p>
<p>The mech refused to give her his designation until she returned the courtesy, so for the most part their interactions involved him calling her random unintelligible sounds and her cycling through various insults in place of his unknown designation. As for why she spoke to him in the first place, that was because she had yet to win a servo-to-servo or even servo-to-blaster fight against him and gotten thoroughly tired of being sat upon while also being nattered at.</p>
<p>Glitch decided to take her prolonged silence as an answer, “That bad, huh? Any of the mechs bothering you?”</p>
<p>Nightracer rolled her optics, “Yeah, there’s this annoying meltdown Autobot who keeps popping up to destroy the bases to which I’m assigned while chattering incessantly at me the entire time.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know, he sounds harmless enough to me. Maybe he just likes you and want’s to get to know you?” The sheer innocence in the statement had her growling in annoyance at him. She <b>knew</b> he wasn’t that stupid. He was the only cybertronian, mech or femme, to consistently figure out the location of her sniper nests and he was one of the Chaos Mechanics, the Special Ops team that had a higher combined bounty than the head of Autobot Special Ops itself.</p>
<p>Then the actual words fully registered and her vents stalled, <em>he- he- it- that’s not-</em> “<b>What</b>?”</p>
<p>He patted the air in a hushing gesture, “Not so loud. And it was just a suggestion. I mean, you <b>are</b> a very likable and attractive femme.”</p>
<p>Nightracer blinked once, blinked twice, ran an internal diagnostic, and was forced to conclude that Glitch had legitimately gone meltdown since the last time he’d bothered her, “Have you seen a medic lately?” The question slipped out of her vocalizer before she could stop it, “Maybe you should ask your superiors for some down time. Autobots can do that without getting shot, right? You Autobots have rules against sending a mech back on the field when he has a melted CPU circuit don’t they?”</p>
<p>Halfway through her low ramble, Glitch’s shoulders began shaking, by the end of it, he was giggling hysterically, frame doubled over in a way that should have made him vulnerable to an attack from her but she knew actually didn’t. Nightracer felt heat flush slowly across her cheek plates, “Stop. Laughing.”</p>
<p>He straightened up long enough to wheeze, “Y-you do-o care! I’m so-o t-tou- touch- touched!” Then he went straight back to giggling.</p>
<p>Nightracer growled at him, “So help me Primus, Glitch, I will start shouting if you don’t quit that right now.”</p>
<p>His giggling instantly stopped and he straightened up, “Okay, okay! <em>Sheesh</em>, still haven’t upgraded your sense of humor I see.”</p>
<p>Nightracer’s servos twitched as she forgot all about the illogical concern that had come over her and went straight back to wanting to kill him, “How long to you intend to bother me?”</p>
<p>“Eh … three breems, fifty kliks more. Why?”</p>
<p>The blithe tone failed to distract her from the precision of his answer and Nightracer fought the urge to smack her faceplate with a servo, “You’re here to blow up my assigned base, aren’t you. Again.” Her words were so deadpan and resigned, they didn’t even sound like a question.</p>
<p>Glitch shook his helm, “Nope. Well, maybe. Only if someone alerts the guards. Otherwise…” It was a fake bribe and she knew it. She was a sniper, not a close combat specialist, and with their close proximity there was absolutely no chance of her sounding the alarm before he knocked her out.</p>
<p>It probably said something that she didn’t even want to try. That she was actually holding a semi-civil conversation with an enemy saboteur who had all but admitted he was there on a mission which would inevitably do damage to her side.</p>
<p>Then again, they’d been doing this kind of messed-up routine for the past fifteen vorns. Even Nightracer and her famed Sniper’s Tenacity knew when something was an effort in futility.</p>
<p>Nightracer bristled her plating at him in a brief show of displeasure before she demanded, “What are you after this time, then?”</p>
<p>“Top secret. If I told you, I’d have to offline you, and then we wouldn’t be able to have these wonderful conversations.”</p>
<p><em>Was worth a try.</em> “Wonderful, my aft.”</p>
<p>“That it is.”</p>
<p>The snapped off retort from the Autobot made her stutter for a moment before a low growl rippled from her engine and she went rigid. Immediately, Glitch raised his servos in a placating manner, “Oops. Too far? Sorry about that, the older mechs must be transferring some of their bad habits to me.”</p>
<p>She curled her lips at him despite his being unable to see it, “I can’t believe you just-. No, I actually can. I’m going to shoot you in the fragging aft next time I see you for that.”</p>
<p>His servos waved a bit more emphatically, “Hey, hey! I said I was sorry didn’t I? Won’t do it again- hold up.” His helm tilted fractionally as if he was listening to something else and Nightracer debated pouncing at him. It would probably only end in her pinned to the ground and Glitch gloating again, but if he was really distracted…</p>
<p>She lunged and he blurred into motion the instant she did, his frame disappearing from her sight from his sheer speed as he dodged her attack and pinned her on her back to the ground. Nightracer cursed softly, trying to free her arms from their trapped positions in Glitch’s servos, <em>why is it he moves </em><b><em>faster</em></b><em> when he’s distracted?</em></p>
<p>Several kliks passed and Glitch apparently finished with his other task because the cheerful taunt she had been expecting finally came, “Come now, I thought you promised to be quiet this time, <em>Moonbeam</em>.”</p>
<p>Nightracer grunted and glared helplessly at her sniper rifle, mere inches away from her faceplate, “Yes well, I never said I wouldn’t try to <b>quietly</b> offline you.”</p>
<p>He gave slow, exaggerated nod as he replied, “That … is true. Don’t worry, I’ll be leaving soon.” <em>Which mean his partner got what they came for and is exfiltrating. Slag.</em></p>
<p>Nightracer tried to open her com again, but just as she’d expected, it was still jammed. Nightracer hissed softly, no doubt she was going to be knocked out the moment Glitch’s partner showed up, that was how it had always worked before. Even Glitch wasn’t stupid enough to leave a sniper conscious during his escape, especially not one of her caliber.</p>
<p>Deciding to make the most of what time she had left before she was knocked out, she asked, “How did you know I was here?”</p>
<p>The frame perched on top of hers shifted a fraction, “My partner spotted you during our scope-out of the area. The security of this place is bad enough that we figured only one of us needed to go in anyway, so here I am.”</p>
<p><em>…I’m not sure I should be insulted on behalf of the Decepticon faction, or agree with him on how bad the security of this place is. Oh well, maybe we’ll get a better commander once word of this infiltration gets to Kaon.</em> “Does your partner know you just spent your entire mission chatting with an enemy sniper?”</p>
<p>Another voice, similar to Glitch’s but slightly different, piped up from the side, “He does, actually, and he still can’t figure out why his partner feels the need to do that.”</p>
<p>Nightracer craned her helm around to study the slim frame that slunk its way up the ridge while Glitch answered, “What can I say? She’s fun.”</p>
<p>The newcomer’s helm tilted in an exaggerated way to indicate he was looking first at Nightracer, then his partner’s position on top of her, then back and Nightracer, “There are <b>so</b> many things I could say to that.”</p>
<p>Nightracer twitched slightly underneath Glitch and grunted, “Not if you don’t want to get <b>shot</b>.”</p>
<p>Glitch’s partner, physically identical to him in every way, smothered a laugh but refrained from commenting further. Looking over at Glitch, he asked, “Ready to go?”</p>
<p>“Right, one moment.” Nightracer felt something prick her neck-cables almost before Glitch had finished speaking. Her limbs grew heavy and her processor speed went sluggish as the drug entered her system and she cursed at Glitch through her stumbling vocalizer. Glitch patted the side of her battle mask and whispered an apology before climbing off of her and trotting over to his partner.</p>
<p>Just before the drug could drag her fully into recharge, she saw Glitch’s partner transform. The huge cyber-wolf waited patiently for Glitch to scramble aboard, their spark signatures already muted and the darkness thick enough to make their two frames look like a slightly awkward single frame and Nightracer managed to curse in the confines of her processor as she dimly saw them run off into the lunar-cycle.</p>
<p><em>The cyber-wolf from before. Of course it was. I keep forgetting Glitch’s partner is a …. fragging … shifter…</em> Recharge claimed her and the lunar-cycle crept on, none of the guard below any the wiser to the intrusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Fast Track clung to Zipline’s frame as the latter loped across the landscape. His large, black-painted paws hit the metal ground with surprising silence as they steadily put distance between themselves and the base. A dully gleaming yellow gaze flickered back and forth across the horizon, ears swiveling in search of anything that might indicate they were being followed.</p>
<p>Fast Track spread his sensors as far as they could go to help, ignoring the dull helm-ache pounding behind his optics. Dropping in and out of his program two times in the space of breems was never the best idea, but the first time he’d needed it to safely overpower Moonbeam without harming her and the second time because Zipline had needed his assistance to infiltrate the Decepticon global network without alerting Soundwave to the hack.</p>
<p>Zipline pointed out dryly over their bond as he ran, <em>“You could have just knocked her out right from the start.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track sighed from his spot on Zipline’s large back, <em>“You know I can’t unless there’s no other choice.”</em></p>
<p>A low rumble slipped from Zipline’s vocalizer as he maneuvered around a large outcropping of metal, <em>“Right. You have a mating call with her. I almost forgot.”</em></p>
<p><em>“</em><b><em>Spark</em></b><em> call,” </em>Fast Track corrected automatically,<em> “Not that I can actually </em><b><em>do</em></b><em> anything about it. Why did she have to be a Decepticon?”</em> His complaint was an old one that he didn’t actually expect Zipline to answer. He had repeatedly asked himself and Zipline that same question/complaint for the past fifteen vorns since first nearly getting shot by, and then rescuing, the sniper femme.</p>
<p> Zipline sent him pulse of sympathy. Though he had yet to experience a spark call, he had seen just how crazy Fast Track’s instincts sometimes got in his efforts to interact with his prospective One. That, and his cyber-wolf instincts made his ability to empathize surprisingly powerful, especially on anything that fell under the mental category of “pack and pack relations”.</p>
<p>Zipline changed the subject, no doubt trying to keep his twin’s mind off of his unfortunate predicament in the romance department, <em>“Did you get everything out of that file Jazz wanted?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track paused as he mentally tallied the data, <em>“Yep. Got their energon mine reports too. To be honest, the mine reports worry me more than the data in that file.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline chuffed questioningly as he slowed to a stop and let Fast Track slide off of him, <em>“More shortages?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track nodded as he stepped back and let Zipline transform into a different gear, <em>“According to the reports. Two more energon springs went dry, and at least three mines have been declared clean. Not that large in the overall scale of things…”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track transformed into his vehicle mode now that they were far enough away from the enemy base that his engine wouldn’t be heard and Zipline scrambled inside in his mini-bot form, <em>“Until you combine it with all of the previous mines, springs, and reservoirs that have been reported as dry over the vorns from both sides, right?”</em></p>
<p><em>“Right.”</em> Fast Track’s engine growled quietly as he took off, aiming for the rendezvous point.</p>
<p>Zipline shifted on the seat, his now un-visored blue optics flickering with concern as they both contemplated what that meant. Over the vorns, they had started to see it. The signs and the hints, reports that were inconsequential to the war effort, yet another slight decrease in rations, the grumbles of Decepticons suffering the same things. Easily ignorable, but if one paid attention to them like the twinlings did, the truth became more and more starkly clear.</p>
<p>Cybertron was dying.</p>
<p>In the back of their processors, they had always known that Cybertron was going to die. They remembered the TV series from their youth, the images of a black, ruined, and cold Cybertron and stories of refugees scattered across the stars. But to see it happening now, so slowly that it seemed like no one else could detect the true tragedy just around the corner, was very different than merely knowing it as the backdrop of a story.</p>
<p>They had fought for the Autobots for vorns now and they had been taken to this world at such a young age that Cybertron was more of a home to them than Earth had ever been. Yet despite their best efforts, despite pointing the little details out to Jazz every chance they got, they could not stop the steady descent of Cybertron into being uninhabitable.</p>
<p>Starwish and Hardwire saw it too, but not as clearly as the twinlings did, even they did not realize just how <b>close</b> Cybertron’s death was. But what good would it do if they knew? The twinlings had been trying for vorns to halt the process, to bring it to the attention of their superiors. Nothing worked, the suspicions were pushed aside in favor of the war effort. There was nothing anyone could do.</p>
<p>Cybertron was dying.</p>
<p>And no one else, not even Optimus Prime, could stop it from happening.</p>
<p>Zipline crooned softly, his mini-bot instincts causing his distress to show in the soft clicking and whirring noises mini-bots used to communicate privately with one another. Fast Track sighed as he drove over the desolate landscape of Decepticon territory, sensors still spread to pick up any potential aerial patrols and other nasty surprises, <em>“Point it out to Jazz again and hope something happens?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline shrugged his tiny shoulder-plates, “What other choice do we have? It isn’t like we can build a space-ship for when the time comes or get Megatron to stop the war.”</p>
<p>Fast Track keened low in frustration, “At least Starwish will take us seriously when we tell her to keep stockpiling medical supplies.”</p>
<p>Zipline nodded grimly, “At least.”</p>
<p>They fell into silence for the rest of their trip. They changed places as the sun rose, with Zipline once again loping steadily on in cyber-wolf form while Fast Track clung to his back like an excess lump of black metal. It was a tactic they had devised vorns ago. Cyber-wolves came in many shapes and sizes, though few were as large as Zipline’s form. So, when the two had their spark-dampeners on and their original colors painted over with matching black, if Fast Track held perfectly still on Zipline’s back, any passing aerial patrol would think they were just a lone cyber-wolf running across the wilderness in search of energon.</p>
<p>It worked most of the time too, except for the few instances a patrol had shot at them for the fun of it, and this deep in Decepticon territory, it was always good to err on the side of caution.</p>
<p>It was only as they were almost to the rendezvous point that they were pulled out of their silent musings. An explosion went off, loud and jarring, several kilometers to their right. Fast Track sat up sharply on Zipline’s back as his brother skidded to a stop, muzzle swiveling in the direction of the sound and ears snapping to an alert position.</p>
<p>The plating on the back of Zipline’s neck began to bristle and his lips peeled back to show steel-shredding teeth as he growled, <em>“I hear seeker engines over that way … and blaster-fire.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track debated mentally for a moment. On one servo, they might learn something valuable if they investigated, perhaps even rescue an escaping Autobot. On the other, there were probably a lot of seekers over there and it could be a trap or Decepticon infighting. Furthermore, they <b>were</b> on mission and were obligated to return to base as quickly as possible with the information Jazz had assigned them to get.</p>
<p>Just as they were about to reluctantly continue on their way, a distress beacon pinged across their sensors.</p>
<p>An Autobot Special Ops distress beacon.</p>
<p>Fast Track hissed as he slid off of Zipline’s back, “Frag!” Zipline echoed the statement as he bounded into the air, transforming mid-motion into his seeker form to go blasting off in the direction of the beacon. Fast Track transformed and drove after his much faster twin, still cursing.</p>
<p>Most Special Ops mechs didn’t carry beacons, there was no point. If an agent got into trouble, they were usually too deep in enemy territory for a beacon to do any good. But sometimes, if a mission was important enough and Jazz knew another Special Ops agent would be in the area, he had the agent take along a beacon to activate if they were caught or badly injured. That way, if the other agent detected it and got close enough, the first could transmit their critical data over to the second, ensuring the information still got back to Jazz.</p>
<p>The tactic working was even more unusual than the beacon itself, Jazz’s forces were spread too thin for agents to be in the same area while still on different assignments. But something must have come up while they were busy on their string of missions that was important enough to send another agent into the area and take a beacon along with him. A beacon which the agent had just activated, no doubt because of the seekers Zipline had heard.</p>
<p>Now if Zipline and Fast Track could just get there fast enough to actually help. <em>Fraggit. I knew those last two missions went too smoothly. Who pulls off back-to-back infiltrations without any real trouble? Fraggit-fraggit-fraggit.</em> Fast Track checked his fuel levels and swore again, <em>If we have to call in an emergency ground-bridge, just after Optimus tightened the energon rations again, Doubletake is going to have our sparks.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0073"><h2>73. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Part 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline climbed as soon as the conflict came into his optical view. His engine thrummed as he shot higher and higher before he twisted in the air, pointed his nose down, and transformed. His mini-bot form hurtled downward toward the swirling throng of Seekers swooping and firing at the ground below. The wind whipped past his form as he tightened his arms against his sides and narrowed his profile even farther, causing his speed to increase.</p>
<p>His optics flicked back and forth, keeping track of the various Decepticon Seekers and calculating their possible paths with speed born of practice. Instinct had Zipline suddenly reach out a servo, fingers curled in preparation to grab. Just as he did so, he fell past a Seeker pulling up from his strafing run. His servo latched onto the wing of the passing seeker as he fell, jerking him to a stop. Using what momentum remained from his fall, Zipline twisted himself up onto the wing of the startled Seeker, magnetizing to the Decepticon as soon as his pedes touched the metal of the Seeker’s armor.</p>
<p>The Decepticon cursed shrilly, dropping out of his trine formation to roll and buck in the air, trying to shake Zipline loose. With a wild grin, Zipline reached into his subspace, pulled out a sticky bomb, and slapped it onto the wing to which he was magnetized. The Seeker’s curses went up an octave in panic as Zipline cheerfully saluted the mech and flipped off of the wing just as the sticky bomb went off, sending the Seeker spiraling to the ground in a plume of smoke and fire.</p>
<p>Zipline managed to repeat the maneuver three times before the Seekers finally realized that their bunched together formations and attempts to dive-bomb him while he was falling were only making it worse. The seekers scattered, each pulling away from the other and climbing as fast as they could to get away from the bouncing mini-bot.</p>
<p>With a faint huff of disappointment, he’d been hoping to break his previous high record, Zipline flipped his orientation so that he was facing the ground and transformed. His wings slid into place and he pulled up, turbines slowing his descent until he was skimming along just above the surface of Cybertron. The sensors in his wings flared, trying to pinpoint the location of the distress beacon while he was so low to the ground.</p>
<p>His HUD pinged with a successful scan and Zipline immediately transmitted it to Fast Track along with a quick note of, <em>“The signal is coming from under a ledge formed from the remains of a broken bridge. Judging by the geography of the area, there used to be an energon river here.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track’s reply was prompt and vaguely irritated, <em>“Which has dried out too. Lovely. Any idea who’s signal it is?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline pulled up, banking into a high right turn to avoid two seekers who had already regrouped and were trying to get on his tail, <em>“No clue. Couldn’t see them. Whoever they are, I’m guessing they’re one of the smaller frames, possibly a two-wheeler. Some of those strafing shots were pretty close before I distracted them, so be prepared for injuries.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Understood.”</em> Zipline hummed to himself at the agitation in Fast Track’s clipped reply but then turned his focus back to the aerial fight he had gotten himself into. Zipline checked on the two seekers still stubbornly trying to line up with his tail and inwardly smirked, <em>so that’s how you wanna play? Okay. Let’s play.</em> Zipline tilted his nose up and reversed the flow of his turbines without warning, jerking him upward and back at the same time. Not expecting the maneuver, the two Seekers kept going, shooting by just underneath him.</p>
<p>Dropping his nose again, Zipline snapped off two missile rounds before taking off again, unwilling to be in one place for too long when the other seekers were rallying and bearing down on him. His missiles hit their targets, causing one to blow up spectacularly and the other, who had managed to partially dodge, to spiral out of control toward the ground.</p>
<p><em>Six down. That leaves,</em> he checked his scanners as he barrel-rolled to the left to avoid enemy fire, <em>six more to go. Wow.</em> For the Decepticons to send out four of their precious seeker trines instead of aerials or eradicons was impressive. He had to wonder what in the world the other agent had seen, stolen, or blown up to warrant that reaction.</p>
<p>A blaster bolt skidded across the underside of his plating and Zipline hissed as he flung himself into another complicated evasive maneuver. He had trained long and hard to gain mastery over his seeker-form, and had gained a lot of experience over the many vorns of missions. He was brilliant at dogfighting and his seeker-form was a particularly maneuverable model, but six-on-one were <b>not</b> good odds for an aerial battle. Ever.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Any time now, Track!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track huffed as he pushed more speed out of his engine, the battlefield finally coming into his optic range, <em>“Working on it. Can’t fly like you remember?”</em> Zipline’s response was to snap out a very unflattering comment over their bond that was directed simultaneously at his twin and at the seekers who had just fired a barrage of missiles at him.</p>
<p>Fast Track internally rolled his optics as he adjusted his course for one of the large ledges that used to be a bridge, <em>“Oh, stop whining and get ready to pull a Number 72.”</em>. Shooting up the makeshift ramp, Fast Track transformed in mid-air, processor whirling with calculations as his left servo whipped out, fist curled toward his wrist to keep it clear of the end of his newest and favorite tool. Zipline whipped by overhelm, six seekers following tight on his afterburners.</p>
<p>Fast Track’s grapple shot out just as Zipline passed by, barely missing his underbelly and instead slamming into the under-plating of the lead Decepticon. The seeker screeched in surprise as Fast Track was launched into the air behind him, the glowing energon tether streaming out from where it was forcibly attached in order to drag Fast Track along. The seeker jinked hard to the right and began to perform barrel-roll when Fast Track triggered the cable release.</p>
<p>No longer being pulled at high speeds by an actual flyer, the air slammed into his frame and dragged him backward. Fast Track tilted into a airborne backflip as the air resistance halted his flight, his servos stretching out and down as he reached the climax of his flip. His fingers caught on the top plating of the seeker that had been following directly behind the first and he slammed down prone onto the top of the screeching Decepticon with a grunt.</p>
<p>Curling his legs underneath him so he was now crouched with a pede on each wing, Fast Track magnetized his pedes to his target and allowed a grin to form beneath his battle-mask. The seeker on which he was riding spewed insults, demands, and curses at Fast Track as he bucked and struggled in the air. All of his protests cut off with a squawk as Fast Track leaned his weight to the right and jerked hard on the mech’s right wing. The seeker automatically banked right, instinctively going in the direction Fast Track yanked in an effort to relieve the pressure on his wing.</p>
<p>Fast Track’s optics flickered back and forth as he continued to forcibly steer the seeker. Pulling the mech into a high banking turn, Fast Track caught sight of Zipline angling toward him, the remaining five seekers still on his tail. <em>“Ready?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Ready.”</em>
</p>
<p>Fast Track reached for his subspace but didn’t pull anything out yet. He braced himself as he began a joint countdown with Zipline<em> “Three.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline’s angle sharpened until he was making a beeline for his twin’s unwilling mount, <em>“Two.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track flipped the mental switch on his program and the world instantly slowed down to his perception. Everything sharpened, every detail stood out, his processor flooded with details about windspeed, angles, velocity, even an exact rundown on the composition of the armor of the seeker he was riding. His logic centers whirred as they compartmentalized the unwanted data and processed the rest. Zipline was coming closer, his pursuers firing away close behind. Several blaster bolts that had missed Zipline whipped past Fast Track’s frame, but he didn’t flinch, he had already seen them coming and realized they would miss him.</p>
<p>Zipline was very close now, just a two kliks more and he would collide with Fast Track’s mount. Fast Track abruptly unmagnetized from the seeker, servos letting go of the mech’s wing edges as he unsubspaced two magnetizable plasma grenades and slapped them into place, <em>“One.”</em></p>
<p>He kicked off of the seeker just as Zipline pulled up half a klik before the collision could happen. Fast Track latched onto the underbelly of his brother’s plating as he passed just overhelm, <em>“Zero.”</em></p>
<p>The seeker Fast Track had been riding, going too fast to stop and thrown momentarily off balance by Fast Track using him as a springboard, careened into the middle of the other seekers. He collided with one, bursting their fuel tanks and causing them both to explode. The explosion triggered the two plasma grenades stuck to the Decepticon’s wings and the blast range of the explosion tripled, taking out the other seekers who had failed to fly away in time.</p>
<p>Zipline whooped as he rocketed away from the explosion, smug satisfaction rippling across to Fast Track through their bond. Fast Track smiled grimly at the feeling and Zipline’s mental cry of, <em>“Suck on that, slaggers!”</em> The world was still slow to Fast Track’s perception, his processor working so fast that he didn’t even bother saying anything to Zipline in response over their bond. The words tended to come out too fast for Zipline to understand unless Fast Track concentrated on thinking slowly.</p>
<p>Instead, he sent an impression of impatience and an image of the area where they suspected the other agent was hiding. Zipline tilted toward the ground obediently, his elation at winning the fight giving way to a grim focus, <em>“Right, sorry Track.”</em> Fast Track sent his twin an impression of forgiveness then a rapid set of images to convey that Zipline should stay on watch while Fast Track dealt with any injuries the agent may have.</p>
<p><em>“Right.”</em> Zipline swooped low to the ground, hovering just long enough for Fast Track to drop down before he swerved to a nearby hill of metal and transformed. Fast Track barely paused long enough to take note of Zipline’s chosen gear, it was the Praxian one, before he was running toward the broken bridge.</p>
<p>Fast Track bounded over, his processor already analyzing the signs of damage on the ledges formed by the broken bridge and the possibility of rubble landing on the agent. He halted just short of the hiding place, knowing better than to rush in without identifying himself first. Fast Track pinged his HUD functions and then briefly turned off his spark signal suppressor, allowing his signature to flood the nearby area while he rattled off a short series of random phrases and numbers that made up half of the Special Ops identification code for the orn.</p>
<p>There was a pause, then an answering flare of spark energy and a feminine voice rasped out the other half of the identification code. Fast Track reactivated his spark signal suppressor and resumed his approach. He had to slide into a crouch to fit into the surprisingly small niche underneath the ledge, and as soon as he did so he found himself faceplate to faceplate with the other Special Ops agent.</p>
<p>It was a femme, a two-wheeler just as Zipline had suspected. Fast Track scanned her thoroughly even as he rattled off, “Agent Fast Track, Team Chaos Mechanic. Agent Zipline is keeping watch. We picked up your distress signal from a few kliks out. What’s the sit-rep and mission rank?”</p>
<p>The femme leaned back a bit, granting him access to the nasty gash on her side that his scans had detected as she deciphered his rapid speech and replied, “Agent Silhouette, Team Shadowblitz. My partner got taken down while evacuating Kaon, we were spotted halfway out and when it was clear that only one of us was going to make it out, he … stayed behind to buy me time.” There was a flicker of grief in her voice as she described the sit-rep, but it was pushed down with an iron control Fast Track was very sure he wouldn’t have had in her place.</p>
<p>She paused in her report to hiss faintly as Fast Track set about emergency field repairs on her side wound. He gave her a glance of sympathy, but they both knew there was no time for Fast Track to be gentle or risk using a pain medication on her. She took a vent to steady herself and then resumed, “Got chased out of Kaon and managed to lose them for two cycles before they somehow picked up my trail again. I’ve been running from those seekers for five cycles now. Would have made it too, but they managed to drive me out into the open and, well.” Fast Track nodded in understanding, there were few things on Cybertron that could outrun or escape a seeker once their target was on a stretch of open territory. With no aerial obstacles to slow them down, the prey of a seeker was essentially a dead mech running.</p>
<p>Fast Track kept his grip steady as he used his portable welder to seal the wound shut. His HUD was already pinging him about her numerous other injuries and he cursed quietly to himself as he realized that they probably wouldn’t have time to patch everything. Plus, some of her wounds were internal, and for all of his field experience and the brilliance of his program, he was no Starwish. Field surgeries were well beyond his skill range.</p>
<p>Silhouette’s back struts arched a bit and she gave a strangled noise as Fast Track moved on to the next biggest injury he could fix, the pieces of shrapnel imbedded in her left hip joint. Trying to keep her mind off of it as he held her down with one servo, Fast Track pressed, “You and your partner must have done something pretty high ranked to get that much undivided attention from the ‘Cons.”</p>
<p>Silhouette’s black-colored visor tilted toward him a big as she rasped out, “Intel retrieval.”</p>
<p>Fast Track hummed in acknowledgement, “What’d you get?”</p>
<p>Silhouette started to speak, than paused and asked, “What’s your clearance level?”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s movement’s didn’t slow, but a good section of his logic drives did divert from focusing on the shrapnel dangerously close to her main leg artery to her question. When an agent set off a distress beacon, if they managed to rendezvous with another agent, the transfer of intel was usually automatic. For her to ask about his clearance level meant that Silhouette had come across something big. Really big. Something so big that she couldn’t risk telling it to a rookie agent who might let it slip later, not unless there was no other option and she was about to offline.</p>
<p>For her to ask him that even though she no doubt knew about the reputation of the Chaos Mechanics … Fast Track paused in extracting the tricky piece of shrapnel in order to fully watch her reaction as he answered, “S-Rank. Both of us.” To prove it, he rattled off the S-Rank clearance code.</p>
<p>Silhouette gave a faint huff and let her helm fall back against the ground, “Scrap. Not high enough.”</p>
<p>Fast Track felt even his advanced processing program stall at her reaction, “I’m not high enough?” His hiss was incredulous. He had never heard of intel being ranked about S-Rank except for the occasional SS-Rank that was usually handled by Jazz and his second or … “What kind of intel did you even get…?”</p>
<p>Silhouette shifted her helm and clenched her fingers as she replied, “I don’t exactly have confirmation on it, since I haven’t been back to base yet. But … Triple-S. The intel would be ranked Triple-S.”</p>
<p>It was only vorns of experience and his own willpower that kept Fast Track from doing something stupid like shout in astonishment or glitch out. Instead, he just went very, very still for several nano-kliks as his program struggled to filter the implications of that. He vented slowly, “No slag?”</p>
<p>Silhouette shook her helm, “No slag.”</p>
<p>Fast Track let that knowledge wash over him for another two kliks before he resumed working on extracting the shrapnel from her hip with renewed urgency, “Fragging slag.”</p>
<p>There had only been one other instance of intel ranked Triple-S in the history of the Special Ops forces, and while even now Fast Track didn’t know the details of what it had been, he did know what the ranking meant.</p>
<p>Triple-S was more than just important. Triple-S was <b>war-changing</b>. Triple-S intel was the kind of information that could, and would, make or break the Autobot war effort.</p>
<p>If Silhouette was ranking her intel correctly and she offlined before she could make a report to Jazz, then there was a very good chance that the Autobots would lose the war because of their lack of knowledge of whatever Silhouette had found.</p>
<p>Fast Track diverted a part of his processor to short-range comming his realizations to Zipline, who promptly started cursing over their bond.</p>
<p>Silhouette made a low noise in her engine as Fast Track extracted the last piece of shrapnel he could reach and began patching up the holes the metal shards had made, “Where’s your extraction point?”</p>
<p>Silhouette rattled off some coordinates and Fast Track debated mentally with himself. While her extraction point was closer, she had obviously been herded off course by the seekers. To get there, they would have to backtrack through enemy territory and risk running into more Decepticons.</p>
<p>Of course, Zipline’s and Fast Track’s extraction point wasn’t much better risk-wise, because while it had a better route encounter-wise, it was farther away and Silhouette’s injuries did not look like they would be very forgiving of the longer time frame. Judging from her injuries, Fast Track highly doubted Silhouette could transform into her alternate mode without causing permanent damage to herself.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure she could remain magnetized to Zipline’s seeker form if he went at any decent amount of speed and while she could ride on Zipline’s cyber-wolf form, Fast Track wasn’t sure how long Silhouette could last before her internal injuries became fatal. Which led to the question of which risk to take. More cover but a higher risk of enemy encounters? Or less risk of enemy encounters and a higher risk of Silhouette succumbing to her wounds because of time?</p>
<p>His mental debate stretched on for what to him seemed a long time but was in fact only a few kliks before he came to a decision and opened a com with Zipline, ::New plan, we’ll be heading for these coordinates as soon as I’ve patched Silhouette up enough for her to be safely moved.::</p>
<p>A small pulse of question rippled across their bond, ::You sure? That would take us awfully close to a ‘Con outpost. Not to mention the ‘Cons will still be hunting for her to retrieve their Triple-S intel.::</p>
<p>Fast Track moved on to repairing the other injuries he could take care of as he responded, ::It’s a risk we’ll have to take. She isn’t willing to tell us the intel unless it’s absolutely necessary and she’s got internal injuries I can’t fix. I don’t know how long she’s going to last, but the chances of her offlining on the trip to <b>our</b> extraction point is too high.::</p>
<p>::We’ll waste plenty of time if we get into a skirmish with the ‘Cons on the way to hers.::</p>
<p>::You have a better idea?::</p>
<p>::Sure. Make her tell us what the intel is so that even if something happens to her, we won’t lose it.::</p>
<p>Fast Track sent him a pulse of exasperation, they both knew that trying to force a fellow Special Ops agent to tell someone anything was pointless. Fast Track didn’t agree with Silhouette’s call to keep the intel secret even from them with her condition, but trying to force her to tell them would only make things worse. For now, they would have to go along with her instincts and simply do their best to get her to the extraction point in time.</p>
<p>Zipline pinged his com with a sudden suggestion as Fast Track coaxed the groaning femme to shift onto her front so he could check her back plating, ::We could always call a groundbridge…::</p>
<p>Fast Track shook his helm even though Zipline couldn’t see the motion, ::Not a good idea, remember? Not only would it be a huge drain on the Autobot’s energon supply, but those signal jammers the ‘Cons have been installing in their outposts could frag up the groundbridge signal and kill us when we tried to go through.::</p>
<p>::I thought we were out of range of those by now…::</p>
<p>Fast Track huffed, ::Maybe. Maybe not. They’ve been upgrading the range of those things lately and this far into Decepticon territory, there’s a good chance the outposts would have the upgraded versions. It’s not worth the risk unless we’ve run out of every other option.::</p>
<p>Zipline gave Fast Track an irritated feeling as he realized his twin was right, ::Scrap.::</p>
<p>Fast Track echoed the sentiment back to his twin even as he sat back a bit from Silhouette, “That’s the best I can do. Think you can hold out ‘till we reach your extraction point? We haven’t missed your pickup time, have we?”</p>
<p>Silhouette nodded grimly and let Fast Track help her out of her previous hiding place, “No. It’s a good spot. My ship should still be there.”</p>
<p>Fast Track paused, “You have a your own ship?”</p>
<p>The black and purple femme nodded, “Yes. Since we were on a long-term infiltration into Kaon, it was considered too risky to have a set extraction time. Just in case we couldn’t sneak out in time to make it. So, we were given a stealth ship and flew it to our chosen extraction point ourselves.”</p>
<p>Fast Track hummed to himself in impressed surprise, stealth ships were an extremely rare commodity for either faction, “That’s good-” His processor jolted and he grit his denta as he was suddenly forced to shut down his program. <em>Scrap,</em> he thought past the wave of pain that washed through his helm,<em> forgot to keep an optic on the time-limit.</em> Silhouette tilted her helm in his direction, a silent question of concern in her body language past her visor. Fast Track waved it off, “I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Shaking off the wave of disorientation his abrupt exit from his mode had given him, he herded Silhouette toward Zipline. His twin was hurrying down the hill toward him, doorwings rigid on his back in wary alarm, “We’ve got incoming, they’re about three hundred kilometers out, but they’re moving fast. Those seekers must have transmitted their coordinates before we took them out.”</p>
<p>Silhouette gave a low curse that Fast Track agreed with wholeheartedly before he ordered softly, “Zip, you’re going to be her transport. She can’t transform with her internal injuries. Silhouette-”</p>
<p>Silhouette gave a low, empty chuckle, “Let me guess ‘hold on tight and don’t offline’?”</p>
<p>Fast Track grinned at her from behind his battle mask, “Basically, yeah.”</p>
<p>Zipline chuffed softly, his huge cyber-wolf form eliciting a small noise of surprise from Silhouette before she recovered and let Fast Track help her onto his back. Zipline wasted no time in taking off toward the extraction point. His long lope eating away at the distance as Fast Track followed behind in his alternate mode. Fast Track kept his scanners trained behind and to their flanks, trying to detect any sign of the pursuers Zipline had picked up while in his praxian form.</p>
<p>After joors of travel, the flat, featureless plains eventually gave way to a network of hills and ravines, forcing the three to slow down a bit in order to navigate the trickier terrain. At times, Fast Track had to transform back into his bipedal mode in order to get around obstacles, using acrobatic flips and twists to maintain some of his momentum before transforming again.</p>
<p>The trek was made in silence save for the occasional clatter and the steady rumble of Fast Track’s engine. Zipline was unable to speak in his cyber-wolf form, Silhouette was clearly in too much pain as time went on, and Fast Track knew better than to strike up conversation anyway. Undue sound would only draw the Decepticons to them.</p>
<p><em>Wish I could transform into a cyber-wolf like Zip. That would make this so much quieter. And easier.</em> Not for the first time, Fast Track wondered why they had two radically different programs and not simply variations of the same one. His occasional, slightly frustrated musings came to a halt when his scanners pinged at the same moment Zipline paused to scent the air.</p>
<p><em>“They’re coming.”</em> Zipline’s voice was uncharacteristically grim as he said that, and Fast Track wrestled with what to do next. They couldn’t risk taking cover until the search party passed, that could take joors with all of the ravines the Decepticons would have to search and Silhouette wouldn’t last that long. But staying out in the open and making noise with his engine by driving was foolhardy as well.</p>
<p>Keeping his voice low, Fast Track asked, “Silhouette, do you know this area? Anywhere we could keep moving while still having cover?”</p>
<p>Silhouette didn’t answer for several kliks, her venting had grown labored over the joors of constant bumping and motion. Fast Track was worried about her internal injuries, they seemed to be degrading faster than he had anticipated.</p>
<p>Finally, she used a servo to partially sit up on Zipline’s back. After looking around intently at her surroundings, her other servo pointed shakily at a very narrow ravine just ahead of them, “That one. It runs for several kilometers in the direction we need to go. It’s … it’s wider at the bottom than the top, the ledges should provide some cover as long as we stay on the sides.”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded and they diverted their course a bit in order to enter the ravine. The entrance to the ravine was steep. So steep that they had to resort to having Zipline hover above them in his seeker form while Fast Track rappelled down from him while holding Silhouette in order to safely reach the bottom.</p>
<p>Fast Track flinched a bit in surprise as his pedes landed in a puddle of raw energon. A jolt, not unlike severe static, pulsed through him from the puddle and he hastily stepped away from it. <em>Right, raw energon: not my friend. “Zipline, look out as you land. There’s still a bit of raw energon down here.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline transformed in mid-air into his mini-bot form. The smaller form bounced and whirled its way down, grabbing onto tiny ledges and crevices on the way down to slow his momentum. He landed next to Fast Track with a faint grunt and looked around, “Huh, it <b>is</b> wider on the inside.”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded, “Think it’s wide enough for your cyber-wolf form?”</p>
<p>Zipline gave the area a semi-skeptical look before he shrugged, muttered, “It’s only paint,” and then transformed. His cyber-wolf form shook out its metal plating a bit and all three winced at the inadvertent clanging noise it made as the plating hit the side of the narrow ravine. Fast Track deadpanned at his twin through their bond and Zipline curled his lips into a sheepish expression while his tail curled between his legs in shame, <em>“…Oops?”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track hissed at that as he hastily helped Silhouette climb onto his back again, <em>“If we survive this, I’ll turn you over to Ratchet for that later.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Aw, you’re no fun.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s called caution. You might have heard of it over our vorns of field-work?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your T-Cog in a knot.”</em>
</p>
<p>Fast Track pointedly ignored the opportunity to argue with his twin and instead scanned Silhouette as they took off again, “You’re getting worse very rapidly, Silhouette.”</p>
<p>Silhouette raised her helm enough to glare at him past her visor, “I’ll … be fine. Just keep … going.”</p>
<p>“Protocol dictates that if an agent is compromised and at risk of failing their mission objective, they are to turn it over to the nearest fellow Special Ops agent.” He kept his voice low as he pointed that out, but his words still somehow sounded too loud in the echoing ravine.</p>
<p>Silhouette panted for a few kliks before she huffed out, “No.”</p>
<p>Zipline growled at her stubbornness and Fast Track wished he had denta to grit as he drove over the bumpy surface of the ravine floor, “We aren’t rookies, Silhouette. Whatever the intel is, it is too important to risk losing with you. We can handle it. We won’t leave you behind after we know, but a backup strategy would be prudent-”</p>
<p>“I’m not telling you!” Snapped Silhouette tensely, “I’m not telling anyone except Lieutenant Jazz and the Prime himself! This is … this is too big. Too much. If word got out to the rest of the troops … I’m sorry. I can’t risk it.”</p>
<p>Zipline growled again in frustration as he ranted to Fast Track, <em>“If it’s that important, than she also can’t risk the information dying with her! Ugh. Femmes.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track began to reply when his sensors pinged and he instinctively froze, cutting off his engine with a faint sputter. High above the top of the ravine, several foreign engines roared overhelm. Zipline hunched low, yellow optics staring warily upwards while Fast Track transformed as quietly as he could. Both of them felt a swoop of dread at the telltale throbbing pulse of dropship engines. Fast Track debated switching back into his program mode, but rejected the idea a moment later, if he overdid his limit again, he would pass out and that would be no help to Zipline or Silhouette.</p>
<p>Zipline hunched low to the ground, his lip plates curling back to reveal his pointed fangs while his tail tucked between his legs again, <em>“Two dropships. Six aerials, but they don’t sound like seekers.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“They must have been intended as backup for the seekers. After getting the last known coordinates, they either somehow picked us up on their scanners or they extrapolated our most likely route.”</em>
</p>
<p>Zipline’s ears twitched in agitation before he lay down to let Silhouette off of his back and transformed into his natural bipedal mode, <em>“We need to keep moving. Quietly. Silhouette is smelling sicker by the klik.”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track worried his bottom lip but nodded. Fast Track switched duties with Zipline, slinking back to Silhouette’s side to pull her arm over his shoulders and help her walk while Zipline slipped ahead as their scout. They continued their trek toward the extraction point, clinging to the sides of the ravine so as to remain unnoticed. The Decepticon search party passed overhelm repeatedly and Fast Track wondered each time if this was when they got noticed and the desperate fight for survival began.</p>
<p>The ravine grew even darker as Fast Track’s chronometer informed him that the sun was setting. They had been journeying with Silhouette for joors now, almost half a cycle. They weren’t far from Silhouette’s extraction point, but the Decepticons weren’t leaving, Silhouette’s condition was steadily worsening, and according to his sensors they were running out of ravine.</p>
<p><em>Scrap.</em> Fast Track met gazes with Zipline briefly, the same options running through their processors. They could make a break for it, they could wait, or they could try to sneak their way to another ravine and hopefully make their way to the extraction point from there.</p>
<p>Waiting was out. Silhouette’s injuries made sure of that. Running was out as well because trying to outrun aerials without access to both of their vehicle modes while carrying an injured member was … stupid, even for them.</p>
<p>Sneak and pray it was.</p>
<p>Zipline darted ahead to the mouth of the ravine, the in front of them end sloping down at an angle that was actually walkable, unlike the way they had come in. Fast Track pulled a grim Silhouette along with him and he used their point of contact to quickly transmit their plan.</p>
<p>She promptly informed him that it was a stupid plan. But also agreed that it was the least stupid plan out of the three options, and so provided information on which ravine to run to next while grimly preparing to make a sprint for it when Zipline gave the signal.</p>
<p>The dropships rumbled overhelm yet again, coming from the direction they were intending to run and, as soon as they had passed over where the three were hiding, Zipline gave the signal. Fast Track tightened his grip on Silhouette as he bolted up the slope and out of the ravine, aiming for the next one and possible safety.</p>
<p>He made it halfway through his mad sprint when shouts went up and he heard engines speeding toward him from behind. Zipline threw himself into a backflip over Fast Track’s helm, <em>“Keeping going! I’ll buy you a little time!”</em></p>
<p>Fast Track grit his denta as he kept running, <em>“Don’t even think about offlining or getting severely injured by those junkers!”</em></p>
<p>Zipline scoffed lightly over their bond, but Fast Track could sense the bravado behind it, <em>“As if! Have you even </em><b><em>seen</em></b><em> these kinds of aerials pull off a tight turn? Hint, they can’t.”</em></p>
<p>Silhouette’s vents faltered and she began to shake with bad coughs. Her pedes stumbled and Fast Track grunted as he found himself suddenly carrying all of her weight rather than just helping her along. Zipline cursed in the back of Fast Track’s mind as an aerial nicked his wing during a pass. A pulsing dropship engine thundered high above Fast Track’s helm and he pushed himself to go faster, <em>almost there … almost there-!</em></p>
<p>Instinct suddenly made Fast Track dive to the side, away from the entrance of the next ravine just as something slammed into the ground in front of him with enough force to send out a shockwave. Fast Track hissed, curling his body protectively around Silhouette’s wheezing frame as they rolled backwards from the force of the unknown impact.</p>
<p>The moment they slid to a stop, Fast Track threw himself to his pedes, a heavy blaster settling in place of his right servo as he spun to face the impact area. His optics widened behind his visor as he realized that the impact had been hard enough to stir up fine particles of metal, the Cybertronian version of dust. He gave a noise of disbelief as his visor scanner pinged his HUD with results and Fast Track realized that the thing that had hit the ground with that much force was a <b>mech</b>.</p>
<p><em>That’s impossible … there’s no way he took that impact and is still standing. It … but he’s-</em> The dust began to clear as a looming figure straightened up from where he had landed. Fast Track felt something inside go cold as his HUD pinged again with another scan report, <em>wait. That can’t be right. That … isn’t an energon signal is it? But that looks like a mech and there’s a spark signature. But the signature is … clouded somehow. Some kind of jam-?</em></p>
<p>The last of the dust cleared away as the mech towered to his full height and locked gazes with Fast Track. The world slowed down and Fast Track felt his spark skip several beats as memories slammed into him, bringing realization with them as all the pieces clicked into place.</p>
<p><em>Oh. Triple-S rank intel, </em>mused a hysterically calm part of his brain, <em>“Zip. I know what Silhouette’s intel is.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline sensed the horror behind Fast Track’s flat statement and grew immediately alarmed, <em>“What? What is it? Track? </em><b><em>Track</em></b><em>?”</em></p>
<p>Purple optics flared as the mech raised a huge sword over his helm and gave a horrible, grating roar that made Fast Track want to bolt and flee because something about it sounded <em>wrong-wrong-wrong-</em><b><em>wrong</em></b>-</p>
<p>Fast Track raised his gun to point at the mech’s helm even as he choked out the name of the abomination before him, “Dark Energon…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0074"><h2>74. Fast Forward - Twinlings Arc Climax</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline’s engine stalled in the air at the horrid, twisted noise that ripped through the air and the faint murmur from Fast Track. <em>Dark Energon? </em><b><em>Dark Energon</em></b><em>? “Fast Track? Get out of there now, do you hear me? Run!”</em> Even over the sound of his own dogfight and his efforts to keep the dropships from landing and surrounding Fast Track, he could hear the rapid report of his twin’s blaster going off.</p>
<p><em>“</em><b><em>Fast Track</em></b><em>!”</em>Zipline shrieked as an aerial took advantage of his distraction and a blaster bolt slammed into his chassis. Zipline spun through the air, pain throbbing through his body from the hit, trying to regain control of his jet form as he fell from the unexpected attack. With a final twist and yowl of pain, Zipline righted himself and shot off into the air again. The two remaining aerials chased after him, trying to herd him away from the dropships so they could finally land. <em>Scrap, scrap, scrap! “Fast Track!”</em></p>
<p><em>“Fragging </em><b><em>busy</em></b><em>!”</em> Their panic merged and flowed between them like a shared pulse, stirring them into a frenzy the likes of which they had not felt for vorns.</p>
<p>Zipline felt panicked urgency claw his spark as he caught a glimpse of his twin desperately trying to avoid the wild blows of the mech who had been crazy enough to jump out of the dropship at an altitude too high for most to survive. He threw caution to the wind, abruptly tilting backward and transforming as he howled, “Stay away!”</p>
<p>His words dissolved into a feral snarl halfway through as his cyber-wolf form settled into place and slammed into the surprised aerial that had been tailing him. The aerial’s cry of surprise turned into a wail of agony as Zipline sank his teeth deep into the mech’s left wing, savaging the plating and shredding through delicate wires.</p>
<p>Energon spurted into his mouth and Zipline growled with hatred as he worked his jaws deeper. The mech flipped upside-down to shake him off, but Zipline’s jaws remained fastened tight to the wing even as his heavy body was jerked toward the ground by gravity. There was a groaning, crumpling sound as the aerial’s wing tear under the force of Zipline’s weight. The aerial made a horrid noise as his wing suddenly ripped free and Zipline felt himself plummet earthward with the wing still clenched in his mouth.</p>
<p>Zipline transformed again, his newly restored servos gripping the wing like a discus. He twisted, spinning tightly in midair before he flung the wing upward, using the momentum of his fall to send it speeding into the turbine of the last aerial. The aerial exploded, but Zipline barely noticed as he shifted back into his damaged seeker form and sped toward the dropships, intent on destroying them before they could send reinforcements after his twin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track lunged to one side just in time to avoid another strike from the decepticon’s sword. Panic throbbed through his spark with enough strength that he was certain Sunstreaker and Sideswipe could pick up on it too. At the moment though, he didn’t really care about that. All he cared about was survival.</p>
<p>Silhouette lay curled on the ground not far away, seemingly unable to drag herself off of the ground and run despite her best efforts. Fast Track cursed and fired off another salvo of rounds at his opponent, only for the mech to shrug them off with a deep laugh that sounded <b>wrong</b> somehow.</p>
<p>Everything about the mech was wrong somehow, and not because he was a decepticon. It was in the way he moved, the way he sounded, even the way he attacked. Fast Track’s logic center could find no reason for it as he frantically dodged and distracted the mech from Silhouette. But deep down, on an instinctual, primal level he had never known cybertronians possessed, he knew.</p>
<p>This … thing attacking him wasn’t alive. Not anymore. He, it, may have been alive when the dark energon was put in his system, still had a sparkbeat for Fast Track’s scanners to pick up but now …</p>
<p>The mech was dead in all the ways that really mattered. It was the only way to describe it, the only way to think of it. No matter what other evidence there was the contrary, Fast Track just <b>knew</b> that the mech in from of him wasn’t a real cybertronian anymore.</p>
<p>The darkness had taken him.</p>
<p>Fast Track twisted aside again, barely avoiding the repeated blows and their shockwaves. <em>Think, think! What do you do to defeat a mech pumped up on dark energon? Shooting him isn’t working, at least not fast enough, and I need him down now. Before he notices-</em></p>
<p>A grenade plinked and rolled across the metal ground just as the decepticon took a stomping step forward. The grenade exploded spectacularly, sending out debris particles and causing the mech to roar in true pain for the first time since the start of the encounter. Fast Track kept his sensors trained on the blast zone even as his optics searched for the source of the grenade.</p>
<p>Silhouette hunched on the ground, her pedes finally underneath her, but still needing one servo on the ground to remain upright. Her other was outstretched, her vents heaving as she hissed, “Walk away from that, meltdown.”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s sensors pinged before he could comment on her throw and his helm snapped back around to where the decepticon had been standing. He felt his spark skip another beat as the mech limped out of the smoke, his expression twisted into something black and enraged, <b><em>How</em></b><em> did he walk away from that? Does dark energon reinforce the frame or something?</em></p>
<p>He had no time to ponder such questions, as now Silhouette had inadvertently gotten the attention of their opponent. Fast Track bolted forward at the same time the decepticon did, trying to somehow save Silhouette from the blade flashing down toward her helm, “Silhouette!” <em>no-no-no-!</em></p>
<p>There was a pulse from his twin bond, a ripple of intent and desperation-born strategy and Fast Track obeyed on instinct. He leapt into the air, twin viral daggers dropping out of his subspace and into his servos as he hurtled forward. By himself, trying to get close enough to use the viral daggers accurately would be suicide against such a strong, dark energon-empowered mech.</p>
<p>But he wasn’t alone.</p>
<p>Sound shattered as Zipline swooped down from the sky, transforming just before impact to slam the weighty metal plating of his cyber-wolf form’s shoulder into decepticon’s side. The momentum of the attack sent the ‘Con’s downward sword-swing off balance, the huge blade gouging into the ground centimeters away from Silhouette. The mech, for all of his enhancements from the dark energon, stumbled a few steps closer to Fast Track as he came down from the height of his leap.</p>
<p>The viral daggers slammed into the crevices of the decepticon’s shoulder armor and Fast Track realized half-a-klik after he had attacked that he had forgotten to not aim for a mech’s usual greatest weakness. The main energon line in the decepticon’s shoulder ruptured and Fast Track screamed as purple sprayed across the front of his frame even as he backflipped away.</p>
<p>Fast Track hit the ground in a clumsy flop, his back arching as he continued to scream. His chest and neck burned and for several moments he was trapped in an eternity of agony. He had wondered, once, vorns ago what dark energon must feel like. He had contemplated the matter while watching Starwish give him an energon transfusion. He had puzzled over what dark energon must feel like to make Megatron and Starscream crave it, willingly ingest it despite it’s clearly questionable nature.</p>
<p>This was not it. Nothing he had theorized in that moment of boredom came close to what mere contact with the liquid darkness felt like.</p>
<p>He felt like he was fracturing. Like something was burrowing into his protoform, tearing him apart wire by wire with a vindictiveness that felt … alive. Conscious. Intentional. It felt like it was ripping him apart to get to something, something he had to protect at all costs or else he would lose control and listen to that feeling that was beginning to invade his processor. The one that whispered sweet nothings of power and knowledge and endings and <b>darkness</b> that went on, on, on, on-</p>
<p><em>“Fast Track! Fast Track! </em><b><em>Samuel</em></b><em>!”</em> The words broke through the pounding and the whispers, and fierce, wild warmth flooded his chest as the voice -so familiar, where did he know that voice from- bellowed, <em>“</em><b><em>Get out of my twin</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p><em>Twin.</em> Some margin of self-awareness filtered back to Fast Track and he lurched on the ground, his senses now alternating between the reality of the metal ground beneath him and the somehow self-aware pain ripping through his chassis. He clung to his bonds, a wordless plea for help echoing across them as he struggled to think past the burning agony.</p>
<p>The three bonds responded instantly, latching onto him with desperation and love that pushed the burning to a halt for a moment. The momentary pause extended and Fast Track’s helm cleared enough to feel, to <b>know</b> what was about to happen next if he didn’t do something.</p>
<p>The darkness wasn’t retreating, it was preparing.</p>
<p>It was going to attack his family <b>through him</b>. Through the spark bonds they shared.</p>
<p><em>Never. Never! Not while I live!</em> His servos spasmed into fists on the ground as determination rushed through him and he reached for his subspace with whatever strength he had left.</p>
<p>He would never be certain, afterward, just why he had pulled out the last of his energon rations and forcibly cracked open the container so that it poured all over his chassis, neck, and battlemask. Perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered how Ratchet had cured Raf in the show. Perhaps it was some kind of primal instinct, a knowledge that all cybertronians had deep down that the only thing to counteract dark energon was it’s opposite counterpart. Perhaps he had simply acted out of wild desperation for no reason at all and had gotten lucky.</p>
<p>Whatever the reasons, or lack thereof, Fast Track could feel it as the fresh energon collided with its dark counterpart on top of his frame. The burning started again, but this time it felt cleansing, not destructive, and while the clash between the two elements made him dizzy and nauseous beyond belief, it was infinitely better than what had plagued him before.</p>
<p>Fast Track gasped as he came back to himself, his vents heaved and choked from overwork and he stared blankly up at the sky while Zipline frantically poured his own rations on Fast Track’s frame for good measure. His optics flickered with static and for a klik, Fast Track was certain he heard something hiss vengefully in the farthest reaches of his helm. Then last of the burning disappeared and he was left feeling horribly wet, achy, and exhausted.</p>
<p>Zipline leaned over his twin, concern pulsing between them, “Track? Track? Are you back? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Fast Track summoned up the energy to give a faint nod, fighting off the desire to fall into a deep recharge as he did so. Pushing himself up with his elbows, Fast Track looked around dizzily, “Where is Silhouette?”</p>
<p>Zipline made an impatient gesture in the direction of the femme, “Over there. Fast Track, what just happened-”</p>
<p>Memories of whispers and agony and visions of endless, yawning darkness flickered through Fast Track’s mind and he snapped, “<b>Don’t</b>. Don’t make me- Not now. Not here.” <em>Preferably never.</em> He shook his helm to clear it, “We need get out of here. Can you … can you carry Silhouette?”</p>
<p>Zipline hesitated, clearly reluctant to drop the topic of what had just happened, but then nodded and made his way to Silhouette after helping his twin stand. Fast Track rolled his shoulder joints, trying to ease the raw ache he could feel there. His self-diagnostic reported that he now had cable strain in certain areas from the sheer force of his convulsions.</p>
<p>He pushed that report away and asked, “The dropships?”</p>
<p>Zipline lifted the vaguely unresponsive Silhouette into a bridal carry hold as he responded, “I took them out. Blew up the engines. If anything survived the crashes, they won’t be coming after us anytime soon.”</p>
<p>Fast Track shot a wary look over his shoulder in the direction of the smoke, but didn’t press. They needed to move. A sense of urgency pushed away the limp that wanted to form in Fast Track’s left leg as they started off again. Optimus needed to know about the dark energon. Fast Track didn’t know <b>how</b> Megatron had gotten a hold of some at this point in time -he’d thought that only happened in the Prime series- but he had and the Autobot High Command needed to know about that as soon as possible.</p>
<p>Silhouette had been right about the rank of her intel. This was not only war-changing, it was quite possibly war-<b>ending</b>, and not in a good way. Fast Track didn’t know any way to counter dark energon other than normal energon and that was becoming an increasingly rare commodity.</p>
<p>He rubbed his chest plates as phantom pain shot through his chassis, <em>is that why Cybertron died? Megatron found dark energon and its presence somehow … poisoned Cybertron? But then … that can’t be right. Otherwise Cybertron could never have been revived. That was why Unicron tried so hard to infect the core with his terrorcons in the movie. Because he knew Primus would never recover from it.</em></p>
<p>The thought of infection threatened to drag all-to-recent memories to the fore and Fast Track shuddered. That was another thing they would have to warn the Autobots about. While bladed weapons seemed to work better on a dark energon-infected mech than a normal or heavy blaster, the risk of getting sprayed with the corrupting liquid was very high-</p>
<p>Something, an instinct, a feeling, maybe one of his sensors, shivered violently and without any conscious choice, Fast Track whirled to look behind him. His horror ripped across his bond to Zipline and made his twin whirl around as well. Both stared for a few kliks in disbelief before Zipline breathed, “Oh sweet Primus, <b>no</b>.”</p>
<p>Fast Track felt something start to buzz in the back of his helm, his servos clenching as he hissed, “Get Silhouette to the ship.”</p>
<p>Zipline’s plating bristled, “I can’t just-!”</p>
<p>Fast Track’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous pitch as he crouched, “I’ll buy you enough time to get a lead on it, then I’ll follow. I’ll be right behind you, just go.”</p>
<p>His twin still hesitated, Silhouette made a strangled noise, and Fast Track snapped, “Optimus needs to know about this Zip, she has more details than we do. If we lose her, we lose the war. You need to get her to the ship and go.” Zipline took a half-step back and Fast Track felt his temper flare with uncharacteristic heat as he glanced over his shoulder at his twin and snarled, “<b>Now</b>, <em>Skyler</em>!” The old, long-disused and almost forgotten human name snapped Zipline out of his daze and he took off at a run for Silhouette’s ship.</p>
<p>As his twin ran away with Silhouette, Fast Track shifted the entirety of his focus to the abomination in front of him. With aching slowness, the thing shuffled to its pedes, purple optics powering on with a glazed yet vicious intent. Fast Track could see the hilts of his two viral daggers still protruding from the thing’s shoulder, purple liquid flowing down from the wounds and staining its black armor as it’s helm swiveled slowly from side to side.</p>
<p>It locked gazes with Fast Track and something about it froze his pedes to the ground with fear. He could feel his spark picking up into a crazy rhythm as the creature straightened up to its full height, a height it shouldn’t have been able to attain because it shouldn’t be able to move, it should have been offline-</p>
<p><em>It is offline,</em> whispered a part of Fast Track’s processor in revulsion, <em>nothing alive could get up from two viral daggers. </em><b><em>Nothing</em></b><em>. </em>His scanners mocked him, pinging his HUD with reports of a spark signature from the thing even though Fast Track knew, <b>knew</b> that no creature on Cybertron could survive two viral daggers injecting their powerful viruses into their victim’s systems.</p>
<p>The glazed look faded away and the thing sneered at Fast Track, “That actually hurt, little Autobot~” Its voice grated over Fast Track’s audios as it took a slow step forward. Fast Track twitched, trying to make a move, to attack, to make a diversion just like he’d promised Zipline. But he couldn’t move. He was, for once in his life, too scared to move.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter, little Autobot~? Can’t run away~?” Two more steps, Fast Track could barely think anything over the sound of his thundering spark except for an endless loop of, <em>the whisper. The whisper from before. Why is the whisper in your voice? Why-why-why-stay-away-stay-away-why-</em></p>
<p><em>“Fast Track? Fast Track! Snap out of it!”</em> His twin’s voice broke through the haze of panic that had fallen over Fast Track. He unsubspaced one of his blasters and fired, once, twice, thrice, at the chest plates of the thing in front of him.</p>
<p>The creature just laughed, “You think that’s going to stop me? Really?” Not giving Fast Track time to react to its words, the creature lunged for him with a maniacal howl. Fast Track rolled away from the blow, firing off more rounds as he did so, <em>just buy a little time, just buy a little time-</em> The thing lunged for him again and Fast Track barely dodged in time, <b><em>how do you stop this thing</em></b><em>?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Analyzation complete: Presence of Dark Energon Confirmed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Dark Energon Acolyte Detected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Recommended Course of Action: Neutralization of Dark Energon Acolyte.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Analyzing Requirements for Task.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level One Guardian Mode: Insufficient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Two Guardian Mode: Insufficient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Three Guardian Mode: Insufficient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Four Guardian Mode: Required for Completion of Task and Continued Function.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Error: Level Four Guardian Mode Locked. User Experience Insufficient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Temporarily Override Level Four Lock? Y/N.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Warning: Temporary Override of Level Four Lock May Incur Physical or Mental Injuries and Cause Loss of Consciousness. Depletion of Spark Reserves May Also Occur Due to Premature Override and Use of Level Four Guardian Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>What? Wait is this … I have four levels to my program?</em> Fast Track backflipped away from his attacker, vents struggling to cool his frame. He was exhausted from his prior contact to dark energon and knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. <em>If the program has even a chance of helping me survive this …</em> Fast Track mentally slammed the “yes” option. An instant later and pain stabbed through his helm as his program forcibly activated itself in time to the words scrolling down his HUD.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Attempting Override Of Level Four Lock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level One Guardian Mode Required: Activating Level One Guardian Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world slowed down, then jolted back to speed as the vast majority of his processing power was directed toward overriding the lock on his program’s next level. Fast Track hissed through his denta at the helmache forming behind his optics and tried to distract his opponent by throwing a grenade at it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 5%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 10%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Emergency Files Required to Maintain Level Four: Installing Files.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: … 15%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: … 17%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Hurry up, hurry up!</em> The creature was somehow getting faster in its attacks, laughing the entire time as Fast Track pushed his frame to speed up as well. Flipping over the top of a narrow ravine, Fast Track felt a moment of satisfaction as his opponent failed to see it in time and partially fell in, buying Fast Track time to put distance between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 30%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: … 45%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <em>“Fast Track, we’ve got a problem here!”</em>
  
</p>
<p>Fast Track cursed loudly, <em>“What is it?”</em></p>
<p>Zipline sounded distracted as he answered, <em>“Remember that acid storm that hit a few cycles back during our mission? Well, it passed by here and damaged some of the ship’s wiring. I can get it in the air anyway, but it will take a bit longer. Can you keep buying us time?”</em> There was a wave of intense concern from Zipline, worry about asking his brother to stay in the vicinity of the monster created by dark energon for even a klik longer.</p>
<p>Fast Track did his best to send his twin a wave of confidence, but was sure he failed. Zipline had always been better at bravado, <em>“I’m on it. Just concentrate on getting that ship in the air.”</em></p>
<p>His opponent had gotten unstuck from the ravine and was chasing him again, his laughter having turned to curses that grated on Fast Track’s audios. The wrongness in the creature’s voice, the one that reminded him so strongly of the whispers pushed at him again, tried to make him forget to run, but he resisted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 72%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: … 89%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 75%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: … 95%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His opponent had apparently gotten tired of chasing Fast Track around and instead had pulled out a blaster to start shooting at him. Fast Track darted around a hillock of metal to avoid the plasma rounds, wincing as the heat of the shots grazed his armor anyway. <em>Come on, come on.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span class="u">Installation of Emergency Files: Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Rerouting Excess Processor Power to Lock Override.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 85%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 87%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 92%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Overriding Lock: … 99%.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track yelped in surprise as he rounded the corner of the hillock only to find the monster looming over him with a massive sword raised. The sword flashed downward, Zipline sensed what was happening and screamed, Fast Track could feel his parents reaching for him over their bonds in desperation-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Lock Override: Successful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Initiating Level Four Guardian Mode.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of his enhanced processor functions suddenly came to bear on his situation. The world seemed to slow down to a crawl as data washed over him. Distance, current windspeed, the estimated density of the armor of the enemy before him, even the composition of Cybertron’s surface beneath his servos.</p>
<p>That kind of data had washed over him before when in Level One, but this time, this time Fast Track <b>understood</b>. His legs curled under him and the fingers of one servo curled tight, as if he was grabbing something while his processor spat out calculations on molecular structure and energy bonds and a host of other things he had never known before but now understood and could <b>use</b>.</p>
<p>The monster’s sword crashed down … and met the curling shield of metal that Fast Track and just pulled out of the hillside. <em>What? Did I just do that? How did I just do that?</em> The thoughts barely blipped through his mind before he was rolling out from under the impromptu barrier and launching forward to retaliate. Formulas unfolded in his mind, lost secrets of the metal beneath him, old discoveries not his own, knowledge he had never before had all spun together to form a plan.</p>
<p>His servos dragged along the ground, something surging through him and latching onto the metal before surging forward and up, around the surprised creature he was fighting. Metal screeched as it molded to Fast Track’s will, wrapping tightly around the monster that had just dropped his sword in surprise. He slapped the metal surrounding the creature and it screamed as spikes exploded out of the metal, burrowing deep into the creature’s frame to keep it from breaking out of its prison.</p>
<p>Fast Track leaped away from the makeshift prison, ignoring both Zipline’s calls over their bond that the ship was ready and the ping on his HUD warning that stasis was imminent if he didn’t shut down the Level Four Mode soon. <em>There. Out of range. Now!</em> Foreign knowledge guided his servos as he slammed them down onto the ground again, energy rippled down from his chest, through his arms and servos and into the ground with formulas and calculations translated into pure intent.</p>
<p>A new spike shot out of the ground and impaled the monster’s helm, obliterating it into far too many pieces to ever fix. The frame inside the prison jolted, shaking and thrashing in death-throes he had never previously seen anything on cybertron do, before it went utterly still.</p>
<p>Fast Track stood slowly, vents heaving and something in his chassis aching as words scrolled down his HUD.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Objective Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Dark Energon Acolyte: Neutralized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Warning: Processor Failure Imminent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Warning: Spark Energy Levels Low.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Four Guardian Mode: Too Taxing for User At This Time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Four Lock Required for Continued Function.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Deactivating Level Four Guardian Mode: … Deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Reinitializing Level Four Lock: … Reinitialized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Uninstalling Emergency Files: Error.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Unable to Uninstall Emergency Files.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Alternative Solution: … Found.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level Two Guardian Mode: Capable of Safely Integrating and Locking Emergency Files.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Unlocking Level Two Guardian Mode: … Unlocked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Integrating Emergency Files: … Integration Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Locking Integrated Files: … Lock Complete.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Warning: Level Two and Level One Guardian Modes Will Merge 15 Cycles After Level Two is Unlocked. Level One Will Be Inaccessible Until Merge Is Complete. Attempts to Activate Level One During Merging Period Will Result in Immediate Stasis.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Level One Guardian Mode: No Longer Required.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <span class="u">Deactivating Level One Guardian Mode: … Deactivated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track swayed on his pedes, exhaustion and pain washing over him as the world snapped back to normal speeds. Disorientation swept his pedes out from under him and all he could do was stare blankly up at the sky and the ship hovering in the air above his helm. <em>Where … did that come from?</em> As the ramp of the ship lowered and a familiar figure rushed out to gather Fast Track frantically in his arms, Fast Track’s helm lolled to one side and he caught sight of the unnaturally bent metal of Cybertron’s surface. <em>Did I do that? How did I do that?</em></p>
<p>His questions blurred and faded away as his exhaustion claimed him and he slid into a deep recharge despite his twin’s panic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline rushed his brother into Silhouette’s ship and scrambled into the cockpit. He slammed the throttle to full, not caring about the commotion the engines would make or how unsubtle it would be. He needed to get out of Decepticon territory and call a groundbridge to Iacon, rationing be slagged.</p>
<p>He had a Prime to fill in, a fellow agent to save, and a twin to smack upside the helm once he was sure said twin wasn’t going to offline on him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0075"><h2>75. Twilight of Cybertron</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish exhaled slowly as she stepped away from the operating table, her prosthetics dripping with energon and other fluids acquired during the ten joor surgery. Shaking away the tunnel vision she had fallen into during the operation, she looked up at her partner in the surgery, “Status?”</p>
<p>Cogwheel triple checked the monitors and scans of their patient before she relaxed fractionally, “Success. Patient is stable. She’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded in acknowledgement, relief flashing through her spark before another concern entered her processor and she sighed, “But it will be at least a cycle until she’ll be awake and coherent enough for debriefing, very probably longer.”</p>
<p>Cogwheel pressed her lips together reluctantly. Just before the surgery doors had been locked down to prevent interruptions, they had been informed by a seething Ratchet that Protocol SA Triple-S was in effect. Which meant that they had to do everything in their power to not only save their patient’s spark, but to revive her as soon as possible for debriefing as she had information critical for the war effort.</p>
<p>“We <b>could</b> shorten the time down to ten joors if we mix some of the high-grade En-Stims in with her pain medication and give regular doses of proto-fluid every three jours. Hyper-stimulate her self-repair functions to accelerate the parts integration.” Cogwheel’s tone as she suggested the solution was far from happy or willing. It only took a moment of sorting through the medical jargon and its implications for Starwish to figure out why.</p>
<p>Her audio-amplifiers snapped backward in agitation and she snapped, “Hyper-stimulating her self-repair functions over a damage volume that large could permanently <b>ruin</b> it. Considering just how many parts the system would have to integrate as well as the residual damage that would need to be fabricated over, her self-repair system would have a eighty percent chance of <b>overstimulating </b>and shutting down. As it is, even without the risks that come with hype-stimulating her repair functions, there’s already a sixty percent chance that her system will get stuck at only half-strength for the rest of her lifespan. She’ll either need to come in for diagnostics and repairs ever orn on the orn or need a personal mechanic at her side every cycle just to ensure her functionality! Hyper-stimulating her now would be as good as offlining her ourselves!”</p>
<p>Cogwheel shot her a darkly weary look with four of her eyes, “I <b>know</b>, Starwish. But it might end up being the only option we have. As it is, we’ll just have to monitor her systems carefully and do everything we can to make sure she’s part of the forty percent who fully recover. Even if she doesn’t, it is still fully possible for a cybertronian to live a regular lifespan with their self-repair systems at half-strength, even without seeing a medic on an ornly basis or having a personal mechanic.”</p>
<p><em>Before the War maybe, but now?</em> Starwish kept the scathing response to herself. She knew that Cogwheel loathed the possibility just as much as she did. They were both worried and had both had to make too many no-win choices over the vorns for Starwish to snap further at her colleague.</p>
<p>Shaking her helm with a weary noise, Starwish wirelessly synchronized the femme’s monitors to her HUD so that she could keep an optic on the patient even as the two surgeons left the room. Cogwheel synchronized with the monitors moments after Starwish did and they both made straight for the emergency washracks just off of the main medbay.</p>
<p>Starwish made it three steps into the main medbay when she was surrounded and loomed over by two extremely distressed mechs. Starwish carefully squashed down the now-reflexive urge to flip one of the mechs over her shoulder and gouge out the other’s optics at the same time with her prosthetics. Instead, she sidestepped to let Cogwheel pass her by while she looked up into the frantic faceplates of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker didn’t give her enough time to voice a question, instead barraging her with his own, “How is he? Is Fast Track alright? What happened to him out there?”</p>
<p>Starwish felt a wave of her own concern that she had locked away ten joors ago in order to concentrate come rushing back to her, “I … I wasn’t part of his operation, but I’ll check with Ratchet.”</p>
<p>She quickly checked her HUD for the status of the second intensive surgery room to make sure Ratchet still wasn’t working on Fast Track before she opened her com, ::Starwish to Ratchet::</p>
<p>::Starwish, I was just about to com you. There’s something I need you to take to that Master of yours after I get a little more data together.::</p>
<p>Starwish briefly frowned in puzzlement, then stopped when Sunstreaker and Sideswipe started to fidget in worry over her expression, ::Is it about Fast Track? How is he? His <em>dads</em> are going meltdown out here.::</p>
<p>Ratchet gave a low, tired snort, ::Tell them he’s fine. He’ll make a full recovery, so long as he gets lots of recharge. I’m going to be putting both him and Zipline on medical leave for at least two metacycles.::</p>
<p>Starwish quickly relayed the message to the worrying twins, then tuned out their questions to know <b>why</b> and <b>how</b> Fast Track had been injured in favor of listening to Ratchet’s continuation over the com, ::As soon as Zipline gets out of his debriefing with Jazz, I’m going to need to call them both down here to give me a better picture of what happened. I don’t understand it. Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him aside from some dents, paint scuffs, a minor leg injury, and cable strain..::</p>
<p>Starwish blinked in tired confusion, ::But he looked to be in critical condition when he was brought in and I heard that a joor earlier Sunny and Sides were throwing an absolute fit in the hallways. Screaming and attacking anything that moved because of some kind of bond backlash. I even had to treat some of the injuries they caused.::</p>
<p>Ratchet sounded decidedly peeved as he answered, ::He <b>was</b> in critical condition, just not from any damage to his frame. The reason the Twins went meltdown in the hallways is most likely because they felt whatever caused Fast Track to lose almost eighty percent of his regenerative-capable spark reserves in the span of a few breems.::</p>
<p>Starwish felt her armor bristle dangerously, ::<b>What</b>?::</p>
<p>::I believe the word is ‘<em>ditto</em>’. Which is why I need Zipline down here as soon as possible so he can tell me what the slagging pit happened out there. Your sparkmate will also need to be there so he can give me clearance to know. I’m also going to give you special clearance to discuss the details of the incident to your Master, so he can hopefully tell us what the frag we need to do to keep it from happening again.::</p>
<p>Starwish nodded as she absently maneuvered around Sunstreaker and Sideswipe with a vague, apologetic statement of them needing to ask Zipline instead of her to answer their questions, ::Right.::</p>
<p>::What is the status of your patient?::</p>
<p>Starwish slipped into the washracks and made immediately for the stall next to Cogwheel’s, already stripping off parts of her armor so as to sterilize it under the high-intensity spray that had been installed next to the normal shower head for that specific purpose, ::Stable. All of the replacement parts are integrating properly, no signs of glitches in the operation or coding, and other damaged parts were successfully repaired. However, she’ll be in stasis for at <b>least</b> one to three cycles barring hyper-stimulation and there’s a sixty percent chance that her self-repair system will be permanently stuck at half-strength after the strain that was placed on it to keep her alive out on the field.::</p>
<p>Ratchet swore softly before the aggression bled from his voice, ::Well. At least she is still online. Hopefully Zipline’s debriefing will be thorough enough that hyper-stimulation is not required. I need to go check on the other patients, let me know when you are done sterilizing.::</p>
<p>Starwish carefully set her gauntlets aside and began to work on her prosthetics, ::Understood.::</p>
<p>Ratchet closed his com and Starwish focused the rest of her attention on cleaning every seam of her armor that had been in contact with her patient during the surgery, as well as an thorough wash-down for the rest of her frame just to be careful. Her motions were brisk and practiced from vorns of repetition. She did her best to wash away the fatigue in her frame as well as the energon stains, but as always was not as successful as she would have liked.</p>
<p>Buckling on her armor and stepping out of the stall, she gave a brief nod to the still sterilizing Cogwheel before leaving the washracks to resume her shift. In the back of her processor as she helped First Aid check on the other patients and dealt with the still hovering and snarling Terror Twins, she wondered what had happened on her little brothers’ latest mission.</p>
<p>She tried to shake off the deep, unshakable feeling of dread as a side-effect of her fatigue … but she never had been very good at lying to herself. Especially about something as big as what this felt like.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was drifting in blue. A blue far more vivid than the rawest of energon crystals, yet as familiar as his own spark. Somewhere in the back of his processor, he knew this should not be the case. He had never been here before, at least, not to his memory, so surely this place should not have felt as familiar and safe as it did. From somewhere within the blue, somewhere deep and fathomless yet close enough to be right by his side, something called, <em>“…Prime- … come … mus Prime- Opti- … Prime … you must-”</em></p>
<p><em>What? Who?</em> Something stirred inside him and he became more aware of himself, aware that what he was experiencing was decidedly not natural. The voice called again, deep and old, with a note of urgency to it that puzzled him. What was there to be urgent about in this peaceful place of blue?</p>
<p><em>“Optim- Prime. Optimus Prime … </em><b><em>Optimus Prime</em></b><em>.”</em> The voice reverberated clearly through him, from mind to spark and back again and suddenly the blue all around twisted and dropped out from underneath him, leaving nothing but empty space and he was falling-</p>
<p>Things flashed before him, vivid and intense, demanding in their colors and sounds. A gateway, huge and ancient, open for the first time in unknown megacycles as if in waiting for him. Tunnels untrodden by cybertronian pedes for countless vorns and inhabited by creatures of both horror and wonder, forgotten by the surface yet still very much alive and alert, going about their life-cycles untouched by time or war or society as Optimus understood it.</p>
<p>Ancient caverns of blue energon and twisting metal, memories engraved into the very atoms of each and every corner. He was being led somewhere, he realized dimly. He was being shown a path to the deep voice which even now was still calling to him, urging him on.</p>
<p>Then, just as he sensed he was about to reach his destination, to find the voice’s owner, everything went wrong.</p>
<p>Something loomed over him, malevolent purple optics staring into him -through him- like plasma swords. It blocked his way, invisible claws gouging into the metal beneath it and from behind the creature Optimus heard the voice give a cry of agony.</p>
<p>Purple energy spilled from its claws, crawled through the tunnels, cracking the walls and distorting the memories engraved there into something appalling and dark. Creatures screamed and twisted under its touch, warping into something <b>other</b>, something <b>wrong-wrong-wrong-wrong-</b>. The voice that had been calling to him gave another shuddering cry of pain, of horrified dread at what was coming, at what was already there, that echoed into Optimus’s deepest core.</p>
<p>He was being dragged backwards, back down the tunnels that now held no wonder but instead held living darkness and despair, back out the magnificent gate that was now covered in rust and crumbling, back onto the surface of a Cybertron that held <b>nothing</b>.</p>
<p>For a long, long moment, everything went still. Optimus looked around in the stillness, and saw … nothing. No life, no light, not a single other living creature, sparked or otherwise.</p>
<p>All around him, Cybertron was dark.</p>
<p>Cybertron was dead.</p>
<p>The whisper that came from his vocalizer was broken and snatched away by a soundless wind, “No… <b>Please</b>, no…”</p>
<p>The world around him twisted again and he was back in the blue, the voice echoing around him with a desperate power that made him tremble, <em>“Optimus Prime. </em><b><em>You must come</em></b><em>. Before it is too late.”</em></p>
<p>The blue all around abruptly shattered, overtaken by the purple that had chased him out of the tunnels. Huge claws of the energy reaching out to pierce him, tear him, break him, warp him into its own image against his will. The peaceful silence of the blue had been replaced by the howling and screaming of a thousand voices begging for mercy, for release from the purple. Voices that Optimus knew he was meant to protect but had failed. The claws curled closer, boxing him in despite his best efforts to move and he could see those sharp tips coming closer, closer, about to pierce his very spark and-</p>
<p>Optimus sat up sharply on his berth with a low cry, the Matrix throbbing within his chest like a second sparkbeat. His battle mask snapped over his faceplates and his sword dropped out of subspace while his gaze searched his room frantically for the thing that had invaded his holographic fluxes, for the purple-gazed creature that had destroyed everything Optimus knew and loved.</p>
<p>“Optimus?” The soft yet wary tone, coupled with a familiar touch in his spark, brought Optimus fully back to reality and he shuddered.</p>
<p>A gentle servo rested on his arm and Optimus reached his free servo to clasp it, anchoring himself to the feeling as he tried to make his spark and the Matrix residing next to it settle down, “Elita.” He struggled to say something else past the wild pulse in his chest plates, but nothing would come. Nothing but the wordless impression of confusion and terror that slipped from him to her over their bond.</p>
<p>Blue optics watched him intently, his sparkmate’s worry and fear whispering to him through the sparkbond underneath the calm and comfort she was trying to project. “What happened? What did you see?” Her voice was quiet but urgent and her grip on his arm grew tighter.</p>
<p>Optimus closed his optics briefly before opening them and focusing on his sparkmate’s face, “You did not see?” In his experience, so long as the sparkmates were in close enough proximity to each other, holographic fluxes were often shared. Especially intense ones.</p>
<p>Elita shook her helm, “No. I felt your peace turn to confusion, then to wonder, then finally to a horror I have not felt since … since the youngling massacres. But I could not see what you were seeing, and you would not come back online no matter what I did. Jazz has been attempting to com you for over a joor now but you gave no response anything, not even to me. I tried to com Ratchet to come look at you, but he was busy trying to stabilize a patient who's condition took an unexpected turn for the worse.”</p>
<p>Optimus felt his spark rate finally settle, but the Matrix still pulsed uncomfortably in his chest, pulling at his attention with an intensity he had never felt before. He subspaced his blade and placed a servo over his chest-plates, trying to soothe the pulses even as his processor raced, “Then it was no holographic flux.” He did not see how it could have been flux, now that his processor was clear enough to think. He had never experienced anything like before. He had only been that far below Cybertron’s surface once, and his experience had been nothing like that … flux? Vision?</p>
<p><em>Vision. Matrix. </em><b><em>Primus</em></b><em>.</em> Optimus straightened, his gaze wide and blank in the direction of the nearest wall as realization struck him. The voice from the vision, he knew that voice. He had heard it once, just once when he was young and the War was still just murmurs of possibility among the worried masses.</p>
<p>That had been the voice that had granted him the Matrix of Leadership, the voice that had christened him Optimus Prime.</p>
<p>That had been Primus calling to him through the Matrix of Leadership. Summoning him to the Core once more.</p>
<p><em>Then what was that … </em><b><em>creature</em></b><em>? That stole all life from my home, that destroyed everything, that sought to destroy me…?</em> A wave of fear rippled through him as he remembered that Primus had an antithesis, one that reveled in destruction as much as Primus cherished life. <em>It cannot be … Unicron? Here? Surely not. The Thirteen finished Unicron, ensured that he would never return. Even if he somehow did return, such a thing would not go unnoticed, everyone on Cybertron would know of such a calamity-</em></p>
<p>“-timus? Optimus!” Optimus came out of his thoughts at Elita’s alarmed shout, forcing his optics to focus on his mate instead of the wall. Elita leaned back fractionally when she saw that he was paying attention again, “What is going on, My Spark? Tell me. Please.”</p>
<p>Optimus slid off of the berth, wavering for a moment as urgency warred with his need for a confidant. Finally, he summarized, “I received a vision. A summons from Primus. I must go at once to the Core of Cybertron and before that, I must confer with Alpha Trion on some of the events I witnessed in the vision.”</p>
<p>Elita’s optics had gone wide at his revelation, but now they narrowed again into a more serious expression, “Jazz said it was urgent. Silhouette, the femme agent who was inserted into Kaon, has come online earlier than expected and insists on only debriefing if you are present.”</p>
<p>Optimus paused, “Already? I was informed she would not wake until at least the next cycle.”</p>
<p>Elita looked grimly amused, “Technically, it is the next cycle, if only the second joor into it. You were in the latest war meeting until well past the lunar-cycle had started, remember?” Optimus gave a low noise of acknowledgment, struggling with what to do. On the one servo, he needed to speak to Alpha Trion and then make for the Core immediately, especially if his suspicions about Unicron somehow being involved were correct.</p>
<p>On the other servo, Jazz had revealed that Agent Silhouette was in possession of Triple-S ranked information, most likely in relation to the unknown stimulant that had been fueling the mad, nigh-unkillable decepticon Zipline had described. Triple-S was war-changing and any time wasted was more time that Megatron could use to irrevocably turn the war in his favor.</p>
<p>The Matrix whispered inside him, back to its usual soft urges and nudges rather than its earlier demands and pulses and Optimus gathered himself with a deep vent, “Very well. Inform Jazz and Ratchet that I will meet him in the medbay for debriefing.”</p>
<p>“And your vision?” Elita inquired in a low tone.</p>
<p>“It must wait a short while longer, I have a feeling that it may be related to what Agent Silhouette has to report.” Though he very much hoped it was not. If Megatron was somehow involved with his vision, involved with <b>Unicron</b> … it did not bear thinking about. He could only pray that his once-Amica Endura would not go <b>that</b> far in his quest for victory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish stood in one of the corners nearest to the medical berth, only her Cyber-Ninja training keeping her outwardly calm. Inside, her spark was pounding with dread and fear and confusion.</p>
<p>Zipline had come to the medbay the moment he was released from debriefing, his servos shaking subtly and his armor subconsciously bristled in the manner of a threatened animal. He had been silent the entire time Starwish had checked and repaired his injuries, staring at the wall with the same vacant, glazed gaze that she had seen in front-liners who had finally reached their limit.</p>
<p>It was just as she had finished the repairs and been trying to coax Zipline into settling on the spare birth in Fast Track’s room for some rest that he had finally come out of his trance. He had grabbed her arm tightly with one servo, his optics focusing on her with spark-breaking intensity as he whispered, “It’s here, Star.”</p>
<p>“What’s here?”</p>
<p>“Dark Energon.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s composure had collapsed with those two words. She hadn’t been able to stop her tears or the wounded cry that had ripped from her vocalizer as everything clicked into place and she <b>knew</b>.</p>
<p>This was it. This was how Cybertron died. Megatron had Dark Energon and, in his quest for domination, he was going to destroy her home with it.</p>
<p>Zipline had held her in his arms for a while, moving to sit down on the berth while she cried for everything and for nothing. She had cried for at least twenty breems. Cried for the planet that had become her home, cried for the millions of Autobots that would lose everything to one mech’s craving for power, cried for the lives that had been lost in a war that had <b>no point anymore</b> because the thing they were all fighting over was going to <b>offline</b>, might already <b>be offline</b>. She had cried for her mate, who had done so many sins for his cause yet would now lose the only home he had ever known.</p>
<p>She had cried for Earth, the planet that would become the new battleground for a war that never seemed to end. She cried for the people of Earth who would die because her people could not make peace.</p>
<p>She had cried for her family, who had already been uprooted and made homeless once, and now would suffer through it again.</p>
<p>Finally, she had cried for herself. A lost young woman who had been changed and thrown into a foreign world and expected to cope. A femme who had already seen too much death. A medic could could not even hope to save the largest and arguably most important casualty in the entire war.</p>
<p>She had eventually been forced to compose herself when Ratchet had commed for her assistance with a new batch of patients that had just come in. She had left Zipline to drag the spare birth over to his unconscious sibling’s and crawl onto it with a spark-broken sigh and had buried herself in her work for as long as she could.</p>
<p>Starwish had been unable to activate her recharge protocols despite her fatigue after her shift was finally over. She had eventually resorted to a troubled session of meditation to get at least some rest until Silhouette’s monitors went off and she’d run back to the medbay, eager for an excuse to distract herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now she stood in Silhouette’s room as the presiding medic while Optimus Prime, Elita-1, Jazz, and Prowl all crowded around the femme’s berth to hear her report. For a moment, Starwish wished Ratchet was not busy in the surgical wing with a patient -not Fast Track thankfully- who had unexpectedly destabilized. But then again, she wanted, needed, to hear what Silhouette had to report.</p>
<p>The femme in question was studying her visitors with wary red optics, the berth having been tilted so that she could be in a sitting position without actually moving and endangering her new parts and repairs. Starwish watched expressionlessly as Silhouette focused on Jazz and rattled off a series of numbers and letters. Jazz rattled one right back and when Silhouette shot Starwish a doubtful look, he said curtly, “She’s cleared, Agent. Now. Your report.”</p>
<p>Starwish listened as the femme launched into a report of how she and her partner had infiltrated Kaon. How they had immediately noticed the unusual activity going on. That Megatron had his spies and cryptologists working all cycle, every cycle on something in particular. Silhouette and her partner had tried to find out what Megatron was looking for, but had only been able to get as far as the name “Trypticon” before Megatron had ordered the sudden launching of several gunships into the atmosphere with himself and Soundwave in the lead gunship.</p>
<p>Silhouette recounted how the ships had not seemed to be headed for any location on Cybertron, but instead had disappeared out of sight beyond the planet’s atmosphere for seven cycles. On the eighth cycle, the ships had returned bearing far fewer decepticons than before. Instead, the gunships had been carrying strange, purple energon crystals the likes of which Silhouette had never seen.</p>
<p>Starwish felt a chill go through her at that, <em>Megatron found Dark Energon within seven cycles traveling distance of Cybertron? How? Where?</em> She sensed Jazz sending her an inquisitive look at the cold horror he could feel leaking past Starwish’s shields, but they all returned their focus to Silhouette as her report continued.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what it is, sir. But it … several of the surviving soldiers he had taken with him were different when they stepped off of the ships. They … their optics and exposed energon lines were purple, they were … aggressive, even more so than most decepticons, and much stronger. Even the smallest of the … infected ones was at least three times stronger than a normal decepticon brute.” Silhouette closed her optics briefly and Starwish kept a close optic on the femme’s vital signs in case she needed mild sedative to get through the report.</p>
<p>Silhouette opened her optics again, “Megatron called for an assembly. Every decepticon in Kaon was there, so were several representatives from the other main decepticon strongholds. Megatron called several soldiers up at random from the crowd, then took vials of the … substance … he had brought back and injected them with it.”</p>
<p>She took a shaky vent, “It changed them. They screamed like it was acid that had been injected into their veins, writhing like they were trying to crawl right out of their armor, and then they just … went still. The screaming stopped, they stood up, and they were … they were changed. They were <b>corrupted</b>.” Silhouette shot an intense look at Optimus, “I swear on my spark and the AllSpark sir, there is no other word for what happened to them. They were corrupted. Megatron made a speech about how this … Dark Energon would change the war, he walked right up to one of the newly corrupted soldiers and <b>stabbed him</b> in an area that should have been fatal and the mech just <b>laughed</b>.”</p>
<p>Optimus closed his optics for a moment and Silhouette’s vital signs spiked, “Sir, I <b>swear</b>-”</p>
<p>Optimus held up a servo, “I believe you, Agent Silhouette. Continue your report.”</p>
<p>Starwish slipped forward and injected a minimal amount of sedative into Silhouette’s lines, just enough to calm her down to the point she could continue her report without overstraining her vitals. Silhouette shot her an unpleasant look, but resumed her report without comment, “I don’t know where it comes from, sir, but Megatron plans on making more of it. That power spike our sensors detected a metacycle ago was Megatron reactivating one of the old Energon Bridges, the ones that used to connect to the space installations during the Age of Exploration, in an attempt to create more Dark Energon. But it isn’t enough, production isn’t going fast enough-”</p>
<p>Silhouette cut off her sentence and curled in on herself as much as she could despite the berth restraints. Jazz, Optimus, Elita-1, and Prowl stiffened and Starwish realized that such displays of emotion were not normal for post-battle debriefings. Or at least, not normal for Silhouette.</p>
<p>Silhouette finally straightened up again, her gaze focused solely on Optimus, “He has a massive, raw crystal of the Dark Energon that he hasn’t processed yet. He plans to use it to corrupt all the energon on Cybertron at once. He and his chosen infiltration team had already left by the time I escaped from Kaon to warn you.” Starwish felt the world freeze, <em>no-no-no-no-no-</em></p>
<p>Elita-1 clenched her servos together, “Surely you do not mean-”</p>
<p>Silhouette nodded without taking her gaze off Optimus, “Megatron plans to corrupt the Core.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0076"><h2>76. Twilight of Cybertron Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after the 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alpha Trion leaned back in his chair and felt the weight of his countless vorns press down upon him. The weight of his burdens. The weight of his responsibility.</p>
<p>The weight of his failure.</p>
<p><em>Dark Energon … mere cycles outside of Cybertron’s orbit, waiting for Megatron to find it and destroy it all… How could it have come to this?</em> Alpha Trion rubbed his faceplate with a servo, his frame sagging under the weight of just how badly he must have failed for it to come to this point.</p>
<p>He had already known something was very, very wrong. Even before Optimus had coming hurrying into his private office with troubled news of a vision from Primus himself, telling of the images of Cybertron’s utter destruction and of the strange purple energon one of his spies had seen.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion was one of the original Thirteen after all. One of the thirteen born from Primus’s very spark. What was felt by their maker had always been felt, to some extent, by them. Optimus Prime had not been the only one to suffer from visions, but only Optimus had been summoned, had been shown the true nature of the danger and despair Alpha Trion could feel rising from the very metal beneath his pedes.</p>
<p><em>But Dark Energon?</em> The ancient mech vented heavily, vorns of remorse conveyed in the simple gesture. There was only one explanation as to why there was Dark Energon so close to Cybertron itself, <em>I should have known Sentinel would not heed my advice and destroy every last trace of those foul crystals his explorers returned with. I should have made certain of it, should have checked. Instead I took him at his word … and it has led to the ruin of all.</em></p>
<p><em>No</em>, he mused suddenly as he sat up and slowly opened the Covenant, <em>perhaps not </em><b><em>all</em></b><em>.</em> His servos deftly flipped to one page in particular, fingers trailing down the lines of text that even he could not yet fully understand. His fingers stopped under one particular section, “For there will come a time when the Darkness will steal away the lands, the seas will be made dry, and all that creeps or flies upon the surface of Cybertron will be driven away. And lo, the children of Cybertron will be scattered as fragments amid the black in search of refuge.”</p>
<p><em>So I remembered correctly. Cybertron really will die. </em>Grief settled more deeply into his spark, but he pushed it aside in favor of pondering the one sliver of hope the passage offered. Namely, the knowledge that there would still be Cybertronians left alive to flee. Though, the question was, where would they go? <em>Amid the black … could that mean…?</em> Alpha Trion pondered over his new thought as an idea, grim yet possibly the only hope they had, blossomed in his mind.</p>
<p>Standing up from his desk despite the weariness that tried to pull his frame down, Alpha Trion strode for his office door. If he was right, and he was certain he was, then there were preparations to be made before it was too late.</p>
<p>Some of the preparations could be made immediately, the Archives held many artifacts and secrets in its lower levels that not even Sentinel had known about. But if the Autobots, no, if <b>all</b> Cybertronians, were to truly have the hope of surviving the oncoming darkness, they would need one thing above all else. Something that would have to be moved from the only place that it had ever been recorded to exist. Something that would have to be sent away, far away where none but a true Prime would ever find it again. Something that would have to be held in a container that could not only withstand the dangers of the black, but also the power it would hold within.</p>
<p>Absently rapping out orders to any surprised archivists that crossed his path, Alpha Trion made for a secret section of the Archives to which only he possessed access. He ignored the various alarmed questions over the purpose of his orders, his processor already running over just what would be required for the successful preservation of that one, vital thing. Grimly, he wished for a moment that Solus was still with him. Or that he had paid more attention to her lessons on how to use her Forge.</p>
<p>He knew that he would be able to complete his chosen task, hopefully before Optimus and his chosen party returned from their journey to the Core even. For all of his previous failures that may or may not have led to this moment, Alpha Trion knew that this was one undertaking in which he would not allow himself to fail. Even so, he still felt trepidation as to the magnitude of his duty.</p>
<p>One did not take the task of building a container strong enough to safeguard the Wellspring of all Cybertronian life lightly after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drive down the long, twisting road was silent save for the rumble of their engines and the grinding gears of the speedway that had long gone unused. Hardwire didn’t protest the lack of noise, or bother trying to break it with conversation. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing but the one topic he was stubbornly trying to avoid mentioning.</p>
<p>Cybertron was going to die.</p>
<p>Hardwire had been surprised when Optimus had called him and Arcee into his office to personally give them their new assignment. His surprise had grown when he had learned that their new assignment was to be part of the team that would accompany Optimus on a top secret mission down to the Core of Cybertron itself. His surprise had turned to near-crippling grief when Optimus had briefed them on <b>why</b> they were going down to the Core.</p>
<p>Cybertron was going to die.</p>
<p>And it was all Megatron’s fault.</p>
<p>If Arcee had wondered why Hardwire spent several joors of their valuable prep time in the training room, ripping apart holographic Decepticons with a brutality and volume that had several mechs frantically reporting that Hardwire had somehow gone Bāsākā right in the middle of the Iacon, she hadn’t shown it. She had simply packed every bit of extra gear her subspace could carry and made sure to stay by his side even in the middle of his rampage.</p>
<p>Now, as they drove through levels of Iacon that hadn’t been inhabited since the height of the Golden Age, all of Hardwire’s rage had been replaced by a grim, spark-broken acceptance of what was to come. After all, he had always known that Cybertron would die, that was why the Autobots and Decepticons were on Earth in the various T.V. series and movies. But somehow he just … hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Hadn’t thought it would be so … sudden and obvious.</p>
<p>Though to be honest, it probably wasn’t obvious to anyone but Hardwire and his family.</p>
<p>His brooding, and the prevalent silence, was broken by Ironhide’s low rumble, “How much farther, Optimus?”</p>
<p>Optimus, who was in the lead, hesitated for a moment before he responded, “It should not be much further, Ironhide.”</p>
<p>Ironhide’s engine gave a growl, “Just what are you looking for anyway? I thought the only way underground was through the old Skid Row from before the War. We have to be somewhere underneath the Elite District right now.”</p>
<p>“There is a shorter route to the Core than the one in Skid Row. It is to the entrance of that route we are headed now, Ironhide.” Hardwire had heard Optimus speak in many different situations, from the roar of combat to the brief moments of celebration the Autobots still clung to such as Christmas. But for all of the normal, placid stoicism that he heard in the Prime’s voice, Hardwire was sure he heard a faint tremble in it as well. A hesitance that spoke of either doubt, fear, or grief. Perhaps all three.</p>
<p>Hardwire chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Optimus may have been the Prime, but Cybertron was just as much his home as it was anyone else’s. For all of his strength, for all of the courage and steadfastness Hardwire had seen both in the series and in person over the vorns, Optimus was as much a person as the rest of them, more so even. He was allowed to fear, allowed to mourn.</p>
<p>Finally, Optimus pulled off of the speedway and transformed. The rest of Optimus’s chosen team, Ironhide, Arcee, himself, Starwish, and Jazz -the latter two Hardwire suspected had insisted on coming- followed suit. Jazz stretched his arms above his helm for a long moment before allowing them to fall loose at his sides. The First Lieutenant looked at perfect ease with his surroundings, relaxed and still in a way that reminded Hardwire of a cat only pretending to be asleep while an oblivious mouse wandered into range.</p>
<p>Jazz tapped one finger against his leg for a moment before he hummed, “Ah know this area … oh. <b>Oh</b>. So <b>thah’s</b> what thah gate was for.”</p>
<p>Optimus looked at Jazz, “You know of the gate?”</p>
<p>Jazz’s smile from under his visor was sharp, “O.P., Ah know everythin’ about this city, ‘specially tha things tha nobles an’ Sentinel didn’ want anybot knowing ‘bout. Yah should know thah by now.”</p>
<p>The Prime dipped his head in agreement, “I suppose I should.”</p>
<p>Ironhide looked around uneasily, his cannons already unsubspaced and whirring softly, “You can take point then.” Jazz let out a quick bark of laughter before he slipped forward and took the lead.</p>
<p>The silence that claimed their group again as they walked through narrow streets and underneath twisting spires and plates of metal seemed to somehow mute even the echoes of their passing, unwilling to yield to signs of life after so long being abandoned. This far down below Cybertron, the metal was not silver, but rather a dull, looming gray that swallowed up other colors and seemed unwilling to reflect the gleam of their headlights.</p>
<p>Something stirred in the back of Hardwire’s processor and he bit back a growl. The air was too still down here, their surroundings too narrow and devoid. He hated it. Where once, vorns ago, he had been afraid of heights, now he longed to see the sky again. It had only been a few jours of driving to get down here, but Hardwire already felt an intense longing to leave. The sense of being caged, of going further into some unseen trap was beginning to press in on him. He wanted to turn around and go back, but he couldn’t. Optimus was here, Optimus needed him, and no matter how much he wanted to turn and drive away as fast as he could and get back to the open air and places near the sky, he couldn’t, wouldn’t leave his Prime behind.</p>
<p>But that didn’t make the hatred lessen.</p>
<p>A light hand brushed his hip and he glanced down at Arcee. His partner was giving him an intense look, ::What’s wrong? You’re growling.::</p>
<p>Hardwire started a fraction, unaware until she had spoken that he had, in fact, given in to the urge to growl. The something in the back of his processor stirred again and Hardwire clamped down hard on it. The last thing he needed was for another random not-quite-Bāsākā-but-still-feral-and-uncontrollable episode. He vented deeply, ::It’s nothing.::</p>
<p>Arcee’s intense look turned into a glare, ::Don’t lie to me, Partner. It is not <b>nothing</b>.::</p>
<p>Hardwire scanned their surroundings again despite knowing that they were in the heart of Autobot territory and that the chances of decepticons being here were little-to-none, ::It’s too quiet down here. Too narrow. Too dark. Too…:: He fought for a better description for a moment before he hissed, ::I feel caged.::</p>
<p>Arcee’s movements slowed for a moment, a look of alarm flashing briefly over her faceplates. She pressed a bit closer to him in a gesture of comfort, ::You going to be okay?::</p>
<p>Hardwire tamped down on his agitation as best he could, ::I’ll be fine. I have to be.:: Arcee didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded anyway. Optimus had chosen them for the mission, there was no way either of them would, or could, back out. Arcee dropped the subject and silence returned, but he was grateful to note that his partner hovered even closer to his side, her servo occasionally resting on his hip or arm in order to anchor him.</p>
<p>Hardwire forced his gaze forward and studied the team to distract himself from the sensation of being steadily caged by the metal around him. Up ahead, Jazz was a barely noticeable flash of silver, flitting from corner to corner. Hardwire was certain that if Jazz hadn’t been the one leading the way, the saboteur would have been completely invisible with all of the shadows and his lack of headlights to show his position. Ironhide paced alongside Optimus, guns still spinning at times and the movement of his optics unceasing, already wary despite the fact that they were deep in Iacon. <em>At least I’m not the only one unnerved by the quiet.</em></p>
<p>Hardwire glanced around and felt a moment of panic when he couldn’t find Starwish. He pinged her channel on his com immediately, ready to unsubspace a weapon at any moment to-</p>
<p>Starwish appeared without warning just ahead of him and to his left, perched on one of the many ledges the old metal provided, an inquiring look in her body language. Hardwire felt his spark rate ease back to normal and shook his helm to indicate that nothing was wrong. Starwish gave him a quick tilt of her helm, the visor that hid her dual-colored optics flashing briefly in the glow of the others headlights before she flitted to another ledge and seemed to disappear right before his optics. <em>Right. My sister is a Cyber-Ninja. I keep forgetting that.</em></p>
<p>No one seemed able to break the silence this time, so it lasted, intense and unnerving for the remainder of the trip. Despite knowing that it would only take him further into the smothering depths of Cybertron, Hardwire felt relief when they finally entered into what had obviously been a restricted part of the city before the War and stopped in front of a massive, ornate gate.</p>
<p>Hardwire stared up at the huge structure. It was easily six times taller than Optimus and wide enough for five Ironhide’s to walk through shoulder-to-shoulder without touching. It was etched with strange shapes and ancient Cybertronian letters and adorned with precious metals that had no doubt dazzled the observer when first forged. It vaguely reminded Hardwire of the gate of Moria in the Lord of the Rings film trilogy. He could only hope that it didn’t have the same kind of monsters and doom hiding beyond. <em>Though, knowing the circumstances of the mission, that’s probably too much to hope for.</em></p>
<p>::Where’s the rest of it?:: Arcee’s puzzled whisper over the com brought Hardwire’s attention to the fact that the door appeared to be connected to … nothing. Starwish reappeared from behind it, padding back to Jazz’s side with a puzzled aura while Jazz cocked his helm to one side.</p>
<p>Jazz expressed Arcee’s question aloud with a vague gesture at the structure, “So, Ah’ve gotta ask … where’s tha rest o’ it? ‘Cause unless it’s some kind o’ <b>really</b> unusual spacebridge, Ah don’ see how it will help us get ta tha Core any faster.”</p>
<p>Optimus stepped up to the gate without answering Jazz’s question. Reaching out, Optimus pressed his right servo against one of the central symbols etched into the gate and murmured something in an old, vibrant language that Hardwire didn’t understand. A blue glow flowed into the etchings from where his servo touched the gate, spreading out and down into the ground behind the gate in a display that was awe-inspiring despite the grim tension.</p>
<p>The metal behind the gate clicked and whined, groaning with age as it began to lift. Old debris and bits of rust flaked off of the structure as it continued to rise, forming an rounded tunnel that fit exactly to the edges of the gate and then slanted back down into the surface of Cybertron. Optimus took a few steps back as the blue glow retracted, the etchings fading back to their original worn appearance.</p>
<p>The central symbol Optimus had touched was the only etching that continued to glow as the blue energy extended outward again into the silhouette of double doors. The newly revealed doors groaned and shrieked as they slid outward, a rush of air flowing past the onlookers like the deep sigh of an ancient beast. The glow vanished entirely after that, leaving only the opened gate and a huge, sloping ramp that led into the darkness of Cybertron’s underworld.</p>
<p>No one spoke for a long moment, just stared in awe at the ancient gateway to places that were both forbidden and forgotten. Then Jazz quipped softly, “Okay … Tha definitely makes it inta tha top ten amazing scrap Ah’ve seen over tha vorns. Way better than an ancient spacebridge woulda been.”</p>
<p>Everyone subconsciously relaxed and snapped out of their awed trances at Jazz’s words and Ironhide snorted sourly, “Couldn’t have made it any less loud and obvious could they? Anyone within ten kliks knows we’re here now.”</p>
<p>Optimus strode forward, “Then we should proceed with our mission before we attract unpleasant company.” Everyone fell in line with the Prime, spreading out into pre-established battle formations as they entered the sloped tunnel. Mere kliks after they had entered, the gates ground shut again and the slope beneath their pedes vibrated and leveled out slightly.</p>
<p>Hardwire beat back a sudden wave of claustrophobia. <em>It disconnected from the gate. No turning back from here.</em> Arcee brushed against his side in a silent gesture of comfort before she flitted forward to join Jazz and Starwish on scouting duty. Ironhide stayed to Optimus’s right side and slightly behind, his headlights making regular sweeps to the side as he scanned their surroundings. Hardwire fell into place on Optimus’s left, his favored sniper rifle dropping out of subspace as he began to perform headlight sweeps at well.</p>
<p>The downward tunnel stretched on as far as their sensors could reach, and Optimus ordered them into vehicle mode within breems to save travel time. Their formation changed as their tires hit the metal, with Ironhide driving in front of Optimus and Hardwire serving as the rearguard while Starwish Jazz and Arcee fanned out in front of Ironhide, their sensors stretched to maximum. The tunnel continued for kilometers and Hardwire’s feeling of claustrophobia grew with each kilometer that went by without any visible change from the dark, age-marked passageway.</p>
<p>Hardwire was distracted from his efforts to quell the lurching feeling in his processor by Jazz’s ping, ::According ta my sensors, we’re almost ta tha end o’ this tunnel. Ah’m pickin’ up signs of a cavern o’ some kind. No life signs as of yet.::</p>
<p>Arcee added grimly, ::Doesn’t mean there aren’t any. No Autobot has been down here since before the War. There could be all kinds of things down here that don’t register on spark scanners.::</p>
<p>::Just be ready to blast anything that moves wrong.:: Was Ironhide’s blunt opinion on the problem.</p>
<p>Optimus cautioned, ::Do not open fire unless provoked. There are many beings down here that are not naturally aggressive, but can be devastatingly powerful if angered.::</p>
<p>::Jus’ what did yah see when yah came down here last, O.P.?::</p>
<p>Though it was impossible to sigh in vehicle mode, Optimus somehow managed to give the impression, ::Many things, Jazz. Most of which I cannot, and will not, ever speak of. However, I can tell you that there are many secrets down here that have been lost to cybertronian kind, and rightfully so. There are some things not meant to be witnessed by regular optics. Stay on your guard, and if you hear the sound of a high pitched trill, take cover and hold still immediately until I give the signal otherwise.::</p>
<p>Hardwire hesitated a moment before he asked, ::One of those secrets not meant to be witnessed that you mentioned?::</p>
<p>::No. Merely an adversary that I have neither the desire nor time to confront.::</p>
<p><em>Not really a better option,</em> Hardwire mused darkly. <em>With the decepticons rampaging somewhere down here with Dark Energon, any and all wildlife is almost guaranteed to be active and agitated by now. I just hope whatever is down here isn’t too big-</em></p>
<p>The tunnel finally ended and Hardwire’s thoughts ground to a halt as they emerged into the cavern Jazz had detected. It was like nothing Hardwire had ever seen or imagined. Huge spikes of metal, like stalagmites and stalactites crisscrossed from floor to ceiling, their surfaces twisted and scratched with time, colors of silver and black metal revealed by a faint glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Hardwire slowed to a stop and transformed without fully realizing it, too taken with staring at the foreign world in which he now found himself.</p>
<p>Hidden in pockets, corners, crevices, and nooks were energon crystals of all shapes and in the low divots carved at the base of the twisted metal spires were pools of its raw liquid form, still untouched by the War and the plague of Dark Energon. With a start, Hardwire realized that the faint, ethereal blue light that illuminated the cavern was coming from the crystals and pools in very soft, almost indistinguishable pulses. So faint that the pulses seemed to blend together like tiny ripples in water. The effect was nothing short of magical, the ever-so-faint changes in the light’s intensity causing Hardwire’s optics to perceive his surroundings with an almost dreamlike quality.</p>
<p>Optimus’s pedesteps as he shook off the awe that had fallen on them all sounded oddly muted amid the deep, persistent hum of ancient machinery that echoed from even farther below them. Hardwire fluttered his armor in an attempt to focus before he fell in step with his Prime. Optimus’s expression was mostly hidden behind his battle mask, yet when Hardwire managed to tear his gaze away from their surroundings for a moment to look at him, the Prime’s gaze seemed far away.</p>
<p>There was no path amid the spires, scattered crystals, and energon pools that Hardwire could see, yet Optimus moved forward without hesitation, each step reverent despite the urgency of their task. Even Ironhide was openly awed by the sights around them, his guard lowering a fraction as he took in their surroundings. Their group fell into a roughly single-file formations, as even though the cavern itself was large, its floorspace was minimal and mostly taken up by the wondrous things and sights that had startled Hardwire so much.</p>
<p>As they passed deeper into the cavern, Hardwire realized that many of the scratches on the metal spires were actually carvings and runes, similar to those he had seen on the gate. An even closer inspection of the base of some of the pillars revealed old, rusted-over bowls and tools and ornaments. Curiosity poked at him incessantly and Hardwire whispered hoarsely, “What was this place?”</p>
<p>It was Optimus who answered, his tone vaguely distant and sad, “This was once a place of beginnings. The Ancients would enter caverns much like this one all over Cybertron to meditate. Some were even said to commune with Primus in places such as this, that those skilled enough were able to feel his spark, and he in turn would reward them with knowledge. But the entrances to such places were sealed off megacycles ago, after the end of the Age of Exploration. Only the cavern beneath Simfur remains unsealed, and even then, access is only granted to the highest of the Order.”</p>
<p>Optimus glanced around at their surroundings for a few kliks before refocusing on the path only he seemed to see, “Stay close. Things will not be so peaceful and beautiful farther below.”</p>
<p>Everyone gave quiet murmurs of assent, and Hardwire unsubspaced his sniper rifle again just as they reached the end of the cavern and came to a blank wall. Optimus stepped forward before anyone could ask questions and placed both servos against the wall. He murmured in the same strange language he had at the gate and Hardwire felt only mildly surprised when the metal wall shifted away, leaving behind an opening to a second passageway.</p>
<p>The passageway beyond was nothing like the cavern or even the tunnel that had proceeded it. While there was still a faintly pulsing glow that illuminated their way, the pulses were spaced much farther apart, making the light unreliable. The shadows were huge and twisted, the walls were rough and spiked out at unpredictable intervals. Some of the spikes reached all the way to the opposite wall, forcing them to either climb over or crawl underneath in order to continue. It’s width was unpredictable, sometimes wide enough to almost count as its own cave, other times so narrow that Hardwire felt like he was going to suffocate despite his lack of lungs.</p>
<p>The passage branched off into different paths at odd intervals, all of them pointed steadily downward, and Hardwire wondered how Optimus knew which one to take. He refused to think about the possibility that Optimus didn’t know and was only guessing, because if that was true, there was no way any of them would ever find their way out again.</p>
<p>They walked for joors, the passage floor too unpredictable to risk vehicle mode. Sometimes, the passage opened up into caves and caverns, all of them much darker and more foreboding than the one they had first entered. Other times Hardwire sensed tunnel entrances looming over their helms and he tried not to think about the possibility of giant cybertronian spiders that could crawl along the ceiling to reach those entrances. The scouts of their group stayed close, wary of getting lost or picked off in the deep shadows. They had been forced to turn on their headlights joors ago, the pulses of light were too far apart and faint to really help them see.</p>
<p>Hardwire was using his headlights to make a perimeter sweep while walking through one of the caves when his lights suddenly refracted off of two spots that were decidedly not the dulled silver of the cave. His rifle came to bear in an instant and he snarled low in his engine, the words to form a coherent warning to the others escaping his grasp. The yellow spots widened and bobbed and Hardwire saw a brief flash of serrated metal denta as something growled back.</p>
<p>Ironhide was suddenly beside him, his cannons powering up with identical whines until Optimus hurried in between them and forced their weapons down with his servos, ::No! Lower your weapons, you will only provoke it.:: The Prime faced the creature in the shadows, not flinching when it shifted behind a stalagmite of metal to avoid being fully revealed by their headlights.</p>
<p>Optimus’s engine rumbled in a low, warbling pitch that was neither aggressive or friendly. Something in Hardwire’s processor twitched in response to the sound and he watched as the unknown creature rumbled back in the same pitch. Optimus rumbled again at a slightly higher pitch before his engine dropped back down to a low tone. The creature mimicked the sound again, then added two sharp snaps of its serrated denta. The creature slid cautiously out from behind the stalagmite, helm tilted to one side in what Hardwire thought was curiosity.</p>
<p>Hardwire stared at the creature as it came into the light, his optics going wide. It had four long slender limbs with rounded joints for the most movement possible, hooked claws on its back pedes and long sharp digits on its front that looked decidedly like fingers. It’s back was hunched over as if its limbs, for all of their flexibility, were not meant to be comfortably used at the same time. It made Hardwire wonder if the creature was originally meant to walk bipedal rather than lope along on all fours. A long, canine-esque snout bobbed in the air while a frill made of blue metal so thin it looked almost liquid flared and folded around its neck like a strange parody of a dog’s ears. It’s denta were permanently bared, there was no protoform or plating to cover its fangs, though there were several small plates down the center of its snout that rattled faintly as it observed them.</p>
<p>Arcee’s vents hitched faintly, ::What in Primus’s name is that?::</p>
<p>Optimus gave a silent signal for them all to hold still as it began to slowly back away from them toward a different tunnel, ::It has no name in Cyber-Standard. Perhaps not even in the ancient tongues. It is one of the many beings that live here, untouched by cybertronian civilization. I never found them to be a naturally aggressive species during my last trip. They are, in fact, one of the more easily frightened and damaged species. I am puzzled as to why it is here though. I did not encounter any of its kind until I was much closer to the Core, and they were always in groups at least several hundred strong.::</p>
<p>Hardwire eyed the way it moved, then glanced at where he had first seen it, ::Something forced it farther up then, separated it from its group.::</p>
<p>Ironhide shifted his weight more onto one pede, then froze as his motion made the creature growl defensively at him, ::Decepticons pushed it out?::</p>
<p>::Not unless the decepticons have taken to biting things. You can’t see it from your angle, but this one’s got nasty bites and claw marks all down its other side.:: Hardwire resisted the urge to jolt, though he did look around in surprise when he realized that Starwish was not part of their group. She had somehow slipped around to get a better angle of view on the creature without anyone noticing.</p>
<p>The creature took a few tentative steps to the side, clearly intent on leaving, but unwilling to turn its back on them. Optimus rumbled a low gentle note again, which the creature returned hesitantly. Jazz sounded insatiably curious as he whispered over the com, ::How are ya doin’ that O.P.?::</p>
<p>::Practice.:: Was Optimus’s dry response, ::I was not equipped nor trained for combat when I first journeyed down here, I had to learn alternative means of survival very quickly. One of those means was to mimic the signals of the more amiable species to convince them that I was harmless. He should be calm enough to leave soo-::</p>
<p>The creature’s helm snapped to an alert position, optics flicking back and forth over its surroundings as its frill unfurled to its full size. It hunched farther in on itself and a shrill shrieking bark of sound escaped its vocalizer before bolted down a tunnel, no longer caring about their presence.</p>
<p>Hardwire whirled in an instant, Arcee taking a position at his backplates as they sought for whatever had frightened the creature. Ironhide and Optimus did the same while Jazz placed his back against a nearby stalagmite with deceptive calm. Silence choked them as they searched, tense and ready for an attack. Starwish finally commed, ::I’m not picking anything up. Either the creature has sensors far better equipped to handle these tunnels and sensed something out of our range, or it just overreacted and we’re clear.::</p>
<p>::Since when is our luck that good?:: Hardwire interjected tightly. Even Optimus had no rebuttal for his statement. However, they had no time to waste waiting for some mysterious assailant to come to them, and so resumed their trek with their weapons primed and sparks on edge.</p>
<p>The honeycomb of tunnels continued to grow, even to the point where there were dozens tunnels above their helms rather than the previous occasional entrance, and pitfalls at their pedes that could have proved fatal had the scouts not pointed them out ahead of time. Hardwire studied each tunnel opening, expecting to catch sight of other creatures, even if they were only glimpses of optics and the skitter of paws running away.</p>
<p>But the tunnels were silent and empty. Devoid of any other life. Hardwire felt his armor bristle even as he tried to convince himself that it might just be how the underworld worked. Cybertron was different from Earth, so perhaps the silence and lack of wildlife wasn’t odd. He didn’t try very hard to convince himself of this though, because if there was one thing he would be certain was true across different planets, it was that nature was never silent.</p>
<p>Not unless there was danger. The kind of danger with teeth and claws and instincts to kill.</p>
<p>A pressure settled on his shoulders, right at the base of his neck. It was a realization, a knowing, that he could not shake and could not withhold from the others, “We’re being hunted.”</p>
<p>His low murmur seemed to echo unbearably down the tunnels and he cursed himself for forgetting to use the com to voice his thoughts. A moment later and an eery sound echoed around them. It was like a mix of deranged laughter and a lawnmower’s engine, high and cringe-inducing after so long hearing only the deeper sounds of cybertronian engines. The sounds echoed from everywhere, bouncing down from tunnels and settling in his cables with a denta-grinding persistence.</p>
<p>Jazz swayed on his pedes, ready to dash in any direction, “This ain’t a good place for a brawl, O.P.! ‘Specially not with our numbers!”</p>
<p>Optimus’s voice boomed over the din, “Find us a cave!”</p>
<p>Arcee, Jazz, and Starwish bolted down a side tunnel, Hardwire, Ironhide, and Optimus following close behind. The sounds followed them, and now Hardwire could detect the screech of claws dragging over metal surfaces. He caught a glimpse of something in one of the overhead passages and fired without hesitation, the report of his sniper rifle’s shot thundering through the narrow passageways like an explosion. The din only grew louder and Hardwire cursed. His curses were joined by Ironhide, Jazz, Arcee, and Starwish as they finally burst free of the narrow tunnels-</p>
<p>And onto a narrow bridge of metal that was just one of hundreds crisscrossing along the expanse of a huge, circular chasm. Ironhide jostled into Hardwire in his haste to step away from the edge, causing Hardwire to hiss as the motion nudged him closer to the terrifying drop on the other side.</p>
<p>Reflexes and combat-ingrained experience had their party sorting itself out in record speed. However, no amount of clever formations could get around the fact that the bridge on which they were standing was only about the width of two Ironhide’s standing shoulder to shoulder and they had not only Ironhide and Hardwire, but Optimus and three team members who tended to rely on acrobatics to avoid injury. The din caught up with them before Hardwire could ask about any kind of plan and he could only stare in horror for a moment at the cause.</p>
<p>It was the same kind of creature they had first seen, only not. The smooth, slender limbs now had spikes of rusted metal jutting out at awkward and dangerous angles. The denta were far too large for the jaws to safely close, forcing the owners to let their mouths hang open and their tongues slide out over their denta, cutting the appendages in the process and coating their jaws with their own leaked fluids. The arch in the back was far more pronounced, and two serrated ridges protruded from the humped back like rusted saw blades. The frills on all of the creatures’ necks were fully unfurled, revealing holes and tears in the metal that he instinctively knew shouldn’t have been there.</p>
<p>Most telling of all was the color of the frills. Where the first creature’s frill had been a circle of soft blue that added a splash of color to its otherwise monochrome frame … the frills of their pursuers were all a deep, throbbing purple.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>Dark Energon.</em>
</p>
<p>Hardwire looked around at the tunnel entrances in the walls of the chasm near where they had exited, trying to count the number enemies and finally settling for a grim “too many”. <em>I guess now we know why that one was alone instead of in its usual group of several hundred.</em> Ironhide’s cannons glowed with power as he spoke, “This bridge is too narrow for them all. We can use it to our advantage. Set up a killing zone-”</p>
<p>The five of the creatures lunged forward, but only two of them were actually on the bridge. The other three latched onto the metal with their hooked claws and began to crawl along the sides. Like a dam breaking, others began following, crawling out of the tunnels and down the walls toward the bridge.</p>
<p>Everyone immediately opened fire on the crowd and Hardwire heard Starwish shout, “You were saying?”</p>
<p>Ironhide responded with something that sounded suspiciously like “Frag my life”, but it was impossible to be sure over the clamor of blaster fire and the howls of their hunters.</p>
<p>Optimus roared over the com, ::Make for the other side!::</p>
<p>Hardwire and Ironhide stood shoulder to shoulder as they backed steadily away from the oncoming wave. Red edged into the corners of his vision as several of the creatures crawling along the sides and underside of the bridge bypassed them to attack the rest of the group. A moment later Arcee’s blasters started up a chorus alongside Jazz’s scatter blaster, Optimus’s path blaster, and Starwish’s energon ray.</p>
<p>The red encroached further and further into Hardwire’s vision as the slow, perilous march to the other side of the chasm dragged on. The bridge began to shudder under the repeated impacts of Ironhide’s plasma plasters coupled with Hardwire’s sniper rifles, but neither of them noticed in the heated rhythm of the fight, nor could they have risked stopping even if they had.</p>
<p>Halfway across the bridge, Starwish screamed. Hardwire’s helm snapped around in enraged terror to see that his sister had gotten bodily tackled off of the bridge and into open air by one of the creatures. Before the horror could fully set in, there was a blur of silver and Jazz was airborne and reaching for his sparkmate with one servo while the other fired his grapple hook. Denta clamped onto Hardwire’s blaster arm, forcing his attention away from his sister’s plight and to his own as Ironhide yelled a warning and rage seethed through Hardwire’s spark.</p>
<p>A rolling roar escaped Hardwire’s vocalizer and engine at the same time as he ripped the creature off of his arm and flung it into the chasm. His mace unsubspaced into his free servo and he brought it down viciously onto the helm of another one that had gotten too close. Metal crunched and Dark Energon flew, tiny droplets spattering across his leg plating. Pain sizzled across his senses from the contact, driving him further into a rage.</p>
<p>The thing in the back of his processor bucked and struggled against its restraints, screaming fury that he could not express even with his blaster and his mace combined. A helm-ache formed, but Hardwire didn’t notice, not when the creatures were getting the upper servo in the fight and their party was down two members as Starwish and Jazz hadn’t been able to make it back to the original bridge, but had been forced to grapple to another one farther down.</p>
<p>The bridge continued to shudder under the impacts, stress cracks forming under the assaults of claws, blasters, and an energon mace. A cry of warning came over the coms and from behind Hardwire, Optimus began to shout a new order.</p>
<p>The bridge didn’t wait that long. With a deep, sickening screech, it gave way. The collapse started from the end on which their group had first arrived, metal caving underneath the corrupted creatures and sending them plunging to their dooms. Hardwire kept firing, he was aware that the bridge was collapsing, but there was no connection about its state of collapse and his own position on it. There was no fear of falling, just rage and hate and the screaming instinct to destroy-the-threats-destroy-them-all-make-them-<b>burn-</b>.</p>
<p>A small servo clamped onto his arm and pulled frantically, a voice that he knew yet couldn’t think straight enough to name calling for him to run. He complied, not because he agreed or wanted to stop shooting, but because even in the red haze that had overtaken him, he knew that voice, knew he trusted that voice and if that voice told him he had to run then he had to run. If only to keep her safe, because she was stubborn enough to stay by his side and try to force him if he disobeyed.</p>
<p>Everything blurred into noise and screaming and the metal beneath his pedes tilting more and more steeply no matter how fast he ran. There yelling from up ahead, ordering for him to go faster, faster, that they were almost there, they could <b>make it</b>-</p>
<p>Except they didn’t.</p>
<p>A part of the bridge gave way too soon, an uneven chunk that jolted up underneath them as it came apart and threatened to rip their pedes out from under them. Hardwire’s stride was long enough to step over the jolt, to compensate for the unexpected loss of ground beneath his other pede. Hers wasn’t. Her servo slipped from his arm, she screamed.</p>
<p>She fell.</p>
<p>For a moment, time froze as he looked back over his shoulder and saw her falling. Saw the looming chasm beneath, much too far to survive. Saw her wide terrified optics as her servos reached for holds that weren’t there. Saw the look on her face as she realized, the same moment he did, that she was going to die.</p>
<p>The thing in the back of Hardwire’s processor bellowed in denial and whatever held it back shattered, destroying the words that had been slowly scrolling down his HUD with intent and anguish and no-no-no-mine-mine-mine-don’t-let-her-fall-<b>don’t-let-her-die-</b>.</p>
<p>Time snapped back into place as instinct overrode everything. Wordless knowledge burned into his frame vein by vein, slamming through his helm like a physical presence that <b>commanded </b>him to act, to <b>act now</b>, and Hardwire could do nothing but obey and jump after her without hesitation, heedless of his Alpha’s orders not to or his prides’ cries of horror.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0077"><h2>77. Twilight of Cybertron Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish didn’t scream, she was too numb to scream. Instead, she stared down into the chasm as if waiting for her brother and his partner to reappear somehow, safe and alive. They did not appear. The rubble of the collapsing bridge had taken out several of the bridges below it, creating a straight fall as far as her optics and sensors could reach.</p>
<p>Servos rested on her shoulders and a swell of emotion came from her sparkmate, but Starwish didn’t react. She felt … blank somehow. She thought she should be doing … something right now. Screaming, crying, a breakdown of grief because her brother and a good friend had just fallen to their death before her optics.</p>
<p>But she did nothing. She felt nothing. It just … wasn’t registering. The medical part of her processor blandly diagnosed her condition as a form of shock and told her that such reaction was just as understandable as screaming, crying, or any other kind of breakdown. Those would come later when the shock wore off, presuming she hadn’t compartmentalized and repressed the incident by then, which would be an even worse thing to do health wise.</p>
<p>“Star?” One audio amplifier twitched back in the direction of her sparkmate’s voice, but other than that, she didn’t move. Jazz’s servos squeezed tighter and his spark reached out to her through the bond, <em>“Star, we need to keep moving. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry, but we have a mission to complete, Star.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish closed her optics and took a deep, shuddering vent, “…right.” Her cyber-ninja training kicked in and she swiftly boxed up all thoughts and creeping emotions about what had just happened. She would break down later. Right now, she had to keep moving. If there was any chance that they could save the Core, she had to do everything in her power to make it happen. Hardwire would have wanted her to do that.</p>
<p>She opened her optics and looked up, mentally judging the distance between the bridge she and Jazz were standing on and the chasm exit in which Optimus and Ironhide stood. She reopened her com channel, there was no point or wisdom in shouting and drawing even more attention than the previous battle had no doubt drawn.</p>
<p>Jazz was in the middle of conversing with Optimus over their next course of action, ::-way O.P. My grapple couldn’t reach that far even if it didn’t have ta support two bots.::</p>
<p>::Then we will have to press forward and attempt to rendezvous further down.::</p>
<p>Ironhide’s voice was tight, ::You’re the only one of us who’s been down here before, Optimus. Frag, you’re the only one who even knows the way to the Core. Without you, how are they not going to get lost?::</p>
<p>High above, she could see Optimus turn his helm to look at Ironhide, ::All of the paths in the underworld lead to the Core eventually, Ironhide. Some are just safer and faster. We will maintain contact through the coms as much as possible and I will offer what advice I can along the way.::</p>
<p>Ironhide was clearly unhappy with that answer, not that any of them were happy about splitting up, but there was clearly no choice. The bridge on which Starwish and Jazz were standing was at too awkward an angle for Optimus and Ironhide to come down to them, and there was no way for Starwish and Jazz to safely climb up. For a moment, she debated using the magnetizing technique Master Yoketron had taught her, but then she dismissed it. She wasn’t skilled enough. As it was, it took too much energy and was too short a range to safely traverse the distance.</p>
<p>::But still,:: Ironhide began to grumble darkly, ::the risk of splitting our group even more than it is, is meltdown-::</p>
<p>Ironhide cut himself off as something shook the chasm. Starwish’s gaze snapped back down to the depths as far, far below them, something roared. Her audio amplifiers snapped forward, then back as something deep in the back of her processor, the cybertronian’s equivalent of primal instinct, recoiled in terror. Even without her amplifiers, she could tell that whatever made the noise had to be kilometers and kilometers below. Yet the deep sound, the wordless promise of violence and shed energon and primal savagery, still rattled through the bridge and up into her protoform like the cybertronian version of goosebumps.</p>
<p>Jazz had gone rigid behind her, but as the roar and its echoes slowly faded, he shifted his grip from her shoulders to one of her arms and began to steer her away, ::An’ <b>that</b> is our cue ta leave.::</p>
<p>A wild thought shot through Starwish’s processor and she whispered, “Hardwire and Arcee-”</p>
<p>Jazz’s grip tightened on her arm just a bit, grief flickering across to her before he replied with a grim, “<b>If</b> they survived the fall down there and woke up … whatever thah was, then there’s nothing we can do for ‘em, Star. In fact, Ah’d rather think thah they aren’t down there with thah thing.”</p>
<p>Starwish frowned as she slid into step with Jazz and he released her arm, “But-”</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, “We both know thah there’s a chance, a <b>slim</b> chance, thah there’s more bridges farther down an’ they landed on one o’ them. But Ah’d rather not wait around out in tha open for them ta contact us when thah thing might come crawling up ta see who dumped a bunch o’ corrupted monsters on its helm.” He brushed her shoulder briefly with a servo as they entered the cave system once again, “Look, if they survived, they’ll make for tha Core, just like we are.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded at his tentative offer of comfort, but firmly boxed up any flickers of hope that whispered through her spark. She had to focus on the mission, not get distracted with faint possibilities or the grief that would hit her when they proved unfounded.</p>
<p>The tunnels seemed even more intimidating when it was just the two of them, especially when their only navigation system was Optimus’s quiet estimates over the com whenever Jazz sent him snapshots of where they were. It seemed that most of the wildlife had fled the area of the fight, or perhaps they had fled from the source of the roar they had heard, so the two passed unmolested through the tunnels for at least three joors. Jazz and Starwish barely spoke during that time, they didn’t need to speak to understand each other’s intent or know the other’s position. Without the heavy hitters of the team there, their passage was soundless and almost invisible. Starwish had long since learned how to ghost through an area unseen, even without her holographic projector, and Jazz was not the head of Special Ops for no reason.</p>
<p>Of course, the mission had obviously not gone wrong enough for the whims of fate, because four and half joors into their stealthy progress through the tunnels, trying to rendezvous with Optimus and Ironhide, their coms cut out. A ripple of anger and frustration pulsed from Jazz as he paused mid-step, servo flying up to his right audio receptor and his accent dropping, ::Prime? Prime! O.P.!::</p>
<p>Starwish pinged her own com repeatedly and even risked switching to the rarely used external com that was better for long range, only to be met with static and silence. Jazz cursed for several kliks before he muttered to Starwish, “Either the ‘Cons have been down here long enough to set up a jamming network, or it’s because of how far down we are. I thought that all this metal would start messing with our systems eventually.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded grimly, “Now what do we do?”</p>
<p>Jazz glared at the three tunnels in front of them from behind his visor, “Nothing else we can do but guess. O.P. said that all the tunnels down here lead to the Core eventually, we’ll just have to hope he’s right.”</p>
<p>Starwish began to nod, when her optics rested on the faintly pulsing veins of energon in the walls around them. The pulses, while still dim and far apart, had gotten noticeably brighter the farther down they went. <em>Well, that’s only natural, since Primus </em><b><em>is</em></b><em> a cybertronian of sorts, he must have a circulatory system and a … spark beat.</em> An idea clicked into place and Starwish felt like slapping herself, <em>I am </em><b><em>such</em></b><em> a glitching idiot.</em> Jazz was shooting an inquiring look her way, having picked up on Starwish’s general thoughts and she whispered, “Maybe not. I have an idea. Let me try something.”</p>
<p>Her sparkmate gave a curt nod, he trusted her intuition. Starwish crouched down next to one of the veins and carefully placed a servo against it. Mentally, she boxed away everything that was unessential to her task. She left out her combat and medical skills in case her idea led them straight into trouble, but all other inconsequential thoughts were gently stored away as she shifted her focus.</p>
<p>Sound unfurled around her, physical yet not. It surrounded her, throbbed and whispered, shouted and sang. It was a chorus of chaos and for a moment, Starwish was overwhelmed despite the extra practice and training Yoketron had been giving her on the technique at her request vorns ago. Currents of life swirled around her and she could feel each unique melody pressing in on her from kilometers around. But it wasn’t the hundreds of faint melodies that overwhelmed her so completely.</p>
<p>No, what overwhelmed her was the bass song that was all around. It washed over her, deep notes and old refrains that spoke of the passing of time, the endless cycles of life, of an existence the length of which she could not comprehend. It was all around her, its rhythm rising and falling like a sparkbeat, so imbedded into the metal around her, so in sync with its surroundings as a whole that it could be nothing <b>but</b> that whole. Each note was an age, each rest the end of an epoch, and each chorus the start of a new era.</p>
<p>It was the Song of Cybertron.</p>
<p>A familiar song, a perfect harmony to her own, reached out in alarm and she grabbed it, anchored herself to its sound as she struggled to reel in her senses. The melodies and choruses began to decrease in number, but the Song did not fade. It could not fade. It had always been there, for longer than Starwish had been on Cybertron, longer than any cybertronian had walked the surface of that world.</p>
<p>Somewhere in the back of her processor, Starwish wondered how she had never heard it before. An instant later she realized that she <b>had</b>, it had just gone unnoticed until now because she hadn’t thought to question it, search for it. It was like questioning the presence of the stars, or the sky, or the concept gravity. Something so accepted and ever-present that she had never realized its magnitude, never noticed just how all-encompassing it was.</p>
<p>Starwish felt herself gasp as, just on the edges of her senses, she realized there was another song of equal, no, even greater magnitude than the Song of Cybertron. The other song was far more self contained, not all around and ever-present like the Song of Cybertron, yet even though she only dared to listen to its faintest echoes, she could hear the power it held. Where all of the other songs she had ever heard were like a melody, or an orchestra with only one singer to accompany, this sounded like a choir of thousands. A symphony as old as the stars, one that held the history of not just eras, but <b>aeons</b>. Of beginnings and endings and gateways that led to paths untrodden and secrets long lost.</p>
<p>Starwish carefully steered her consciousness away from the symphony, afraid of losing herself entirely if she dared to listen more intently or for any longer. Instead, she struggled to narrow down her focus on the Song of Cybertron, to pinpoint where it originated. The Song washed over her again and she listened to the echoes, searched for the clearest notes. Slowly, her optics opened —when had she closed them?— and she whispered hoarsely, “The middle tunnel.”</p>
<p>Jazz was shaking next to her, his optics widebehind his visor and their bond rippling with a mixture of awe and terror. Though he couldn’t hear it as clearly —he didn’t know how to listen like she could— he could hear some of it through their bond. For a moment, neither of them moved or acknowledged her words, too caught up in what she had heard, could still hear, and what he could hear through her. Then Jazz physically shook himself and stepped forward, his servo tight on her wrist as he tugged her along with him.</p>
<p>Starwish trailed along behind him, dazed by the unending rise and fall of music all around. Gradually, step by step, inch by inch, Starwish continued to reel in her senses, minimize her exposure to Primus’s spark Song until she had mostly narrowed it down to the pulsing energon line woven into the metal beneath her fingertips and whatever errant spark songs drifted close enough to them in the tunnels all around. Jazz didn’t let go of her, merely moved his servo so that their fingers were tightly interlaced while a thousand thoughts whirled in his mind.</p>
<p>Finally, after at least another joor of skirting around corners and Starwish listening to the echoes of the Song of Cybertron in order to guide their way, Jazz found his voice, “I never knew you could do that.”</p>
<p>Starwish struggled for a moment to divert her attention enough to speak, “I didn’t … I didn’t think it would work that well. Yoketron has been teaching me to listen for spark-songs, but I’ve never actively listened for Primus.”</p>
<p>“You never told me he could teach stuff like that.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t mastered it, and you never asked.”</p>
<p>“Seems like there’s a lot of things you know that I don’t.”</p>
<p>Starwish stiffened for a moment, not so taken up with Primus’s Song that she missed the meaning behind his words, “Really? You’re doing this now?”</p>
<p>Jazz tilted his helm in her direction, no reproach in his spark, just intense curiosity, “Can you think of a better time?”</p>
<p>Starwish bit back a sarcastic retort. Considering their circumstances; alone, separated from their backup, lost save for a near-mystical ability she had yet to fully master, he had a point. There might not be a later for them. It was a reality they had both accepted vorns ago, but at the moment the realization loomed over them like a dark shadow. She sighed softly, “What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>“You knew what Silhouette was talking about as soon as she mentioned purple energon crystals. You knew what it could do. How?” There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity, but Starwish felt defensive anyway.</p>
<p>“I … it’s hard to explain.” Jazz waited, their conversation briefly being put on hold so that Starwish could refocus on the Song and lead them down the next tunnel. Starwish struggled with how to continue, her emotions threatening to fully break out of their little boxes and ruin her concentration, “I didn’t think it was anywhere near Cybertron. If I had known it was close enough that Megatron could find it, I would have told you.”</p>
<p>“It’s something from your home world then? It’s from <em>Earth</em>?” Starwish faltered. She thought about the Prime TV show, of Unicron’s blood raining down from an erupting volcano. But then she thought of Ironhide, of the AllSpark and Hoover Dam and N.E.S.T. and the appearance of her sparkmate. She even thought briefly of the Animated series, the rare, rare happy ending where the Autobots had won the war and were not exiled from their home. She knew there were other shows as well, ones she hadn’t seen, as well as least one comic book series and hadn’t there been a few games?</p>
<p>“I don’t know for sure. It might be.” She couldn’t be certain. She didn’t remember anything about Dark Energon being on Cybertron mentioned in any of the media she’d seen. Even if there were strong indications that this was the universe of the Prime show, there was also signs of the movies, and Yoketron had only been mentioned in the Animated show. She could theoretically be in any of the three —no matter how farfetched Animated may seem right now— or a completely different one that she had never seen.</p>
<p>There was another pause in their conversation as the tunnel widened into an open space with a large ravine down the center through which a large energon river rushed by. The river glowed, lighting the entire cavern in rippling, shifting hues of blue and the Song intensified around its flow. They padded cautiously across the narrow bridge of metal that spanned the river, wary of another assault like the one that had separated them from the others or of falling into the raw liquid gurgling below them. Once they were across, Jazz asked softly, “Then how did you know about it, Star?”</p>
<p>Starwish stopped, her concentration on the Song faltering for a moment as she debated, gathered her courage, and finally admitted the one major secret she had never shared with her sparkmate, “There are stories back on <em>Earth</em>. About cybertronians. Or there were, at least, when I was there. The stories are all very different, though most of them shared a few common themes. One of them had Dark Energon in it. Of Megatron finding it and using it to-” Her voice faltered and she felt a wave of revulsion break free of its box. Now that she was a cybertronian, especially a medic, the thought of what Megatron had done in the opening episodes of the Prime show horrified her a thousand times more than watching it as a human ever had.</p>
<p>She shook her helm, “But the stories never took place on Cybertron. Megatron had to search space for <em>years</em> before he ever found it. That’s why none of us ever said anything about it. Neither side as any long-distance space craft, so we assumed that Megatron wouldn’t find it. We didn’t know-” <em>we didn’t know it was Dark Energon that finally killed Cybertron and forced the cybertronians into exile. We didn’t know. We didn’t know and now it’s too late.</em></p>
<p>Despair swelled in her and Jazz wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close even though she hadn’t let him hear her last thoughts. He dipped his helm down to press it gently against her temple, “Ssh, Star, I’m not mad,” he was sad, disappointed and confused, but not mad, “but how do <em>humans</em> know about us? I didn’t see anything like the technology required for deep space observation or travel in the memories you showed me. Why stories about us if we’ve haven’t left Cybertron in thousands of vorns?”</p>
<p>Starwish’s concentration snapped, all of the emotions and memories flooding out of their boxes as her grief drove her to her knees. Jazz dropped down with her, his arms still tight around her. His vents hitched as he felt her inner turmoil and he pressed his helm tighter against her temple. Starwish reached up to clutch his servos with her own as she choked out, “Because we will. We will leave. We’ll have no choice but to leave and I don’t know if we’ll ever come back…”</p>
<p>For a moment, Jazz stilled in disbelief, in denial. Then, he reached across their bond in a silent request and Starwish quietly lowered the shield she had kept raised over her memories of the transformers shows and movies. He shifted through some of them and Starwish saw everything he was looking at. She saw the different landings on Earth, she saw the fighting and the confusion, she saw just how <b>small</b> the Autobot and Decepticon forces were. So many missing, so many either lost or gone and how could she tell the difference when there was no evidence either way?</p>
<p>She felt his confusion as he realized that everything she knew was from stories and media no one believed was real, telling of events that Jazz knew had never happened. She sensed him set that confusion aside in favor of examining what he could see. He plunged deeper, and all in quick succession she felt his confusion over the appearance of the movie AllSpark, his horror as two different Optimus’s both told the same story of loss and exile, his revulsion as he saw what Cliffjumper became when his corpse was imbued with Dark Energon. Then he stumbled across himself from the first of the movies, saw the battle for Mission City and heard something startlingly like his own voice shouting in English for the soldiers to run while Megatron came closer and closer and-</p>
<p>Her mental shield snapped up again abruptly, “<b>No</b>! <em>It won’t happen</em>!<em> I won’t let it happen</em>! <b><em>I’ll kill him</em></b><em> before I let that happen</em>!” Her cries echoed loudly through the chamber but she didn’t care, she clutched her sparkmate’s servos tighter as tears slipped free and rolled down her faceplates.</p>
<p>Silence slammed down on them, disturbed only by faint echoes of the river and her even fainter sobs. Jazz didn’t let go. He held her as tight as he could while an unshakable horror permeated his being and he finally <b>understood</b>, just like Starwish and Hardwire and the twinlings had, that this was the end. That Megatron was going to kill Cybertron and even if they managed to stop him from actually poisoning the Core, it was too late to stop their home from dying anyway and leaving them homeless. Leave them drifting in the vastness of space until maybe, just maybe, they found the world that Starwish had once called home.</p>
<p>Jazz’s battle mask slid down with a click. He shifted Starwish in his arms so that her faceplate was pressed against his chest while his helm slowly dropped to bury itself in the crook of her neck. No new sound joined the faint echoes already lingering in the chamber, but with his mouth so close to her audio receptor, Starwish could hear what no one else could, what no one else had heard for an unknown amount of vorns.</p>
<p>Far in the depths of Cybertron, secrets were meant to be lost amid the twisting shadows, meant to exist unspoken of for time immemorial. The shadows ruled here, and the silence swallowed the knowledge of all but the loudest of events. What happened in the underworld stayed there, to be hidden away in dark corners and forgotten by the oblivious world above.</p>
<p>So perhaps it was, in a sadistically ironic sort of way, entirely fitting that this was the place where Jazz, head of the dark shadow known as Autobot Special Ops, finally shed his tears over the long and impossible war.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0078"><h2>78. Twilight of Cybertron Part 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Optimus pressed his backplates against the outcropping of metal and internally allowed himself to swear as plasma seared past his hiding place. Things were not going well. They had lost Hardwire and Arcee at the bridge and they had become separated from Jazz and Starwish before losing contact with the two entirely. Then, as he and Ironhide had debated over whether there was a way they could reestablish contact with Jazz and Starwish, the decepticons had finally made themselves known.</p>
<p>The barrage of plasma petered away for a klik. Optimus and Ironhide reacted in sync, twisting around the corners of their respective cover and firing. They managed three shots before the decepticons resumed firing up at them, screaming curses over the roar of their own guns as they did so. Though he could not make out the words, the mere sound of their voices grated on Optimus on a spark-felt level. He understood now what Silhouette had meant when she said that the mechs were corrupted … wrong. Every time they spoke, the Matrix reacted in his chest. It throbbed with something akin to anger, with a knowledge of what they had become that was beyond Optimus’s current understanding.</p>
<p>Ironhide growled as he pressed himself against the outcropping of metal, ::Optimus! We’re gettin’ nowhere at this rate! They just aren’t going down!::</p>
<p>Optimus shuffled closer to the wall as part of his cover gained a hole in it, ::I know, Ironhide.::</p>
<p>Ironhide swore as part of the outcropping he was hiding behind gave way, the hot metal scoring a line across his shoulder armor, ::Then what do we do? Backtrack?::</p>
<p>Optimus mentally reviewed the area they were in and shook his helm, ::No. All of the nearby tunnels connect to that cavern, if we were to go around them, we would have to backtrack at lose at least a joor of progress.::</p>
<p>::Just. Fragging. Great.:: Ironhide’s armor flared in frustration as he risked another shot around his cover. ::Well, you’d better think of something soon, because they ain’t stopping and our cover won’t last much longer!::</p>
<p>Optimus knew Ironhide was right. The outcroppings of metal in the tunnel in which they were currently pinned was not thick enough to withstand the concerted barrage for much longer. They were fortunate that the tunnel they were in was one of the higher ones, too high for the decepticons below to climb up to without becoming easy targets. It gave Optimus at least a few more breems of time with which to strategize.</p>
<p>Another chunk of metal broke away. Optimus debated the use of a grenade, then dismissed it. According to Silhouette’s and Zipline’s report, a grenade had failed to stop the single mech that had assaulted them so he doubted it would stop multiple corrupted assailants. They couldn’t afford to double back, they had been delayed enough already. Optimus could see the signs of the corruption spreading, could feel the Matrix urging him to go faster before it was too late. But with just the two of them, Optimus was wary of engaging in close combat with the corrupted decepticons.</p>
<p>A deep noise echoed through the metal all around. It vibrated up Optimus’s struts and sent a thrill of fear through his spark. It echoed again, powerful and <b>angry</b> and Optimus recognized it as the same roar they had heard in the deep pit after Hardwire and Arcee had fallen. Ironhide recognized it as well, ::Great. Just great. <b>Just</b> what we needed.::</p>
<p>The roar came a third time and some impulse deep inside Optimus, an intuition he had long ago learned to never disobey, screamed at him. Optimus reached across the tunnel and grabbed Ironhide, heedless of the plasma rounds that scored his armor as he dragged his friend back around the corner of the tunnel. He flung himself down onto the ground, his grip on Ironhide forcing the other mech to drop with him moments before the world around them disappeared in a wave of <b>fire</b>.</p>
<p>Heat not unlike that of the smelting pits of Kaon seared overhelm. It blasted down the tunnel just above their frames with enough force and power to peel their paint and send warning messages of potential system overheat and risk of structural smelting damage flooding across his HUD. Ironhide was shaking next to him, though whether it was because the mech was trying to yell over the crackling inferno or because he was in even more pain than Optimus was anyone’s guess.</p>
<p>The fire finally trailed off, but the same instinct that had kept Optimus from being smelted where he stood now kept him flat against the ground. There was barely enough time to vent, to process that the fire had disappeared before it was back, accompanied by a deep roar that rattled Optimus’s plating.</p>
<p>More warnings flashed across Optimus’s HUD, but just before it felt like the warnings would turn into actual damage reports, the flames petered out for a second time and Optimus heard something large barrel out of the cavern. There was a screeching of claws on the ground and the clattering rasp of metal against metal before the sounds faded into the distance. The two autobots stayed prone on the ground for a full two breems after silence had fallen before they dared to climb back to their pedes and risk a look around the corner of the tunnel.</p>
<p>The small outcroppings of metal that they had been using for cover were gone, melted into a large puddle of slag on the tunnel floor while the tunnel walls themselves gave off a faint burnished glow of heat. Optimus exchanged a long look with Ironhide before they took turns cautiously jumping over the slag puddle and made their way to the entrance of the tunnel to look into the cavern itself.</p>
<p>The decepticons were gone.</p>
<p>Optimus felt his tanks churn briefly as he examined the cavern more closely and was forced to amend his previous thought. The decepticons were not gone, they had been incinerated. Almost the entire floor of the cavern glowed bright orange with heat and there were marks of explosions where the decepticons had been standing. Optimus had always known that Energon did not mix well with fire, but he had never asked himself what would happen if Energon —or whatever the liquid Megatron had injected into his soldiers was— was exposed to fire hot enough to melt cybertronium. With smelting pits, the mech would eventually burn to offlining from the inside while he melted externally. From the looks of the cavern floor, the fate of the decepticons here had been much more instantaneous.</p>
<p>Ironhide broke the hushed silence, “I <b>really</b> don’t want to meet whatever did this and made <b>those</b>.” Optimus followed the direction of Ironhide’s nervous gesture and stared at the deep pede-prints that had been left behind in the hot metal. They were huge, easily enough to crush a minibot without noticing, with four long talons in the front and one shorter impression extending from the back of the pede-print. Deep holes in the metal at the end of each talon spoke of powerful, curved claws. The impressions started just below a tunnel large enough to fit a combiner —presumably how the creature had entered the cavern— and disappeared into another —now gouged and scarred— tunnel that was slightly smaller than the overhelm one.</p>
<p>Ironhide’s cannons spun with his unease, “I don’t suppose you know what did this, or if it’s going to show up again?”</p>
<p>Optimus briefly reviewed all of his memories from his first journey down to the Core even though he already knew the answer, “No. I never encountered this creature.”</p>
<p>“Just great. So why is it around and trying to melt our chassis now?”</p>
<p>Optimus began to scan the cavern, searching for the next tunnel they needed to traverse and how to get across the still-glowing metal floor to reach it, “If I were to guess, I would say that it is reacting to the presence of Megatron and the corruption he brings.”</p>
<p>There were sections of the floor that hadn’t been superheated —presumably beneath where the creature had been originally standing— and there was just enough cooled metal on the edges of the cavern for the two mechs to slide down and edge around the circumference of the cavern toward the desired tunnel. Ironhide scanned the direction they were going, “Do you think that thing’s been corrupted?”</p>
<p>“I cannot say. It could be. Or it could still be pure and have attacked because it sensed the presence of the corrupted decepticons.” If it was the second, that meant the creature had very likely not even known they were there and the fire that had come rushing down the tunnel had just been excess flame escaping the cavern through any available opening. He was not entirely certain if that made it more terrifying than the first thought or not. He decided not to dwell on it. If he took their journey so far into consideration as well as the passage the creature appeared to have gone down, he would find out more answers than he desired to know in due time anyway.</p>
<p>They crossed the wider section of relatively cool metal and were halfway toward the passage Optimus had selected when Ironhide faltered, “Optimus?”</p>
<p>The wary note had Optimus unsubspacing his path blaster and searching for a threat, “Ironhide?”</p>
<p>Ironhide rolled his shoulders uneasily, “You’re not leading me to the tunnel that slagging fire monster just went down, are you?”</p>
<p>There was a note akin to pleading in Ironhide’s tone and Optimus gave his old friend an apologetic look, “It <b>is</b> the fastest way to the Core.”</p>
<p>“So that means that thing was headed for the Core as well?”</p>
<p>Optimus tried to offer some measure of comfort, “Perhaps. However, if I am not mistaken, that tunnel becomes much narrower the closer to the Core it goes. If the creature is truly headed for the Core, it will have to take several detours through passages large enough to accommodate its frame.”</p>
<p>Ironhide was not impressed, “Which means we’ll already be there, standing around getting shot at like perfect targets. Wonderful.”</p>
<p>Because it was just Ironhide, the mech who had seen him at his best and worst, his most naive and his most experienced, Optimus allowed himself a reaction far more befitting Orion Pax the Archivist than Optimus the Last Prime. Raising his palm and blaster toward the ceiling, he gave a helpless shrug, “It might be on it’s way somewhere else entirely?”</p>
<p>The black mech scoffed, “Yeah right, Optimus. We both know that you’re never that lucky.”</p>
<p>Optimus lowered his arms and they continued walking, “No, I suppose I am not.”</p>
<p>Ironhide took a deep vent and visibly braced himself, “Well then, let’s get it over with and hope that Starwish shows up and works her taming magic on the thing when it comes to kill us. Worked well enough on Grimlock and his rabble.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish twisted around the outcropping energon crystal and slammed her pedes down hard as she landed. The creature —some kind of huge cybertronian millipede with giant pincers and a row of laser emitters down its back— screeched as her landing jerked its helm off balance. Jazz spun away from the shuttle-wing-sized pincers that had been moments away from clamping down on his middle. His scatter blaster cracked off two shots at one of its optic clusters as he darted past, the sound echoing painfully in the cavern.</p>
<p>The millipede-esque creature gave another grating screech, purple flaring bright as it protested the injury and writhed. Starwish magnetized to the flat top of the blade-like pincer she had landed on to keep from being thrown into the cave wall.</p>
<p>Jazz had composed himself soon after his breakdown, and though Starwish could still feel how shaken he was, they had pushed on. They had managed another half-joor of travel before they had entered yet another large cavern … that was occupied by a corrupted millipede monster. Though it had optics, Starwish had been gruesomely fascinated to realize that those were not natural to its frame. It seemed to be able to see out of the two, five-optic clusters on either side of its helm, but it’s primary method of sensing was a strange mix of echolocation and a snake-like vibration sense. Thus, even though they had been behind the creature when they’d first arrived, as soon as they had attempted to sneak around it, it had detected their pedesteps and gone on the attack.</p>
<p>The millipede gave another cry, its legs slamming down on the ground like an audio-splitting row of drums one after the other. Purple mist shivered up from each leg and Starwish fought down the dizzy-spell it triggered. All of her senses were screaming at her and she had had to let go of her connection to the Songs early on in the battle to keep from being overwhelmed by the agonized off-key wailing she had heard from both the creature and the infected cavern.</p>
<p>Jazz grappled out of the way of the legs —once was more than enough to teach them about the shockwaves the impacts could unleash— and Starwish bolted into motion as the millipede’s helm went still and it tried to figure out where Jazz had gone. Her prosthetics unfolded as she leaped from the pincer to the top of its helm, one of her scalpels slashing through two of its unnatural optics as she passed by. It jerked beneath her and Starwish slid partway down its ridged body before she managed to find a servo-hold.</p>
<p>Jazz released his grapple and fell, blaster firing at the creature’s many legs before he landed on the millipede’s bucking middle. Starwish focused on her own servo-hold, trusting her sparkmate to stick his landing and hold on. They needed to bring it down somehow, that much was obvious. But the “how” was tricky. The plating on the millipede was thick and multilayered, with crude spikes growing out that she was fairly certain were not normal for its species. So far the only weakness they had been able to find were the optics, and those were clearly not fatal weak points. They were limited to close range combat, there just wasn’t enough cavern to safely engage with blasters, not when the millipede had seven laser emitters along its back that it could fire independently and left trails of Dark Energon crystals in their wake.</p>
<p>Starwish scanned it, trying to pinpoint a weak spot that couldn’t be spotted with her optics. The millipede shuddered beneath her, its legs slamming the ground incessantly while its helm bobbed and wove erratically. <em>Is it … searching for us? It can’t sense that we’re on top of it?</em> Starwish glanced over her shoulder at her sparkmate, Jazz was holding still, riding the undulating motions of the millipede’s body as it searched the cavern for them. Understanding flashed between them and Starwish tentatively tested the theory.</p>
<p>With cautious motions, Starwish climbed further down its back. She gingerly used the unnatural spikes as holds and even perches as she descended, keeping a sharp optic on the movements and mood of the corrupted millipede as she did so. It didn’t react. It didn’t notice her tentative pedesteps down its hide or the grasp of her servos on the spikes. She risked a deeper scan on the millipede in curiosity. <em>The sensors in its outer plating are gone. No, not gone,</em> she felt a wave of sickened pity, <em>burned out. It can’t feel anything through its main plating. The Dark Energon must have destroyed the sensor circuitry during the corruption process, that’s why anything it corrupts just keeps coming despite taking hits. The protoform and limb sensors are probably still functional, it feels pain when hit hard enough or in the right spot, but with the main sensor grid gone, there’s no pain feedback to force it to stop or turn aside.</em></p>
<p>Which meant that if she could figure out where its main neural cluster was, she could surgically remove the plating that protected it and offline the millipede in one blow.</p>
<p>She transmitted her idea to Jazz over their sparkbond and together they began searching for any sign of the main neural cluster. Normally the cluster would be in the helm, right at the base and just below the CPU and other processor functions, but this wasn’t a mech or any of the wildlife that had once roamed Cybertron’s surface. This was a creature of Cybertron’s underworld, designed to survive different scenarios and with different skills and programing involved. Assuming that it’s neural cluster would be in the same place as what Starwish was used to would be foolish.</p>
<p>The millipede was … frustrated, if Starwish dared to consider it capable of emotion. Any normal creature would have settled down upon concluding that the threat was gone, but instead, the longer the millipede went without finding them, the more agitated it became. Starwish struggled to scan for the neural cluster while also holding on tight during its increasing bouts of writhing and screaming. The millipede suddenly stilled, its helm twisting to look to its right and down. After getting used to its constant undulating and bouts of hysteria, the complete stillness was unsettling.</p>
<p>Instinct had Starwish tighten her grip on the nearest spikes and magnetize her pedes to its plating, wary of any sudden outbursts. Several long kliks passed before Starwish heard it, the deep, armor-rattling roar from the chasm. Her audio amplifiers tilted sharply and she had just enough time to realize that it was coming from the direction the millipede was focusing on when the millipede gave a shrill scream of fury and took off down one of the tunnels.</p>
<p>Starwish gave a slight cry as she flattened herself against the millipede’s plating, trying not to get thrown off of its back by the speed as it twisted and rushed and screamed. Somewhere in between holding on tight, worrying about Jazz as he clung on grimly further down its length, and trying to figure out what was going on, a realization crept in. They were going steadily down. For some reason Starwish could not fathom, the creature was heading for the same place they had been trying to find.</p>
<p>The creature was making for the Core.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0079"><h2>79. Twilight of Cybertron Part 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Chamber of the Core was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Perfectly round and larger than any other cavern in Cybertron, it was easily large enough to house a full-fledged city without ever actually touching the Core itself as it hung in the center of the cavern from a collection of thick energon tubes and outcroppings of metal that were oddly artistic in their own archaic, twisting way.</p>
<p>A pity that he had no time to admire it, revel in the awe and majesty of Primus’s resting place.</p>
<p>He was a little too busy trying not to get his helm cut off.</p>
<p>He and Ironhide had arrived at one of the many entrances to the Chamber of the Core without any further signs of the creature that had destroyed the corrupted decepticons with its fire. Unfortunately, that did not mean their journey had been quiet or unnoticed, nor that the Chamber of the Core was empty of enemies. They had been forced to battle their way past several waves of decepticons, both corrupted and not, and upon arriving at the entrance itself had discovered that it had been forcibly breached with towering spikes of dark crystals that looked to Optimus to be some kind of sick caricature of raw Energon. Also present was Megatron himself, berating his soldiers for failing to breach the sealed entrance sooner and wasting so much of the raw Dark Energon crystal he had brought rather than saving it for their purpose of injecting Dark Energon into the Core.</p>
<p>There had been no time to wait for Jazz and Starwish or to attempt to contact them. They had been forced to launch into battle against numerous decepticons as they struggled to catch up to Megatron. Optimus supposed he could consider it fortunate that his once-Amica Endura held a borderline obsession for defeating Optimus personally. But despite the fact that Optimus had been able to manipulate Megatron’s obsession into delaying his attempts to move the Dark Energon crystal further into the chamber in favor of battling him, fighting the ex-champion of Kaon while Ironhide struggled to hold off waves of corrupted decepticons and the many, many corrupted creatures that had been attracted by the sounds of battle were not odds that Optimus would have chosen if he had had any other option.</p>
<p>Other creatures of the underworld, pure ones uncorrupted by the taint Megatron had brought, had also arrived in some instinctual bid to defend the Core, but they were vastly outnumbered and disadvantaged. If any of the Dark Energon entered the creature’s Energon lines somehow, they were corrupted as well within moments, further turning the tide.</p>
<p>Sword clashed with battle-axe and pushed, only to separate a moment later when both Megatron and Optimus were forced to dodge two snarling cyber-dog creatures as they rolled along the ground, tearing at each other’s plating in a desperate frenzy. The Matrix keened within his chest, mourning the corruption and the chaos occurring within the very home of Primus, the desecration of Cybertron’s spark chamber. Megatron eyed the two creatures for a moment before his attention returned to Optimus, “Do you really think you can stop this Optimus? Just the two of you and a few mindless beasts?”</p>
<p>Optimus lashed out with his battle-axe, refusing to give ground to the painful vibrations that shot up his limbs as Megatron met him blow for blow, “I will not allow you to corrupt the Core, Megatron! Cease this madness, before you destroy our home beyond repair!”</p>
<p>Megatron bared his denta, “I am not corrupting, Optimus, I am <b>curing</b>. I will give <b>strength</b> to this world! The strength to purge you and your kind from every meter of my planet!”</p>
<p>Optimus felt a fleeting moment of despair as he heard the sincerity in Megatron’s tone and knew that Megatron truly did not understand what he was trying to do. He truly thought that his actions would somehow benefit their home world, “If you do this, Cybertron will die!”</p>
<p>His battle-axe was knocked aside and Optimus struggled to stay upright as he was kicked hard in his middle. Sparks flew as he was sent skidding back, his battle-axe already raised to deflect the overhelm blow as Megatron roared, “Cybertron will be <b>reborn</b>!” Optimus’s world dissolved into a flurry of strikes, parries, and dodges as Megatron launched at him with renewed fury.</p>
<p>His perception of the rest of the chamber only truly snapped back into place when he heard Ironhide’s yell of pain, “Ironhide!” Optimus twisted, pinning Megatron’s sword with his axe just long enough to send his once-Amica Endura skidding back with a harsh kick to the chest plates. Optimus used the small window of time he had gained to whirl, unsubspace his path blaster, and fire at the decepticon who had gotten too close to Ironhide.</p>
<p>His vision filmed over with static a moment later as Megatron barreled into him and a gray fist brutally collided with his helm. Optimus crashed to the ground. He had barely forced himself half-way upright when Megatron’s larger frame slammed down on top of him and pushed him to the floor once more. “Optimus!” Ironhide sounded desperate, furious, and concerned all in one. Optimus had no time or words to offer assurance, he was too preoccupied with the task of throwing Megatron off of his frame. Megatron stubbornly worked to pin him down, a deep graveled laugh escaping the Leader of the Decepticons as they struggled.</p>
<p>Megatron leaned down until his mouth plate was next to Optimus’s audio, his voice low and viciously satisfied as he rumbled, “End of the road, Prime. Almost a pity that you will not live to see Cybertron’s rebirth.”</p>
<p>Optimus jerked his helm to the side, ignoring the pain that flared as his helm collided with Megatron’s, “Megatron stop-!”</p>
<p>The rest of his words were cut off by a shrill, eerie scream that bounced off of the walls and filled the spaces between the desperate combatants in the chamber. Optimus could feel Megatron stiffen, wary at the new sound, the new element about to enter the struggle. A moment later Megatron was diving to the side, giving up his advantage against Optimus so as to dodge the screaming mass of legs and armor plating that hurtled out of one of the side tunnels and into the Chamber of the Core. <em>By Primus…</em> It was a Tunneler. A <b>corrupted</b> Tunneler.</p>
<p>One of the creatures most integral to the formation and maintenance of Cybertron’s underworld, Tunnelers were powerful, cantankerous creatures that were almost impossible to destroy even when untainted. Designed to carve new tunnel networks and devour rubble from old collapsed pathways, Tunnelers came in various sizes, with the older ones —such as this one— being the largest and the toughest of the species. A corrupted Tunneler, made even stronger and driven meltdown by the plague Megatron had brought? It would take an intervention of Primus or the AllSpark itself to bring it down.</p>
<p>The Tunneler reared, its huge, metal-tearing pincers crashing together as it thrashed in the air, still releasing a horrible note of agonized rage. Its legs slammed against the ground, sending everyone —even the other corrupted creatures and decepticons— in the chamber scattering from the shockwaves. Lasers sparked and then fired from its back and Optimus felt the Matrix swell with worry at the damage the lasers could do to the chamber, or worse, to the Core itself.</p>
<p>Optimus rolled to his pedes and fled, his spark hammering as another realization struck him. The Tunneler was designed to plow through any kind metal, to puncture it and tear it aside to make new pathways. With its strengthened, tainted state … if it set its sights on the Core, nothing would be able to save it. It would either be irreparably damaged or corrupted.</p>
<p>A flash of white on the Tunneler’s back distracted him and he thought perhaps he was seeing things for a moment until Ironhide commed, ::Starwish? What the frag are you doing on that thing?::</p>
<p>::Trying very hard not to offline.:: Optimus could not stop the wave of relief that swept through him at the sound of the tense, dry reply. They were still outnumbered and things were still dire, but any backup was a blessing.</p>
<p>As if he could hear Optimus’s thoughts, Jazz’s voice piped up through the coms a moment later, ::Hey, O.P.! Sorry ‘bout this! We took a shortcut … or rather, tha shortcut took <b>us</b> before we could shut it down.::</p>
<p>A decepticon lunged for Optimus, drawing his attention back to the interrupted battle. His axe parted the decepticon’s helm from his shoulders and he scanned the chamber for Megatron, ::Do you have a plan to bring it down?::</p>
<p>It was Starwish who answered, ::Maybe. Dark Energon destroyed the sensor grid in its outer plating, this thing isn’t even aware we’re on top of it. If I can find where the central neural cluster is, I can surgically remove its plating and destroy it. Without a central neural cluster, then this thing shouldn’t be able to do anything.::</p>
<p>::<b>Shouldn’t</b>?:: Ironhide did not like the lack of confidence in Starwish’s voice. Neither did Optimus, if he was honest.</p>
<p>He could hear Starwish hesitate and somehow Optimus did not think it was entirely because of how the Tunneler had renewed its thrashing as it rampaged up the side of the chamber walls. ::The past few cycles have not been conducive to optimism.::</p>
<p>::No scrud!::</p>
<p>Optimus intervened before the conversation could degenerate further as he struggled to reunite with Ironhide in the throng of wild, panicking beasts and decepticons alike, ::We will not know if we do not try. Go ahead with your plan, Starwish. Do you require Jazz’s assistance to carry it out?::</p>
<p>::No, I can handle it.::</p>
<p>::Then Jazz, I need you down here.::</p>
<p>Optimus could almost feel Jazz roll his optics, ::Oh sure, great, stick meh with tha <b>fun</b> job.::</p>
<p>Ironhide broke through the last of the decepticons standing between them and went back to back with Optimus, ::Get down here!::</p>
<p>::Yeah, yeah, don’t lose your helm.:: Dark purple lasers gouged into the floor, leaving sickening rows of crystals in its wake and Optimus had no time to be morbidly amused at the literalness of Jazz’s warning. The Matrix cried out at the crystals and somewhere to his right, Optimus heard Megatron laugh. Realization struck and brought with it new dread. <em>If those lasers puncture the Core’s casing…</em> ::New plan. Jazz, take out those lasers! We cannot risk them damaging the Core! Once you have disabled the lasers, join us down here.::</p>
<p>::On it!:: The com lines fell silent, but the cacophony of the battle only grew louder as the corrupted Tunneler threw both sides into chaos with its indiscriminate attacks. More creatures from the underworld had joined the fight, but they were no match for their corrupted counterparts and the decepticons combined. Ironhide and Optimus became separated in the throng for a second time as Optimus struggled to reach Megatron and distract him once more.</p>
<p>Then Jazz gave a short shout of victory as he disabled the first laser and everything went even further to the Pit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish gave a desperate shout of panic as the corrupted millipede suddenly twisted in on itself and crashed helm-first into its own coils. Its legs lost their grip on the chamber wall and it crashed to the ground in a wild, bucking jumble. She tried and failed to keep her grip on the millipede and was sent flying. <em>“Star!”</em></p>
<p>Starwish twisted in the air, curling into a tight ball as she rolled and bumped across the ground, sparks flying from the friction between her armor and the floor of the chamber. She uncurled and backflipped several times to bleed off more momentum before she slid to a stop in a three-point landing, her free servo already transformed into a buzzsaw to defend herself. The millipede was writhing on the ground, crushing unwary creatures and decepticons as it attacked its own coils with its huge pincers. Fear for Jazz swelled in her spark but she had no time to assist him as three decepticons descended on her with bellowed war cries.</p>
<p>She cartwheeled away from their charge, a familiar tingle coating her armor as she activated her holographic generator. A copy of her came out of the cartwheel and sprinted left, away from the decepticons. They pursued, oblivious to the real Starwish stalking them from behind under the cover of the refractive hologram that buzzed just above her armor. Her prosthetics unfolded and she buried a scalpel in each of their helms.</p>
<p>The mechs dropped where they stood as her copy fizzled out of existence. Still cloaked, Starwish turned her attention back to the corrupted millipede that was firing spasmodically with its remaining lasers —Jazz had somehow taken out a second laser despite the chaos— and ripping off pieces of its own armor with its pincers. Starwish rolled to the side as one of the purple lasers seared by, leaving a trail of nauseating purple crystals in its wake. She felt her tanks churn as she spotted one of the lasers come within feet of hitting the Core. She sprinted for the thrashing creature, she had to take it down. She did <b>not</b> want to see what would happen if the Core came in direct contact with Dark Energon.</p>
<p>Three dog-like creatures rolled underpede in a snarling, barking ball of fury and Starwish barely flipped over them in time. Her thoughts felt dangerously scattered and out of place. A flash of motion caught her optic and she had to struggle with the urge to stay on task rather than divert to attack the unidentified motion.</p>
<p>Everything was chaos, everything felt <b>wrong</b>. The very air hummed with the wrongness, the panic and struggle. Even though she was not focusing on sparksongs anymore, she could faintly hear the clash of harmonics and dissonance as Unicron’s blood spread further and further into the chamber. Could hear Primus’s agony and fear as the corruption came closer and closer. An edge of unnatural aggression was seeping into her, trying to cloud her thoughts and turn her away from her assigned task.</p>
<p>A wave of noise no one else seemed to hear washed over her and Starwish stumbled. There was a deeper struggle going on in the chamber than what she could see or hear with her normal senses. A clash of ancient forces in which she was just a helpless piece of flotsam, caught and pulled by the eddies of power and anger and pain. It effected her mind, ground against her sixth sense, and tried to drive her meltdown.</p>
<p><em>“</em><b><em>Melody</em></b><em>!” </em>The scream of fear over their bond jolted Starwish back into motion —when had she stopped? When had her projection fizzled out? Why had she frozen in place so stupidly?— Something loomed over her and Starwish felt another scream rise in her vocalizer only to be cut off as a flailing leg slammed into her middle and sent her flying again. Her landing was nowhere near as controlled as her previous one. Her thoughts were scrambled and instinct struggled to keep up with the rush of stimuli that now assaulted her as she spun and rolled and bounced across the ground. She barely managed to twist into a four-point-landing, pain shooting up her servos as sparks flew from the friction.</p>
<p>A crash of metal next to her and a pulse of pain from their bond alerted her to the fact that Jazz had been thrown from the back of the millipede. Starwish looked up and saw that corrupted millipede had overbalanced during its thrashing and was now falling towards them both. Her instincts screamed at her jumbled processor to <em>move-move-</em><b><em>move-now</em></b>- but even as she grabbed Jazz servo and hauled him upright to run a part of her already knew it was too late and the creature was going to fall on them and crush them. It’s writhing shadow swallowed them up as several tons of metal hurtled down toward them-</p>
<p>The world exploded in fire and every sound was swallowed by a guttural, thundering roar. In less than a blink of time, the millipede was gone, thrown clear across the chamber by the tackle of a huge fire-shrouded creature. The audio-splitting shriek of the millipede mingled with the throaty roar of the newest arrival. All other fighting in the chamber stopped as mechs and creatures alike scattered, fleeing from the huge mass of whirling, snarling, shrieking metal.</p>
<p>The mass separated, splitting into the bristling millipede on the chamber floor and the newest arrival who had gone airborne. Starwish felt her processor stall for a klik and her spark skip in disbelief as she stared up at the creature now hovering in the air above the millipede, small shockwaves rippling across the chamber with each thump of its wings.</p>
<p>Everything else froze, everyone stared, the entire world seemed to have frozen. Even the crashing waves of ancient power on the edges of her senses had stilled, watching.</p>
<p>The millipede lurched upward, its huge pincers wide to bite its attacker. Still hovering, the creature swatted the pincers aside with its tail, sending the millipede crashing to the ground, stunned. Silver fangs bared as the monster’s chest plates expanded and bright blue light bloomed beneath dark emerald plating.</p>
<p>There were words to describe the creature she was seeing. A part of her knew that this monster had a name, a species that she <b>knew</b> the proper title for. But in that moment, as its jaws opened and fire poured from its jaws with such heat that Starwish could feel it like a physical wave from across the cavernous chamber and the millipede <b>screamed</b> as it was bathed in the blaze, only one word came to mind.</p>
<p><b>Dragon</b>.</p>
<p>It was a dragon. There were no other words in Starwish’s mind that could adequately describe it. No title grand enough, no description vivid enough but the word from Earth that held millions of tales of death made manifest, fire made flesh. Predacon —because it was actually a predacon, it had to be— was not a large enough word. Was not powerful enough, not backed up by nearly enough stories and descriptions and legends to describe the creature before her.</p>
<p>Huge wings —at least five hundred feet from tip to tip— pounded the air, sending pulses of heat across the chamber with each beat. Its fire was a searing silver-blue that barely cooled to a molten yellow-orange once it reached a certain distance from the powerful jaws. Its plating was a deep emerald from its helm to the bladed tip of its whip-like tail. Yellow optics gleamed and serrated silver denta at least the length of Starwish’s forearms glowed with firelight as it unleashed another blast of fire at its target.</p>
<p>In shape, the dragon was very similar to Smaug from the live-action Hobbit trilogy and the part of her processor that wasn’t terrified couldn’t help but find the similarity both ironic and overawing. In that moment, the famous lines of Tolkien’s dragon no longer seemed like a dramatic, arrogant boast. It was simple, factual truth. Every last word of it.</p>
<p>The tail end of the millipede’s coils whipped upwards and caught the dragon along its jaw, diverting its fire and knocking it partially off balance. The dragon snarled and reared back, a few swift wingbeats sending it shooting upward to hover at a higher altitude. For a single sparkbeat, Starwish wondered incredulously if it was retreating. Then she saw the gleam in its yellow optics and realized with a chill that it wasn’t retreating. It was waiting.</p>
<p>On an unspoken signal, all optics swung to the corrupted millipede. It’s movements were tortured and sluggish at first as fire licked along its armor and molten puddles of metal dripped from its frame. Its internals sparked and sizzled, exposed to the air in places were its thick armor had been melted off entirely. But it was still alive. A deep gurgling snarl emitted from the dragon, and Starwish sensed a note of challenge in the dangerous sound. The millipede shook itself, then launched up the walls in pursuit of the dragon with a howl.</p>
<p>It was a fight Starwish would never forget. The dragon surged through the air faster than anything upwards of two-hundred feet long had any right to be while airborne. The millipede pursued it via the walls, its remaining lasers firing with a focus and precision that Starwish hadn’t thought its fragmented processor capable of. The dragon twisted and spun between the blasts, scorching the chamber walls with its retaliatory fire as it repeatedly strafed the millipede.</p>
<p>The temperature in the chamber rose as sections of the walls began to glow with heat. The wild creatures —corrupted and natural alike— had already fled the chamber, the instinct to flee a battle between two apex predators overriding any other thought.</p>
<p>The autobots and the non-corrupted decepticons were quickly forced to retreat to the entrance of the chamber as wayward streams of fire hit the Dark Energon crystals created by the dodged lasers and exploded violently. The corrupted decepticons —not as in tune with their base instincts and far more aggressive than even the tainted creatures of the underworld— quickly met their end as they tried to join in the battle and were obliterated in the crossfire between two titans.</p>
<p>The fight lasted three breems, during which most of it was obscured by the explosions of the Dark Energon and the form of the Core itself as the two combatants whirled back and forth, up and down throughout the chamber. The cybertronians returned to the entrance to watch the fight after the Dark Energon encrusting it had burned away, but dared not actually enter the chamber itself while the two titans battled frenziedly. All they could do was watch from the minimal safe distance as the walls turned a burnished red and waves of shrapnel were sent flying in every direction as Dark Energon crystals formed and were detonated moments later again and again.</p>
<p>Then a laser grazed too close to the dragon’s back plating and Starwish realized that its earlier roars had not been out of rage. No, those had just been declarations of presence, an announcement of arrival and primal intent. But now?</p>
<p><b>Now </b>it was <b>angry</b>.</p>
<p>The dragon strafed the millipede again, dodging the snapping pincers with barely a foot to spare as its talons grabbed hold the millipede’s body just below its helm. Its curved claws punctured the damaged armor with ease and a single, concentrated wave of fire down the millipedes back blew out the last of the laser emitters as the dragon forcibly dragged the millipede off of the wall.</p>
<p>The corrupted millipede squirmed in the dragon’s grasp as it was slammed into the floor. It shrieked as the dragon’s bladed tail-tip buried itself into the millipede’s lower coils, effectively pinning the majority of its body to the ground while the dragon’s talons held its upper body in place. The dragon reared back, the claws on the joints of its wings coming into play as makeshift servos as it wrenched the millipede’s helm up by its pincers and forced the corrupted creature’s jaws open farther and farther. The sickening crunch and crackle of metal heralded the shattering of the millipede’s jaw joints. The millipede shrieked, but couldn’t break free as the dragon reared its helm back and fire bloomed behind its chest plates.</p>
<p>The dragon’s helm shot down and its maw opened, unleashing one final blast straight down the throat of its opponent. It released the pincers a moment later, powerful wingbeats carrying it high into the air and safely away as the Dark Energon reserves inside the millipede came into direct contact with fire and went supernova. The light of the explosion was blinding and Starwish felt both her amplifiers and her audios turn off entirely in an effort to preserve her hearing as the shockwave steamrolled over them. Jazz grabbed her from behind and they both stumbled back several feet, struggling to remain upright under the force of the blast.</p>
<p>The silence that fell after the explosion faded away was almost more deafening than the blast had been. No one said anything, all were reluctant to open their optics and look but couldn’t resist doing so anyway.</p>
<p>The millipede was gone. The chamber showed clear signs of the battle that had taken place, but any traces of the creature itself were just … gone. Not even a burned-out husk remained.</p>
<p>The silence was broken by the dragon as it landed with a loud thud just inside the scorched, explosion-widened entrance of the chamber. Its helm reared back, optics focused on the small crowd of stunned cybertronians standing on the other side of the fractured entryway. Its huge chest plates rose and fell as its vents worked to expel the heat in its frame and take in air to cool it. Its thick plating rattled faintly with each vent, bristling and relaxing in motions that were as hypnotic as they were intimidating. For a long moment, nobody moved, nobody made a sound. Nobody dared.</p>
<p>Then a deep rumble echoed from the dragon’s vocalizer and its optics narrowed dangerously. Megatron, standing mere feet away from where Starwish was standing —and how had she not noticed that before?— raised his fusion cannon at the dragon. The dragon’s gaze honed in on the leader of the Decepticons in an instant and it <b>roared</b>.</p>
<p>Hearing the roar from a distance had been frightening, hearing it as it fought the millipede had been terrifying, but this … this was spark-stopping. The roar echoed and bounced through the entire area, shaking the ground and nearly knocking them over as it climbed from a low thunder to a howl that slammed straight into their sparks with its message. No words could properly convey the visceral, instinctive reaction the roar caused. The knowledge of ancient times of monsters and wilderness, barbarism and grimly-clung-to survival. Knowledge that had been forgotten by even the oldest cybertronian memories, but lived on in the instincts that now kept them alive in war.</p>
<p>The knowledge to run, to hide, to <b>fear</b> because the <b>king</b> of monsters, the apex of all predators from the dawning age of Cybertron had found them and it <b>lusted</b> for their energon.</p>
<p>The decepticons bolted, Megatron at the forefront of the retreat.</p>
<p>The autobots tried to follow, Optimus and Ironhide a shaky rearguard for the smallest of their number when the dragon moved. It jumped over their helms with a single half-flap of its wings that sent them all sprawling. The ground shook as it landed in front of them, between them and any escape routes, and shifted to face them with a low growl. They all scrambled to their pedes, Ironhide cursing low and fervent. Optimus unsubspaced his path blaster, but he didn’t raise it yet, “Autobots-!”</p>
<p>“Wait! Hold fire! Hold fire!” The voice startled them into obeying, Starwish’s processor skipping from frantic battle-mode to confusion to disbelief as she realized that she recognized that voice. <em>It can’t be…</em> The dragon curved its long neck to look at something over- no, not over- <b>on</b> its shoulders and a moment later, a slender blue frame and familiar blue optics emerged into view from <b>on the dragon’s back</b>.</p>
<p>The figure waved frantically down at them, “Hold your fire! We’re friendlies!”</p>
<p>Starwish’s mouth flopped open and shut repeatedly, but Jazz was the one who actually managed a faint, disbelieving, “Arcee?”</p>
<p>Arcee nodded, looking a touch shaky and wind-blown as she climbed carefully over the dragon’s shoulder —which it helpfully dipped down for her— and slid to the ground, “It’s us. Both of us.”</p>
<p>Starwish’s optics flicked up expectantly up to the dragon’s back, hope and giddy disbelief blooming. Several kliks passed with no sign of a second rider for the dragon and Ironhide growled, “Well? Where’s Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Arcee gave a laugh that sounded just a touch hysterical and the dragon nudged her side with its large snout. She rubbed a servo along its jaw, “N-no, you don’t understand. He- He’s right here.” Her other servo came up to pat the dragon’s nose as she announced with emphasis, “<b>This</b> is Hardwire.” The dragon gave a low purr and then, to complete the sheer unreality of the situation, it curled its lips back a terrifying but unmistakable sheepish smile.</p>
<p>“<b>What the scrud.</b>”</p>
<p>Check that. Now the unreality of the situation was complete.</p>
<p>Not that Starwish could blame Optimus whatsoever for saying what everyone was thinking.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0080"><h2>80. Twilight of Cybertron Part 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Flashback to the Fall)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arcee was falling. The world was a blur of motion and air parting for her frame, the crumble of metal debris above and around her, the shrieks of the corrupted creatures as they fell too. She didn’t know how long she had been falling, she was too scared to check her chronometer, too panicked to think beyond the rush of gravity and the realization that this was it, this was how she offlined. It could have been kliks, could have been breems or joors or even cycles as she tried and failed to find a servohold, a way to stop.</p>
<p>Then she heard it, a shout from just above her, piercing through the haze of her panic and the shrieks of the creatures falling alongside her. A shout she had heard before, a shout she knew somewhere deep in her subconscious.</p>
<p>“<b>Arcee</b>!” The call snapped her back into focus, catching her attention as easily as her own name because it <b>was</b>. It was <b>her name</b> but not <b>her language</b> and there was only one bot she knew who could both speak a different language and was crazy enough to jump after her. Her optics snapped up and she caught a glimpse of her partner’s ruby optics above her, falling amid the debris before there was a blur of motion and metal and Hardwire wasn’t there anymore, a monster was. Huge talons reached for her while massive appendages —wings?— swatted and flailed at the debris and Arcee screamed. The claws wrapped around her, tight and caging and inescapable as the rest of the monster’s frame curled tight around her.</p>
<p>The world became even more disjointed, reduced in her memory to flashes of screaming, thrashing, the pained roar of the creature and the denta-rattling jolt as the creature holding her ricocheted off or crashed through obstacles in an uncontrolled fall. The final impacted knocked Arcee out, though for how long she could never be sure of afterwards. When her processor rebooted and she came back online, everything was silent and dark and still. Arcee struggled to get her bearings. She was disorientated and unbalanced, only halfway sitting because she happened to have landed with her backplates already pressed against an outcropping of wall. Something skittered off to her right and Arcee tried to focus her optics in the direction of the sound.</p>
<p>Despite her disorientation, she registered the myriad of purple optics focused on her and the rasp of claws coming closer and scrambled to unsubspace her blasters.</p>
<p>Purple lurched out of the darkness and there was just enough light to see purple-stained fangs reaching for her neck cables. She hadn’t even managed to raise her blaster in self-defense when there was a surge of motion from behind her and the threat was flattened under huge claws with a sickening crunch. A deep, cavernous roar seemed to come from everywhere around her and her optics flinched away from the sudden blaze of fire that seared through the dark and destroyed the other sets of purple optics in an instant.</p>
<p>Arcee scrambled to her pedes despite her equilibrium still being not fully booted up, her vents harsh to her own audios as she turned around. A wave of fear rippled through her spark as she realized that the outcropping of wall she had been leaning against when she had first rebooted hadn’t been a wall at all, it had been a<b> leg</b>. The leg moved, shifted into position beneath its owner and pushed, the deep shadows failing to hide the enormity of the creature as it rolled to its pedes and braced its weight on either side of her with its massive wings.</p>
<p>A long tail shifted in the dark behind her. Its helm shifted and tilted over her, <b>past her</b>, with its sword-like denta bared and Arcee realized that either by intent or accident she was now completely surrounded by the creature’s frame. Arcee raised her blasters, her vents wheezing with fear and microscopic debris as she tried to figure a way out of this, tried to think of a plan, and <b>where was her partner he had been falling too-</b></p>
<p>The creature’s helm jerked back in the darkness and a low sound echoed from its vocalizer. Arcee flinched at the sound and adjusted her aim. Her blasters probably wouldn’t do any good against this thing but if she had to shoot then at least shooting at its optics would give her a <b>chance</b>. The helm dipped lower, so low its chin was scraping the ground and the deep rumble it had given shifted into what could only be a confused whine. Arcee faltered, taken off guard by the sudden lack feral aggression that had been there a moment ago.</p>
<p>The massive creature gave another low whine and tilted its helm so that one yellow optic could bore into hers. It looked … hurt. Confused. Arcee wondered for a moment if she was projecting her own emotions onto the creature —because why would it be hurt by her actions and what confusion could it have other than which way it wanted to destroy her— but then its jaw shivered in a shockingly soft noise, optic shuttering briefly before it reopened. The optic refocused on her and Arcee found she couldn’t help but feel sure that the look of deep confusion mixed with traces of fear was not her projecting … but the creature’s own emotions.</p>
<p>Arcee stared for a long time, the creature made no move to destroy her as it had the corrupted beasts that had fallen with her. It just watched and waited and remained still. She slowly lowered her blasters. A part of her processor was screaming that she had gone meltdown, but another part of her demanded she look for where Hardwire had fallen and the rest was distracted by the overwhelming sensation that she had seen this creature somewhere before. The yellow optic brightened and its jaw clicked as it gave out a low bark of sound. Arcee flinched at the movement and the huge helm went still again.</p>
<p>Arcee stepped back from the helm, then dared to turn on her headlights to help her see her surroundings. There was no sign of Hardwire, but in the glow of her headlights, she could see the form of the creature that had her boxed in with its frame much more clearly. Her spark lurched as she rapidly took in the two massive wings, the long tail that ended in a sharp blade, the large silver claws, sloping neck, and deep emerald plating. <em>There’s no way. There’s just no way.</em></p>
<p>It was the creature —no, <b>dragon</b>, Hardwire had called it a dragon— from the courting armor Hardwire had given her. The armor she still had tucked safely away in her subspace in case of emergencies. <em>It can’t be. Hardwire said that those are just stories. Even if one </em><b><em>did</em></b><em> exist, what would the chances be that it would look just … like …</em></p>
<p>Her gaze flitted back to the still helm of the dragon, staring deep into a yellow optic that shone with confusion and fear, but also a quiet patience for her to finish her inspection. An idea entered her processor. An impossible, glitched idea that had absolutely no chance of being true. None at all. Because there was no way.</p>
<p>Except.</p>
<p>Arcee inched closer to the helm, one blaster subspacing even as her more logical side protested every move she was making. Her idea was impossible, and it was nothing short of suicidal to try to enter the personal space of a wild creature without permission, especially one as large and dangerous as a <b>dragon</b>. Yet the fact that there was a dragon here at all, let alone one who looked exactly the same as the dragon on her armor, the dragon Hardwire had said was meant to protect her…</p>
<p>Her servo raised and slowly, shakily, came to rest on the dragon’s cheek plating, just below its optic. A deep croon vibrated through its whole frame, the optic sliding shut as it pressed its helm ever so subtly against her palm. Trusting, calm, gentle. It had made no move to startle her, had waited for her to make the first move, for her to touch first. Patient. It had destroyed the corrupted creatures that had tried to attack her. Protective.</p>
<p>She knew those traits. And if she focused and imagined the low crooning sound to be smaller, to be not so overwhelming and the source to be an engine that belonged to someone a lot less wild-looking then what she got was-</p>
<p>“Hardwire?”</p>
<p>The optic snapped open, the white pupil focusing on her through the yellow lens as the croon turned into the low shivering noise from before. This time, Arcee heard the intent behind the sound, the meaning that had been robbed of conventional words, <em>“It’s me.”</em></p>
<p>Arcee felt air rush out of her vents as her processor nearly crashed, managed to reset, then struggled to come up with a proper response to the newest unbelievable thing that had happened because of her association with Hardwire. Arcee felt a choked, almost hysterical laugh escape her vocalizer before she managed to say, “Partner, I know you have impossible luck, but really? A <em>dragon</em> alt mode? Ratchet is going run out of wrenches when he finds out about this. How did you even <b>get</b> an alt mode like this?” She thought back to the courting gift he had given her, “Did you know about this?”</p>
<p>The dragon that was her partner shook his huge helm and gave sheepish warble while his armor fluttered in a way she could only assume was supposed to be a shrug. Arcee shook her own helm, “Of course not. Transform and we’ll figure out where to go from here.” Hardwire shuffled a bit and rumbled for a few kliks, trying to tell her something before he gave up and tried to transform. Arcee heard the familiar chime of gears only for the sound to be cut off midway by an unhealthy grinding sound and Hardwire gave a low snarl of pain. He tried again with identical results and Arcee winced at the sound of abused gears. Hardwire gave a frustrated growl that sounded a thousand times more intimidating than usual and Arcee quickly inspected his looming frame for damages. She spotted the deep dents on his legs that stretched up out of sight onto his back and cursed, “You’re transformation seams must have gotten fragged in the fall.” She glanced at him, “That’s why you didn’t transform when I pointed a blaster at you.” It wasn’t particularly a question, but Hardwire nodded anyway.</p>
<p>Arcee gave another sigh, pushed down the hysteria that wanted to rise —because her partner was stuck in the form of a <b>dragon</b> what-the-slag—, and refocused on the matters at servo. She tried her com, hoping to contact the team, or at least Starwish, only to be greeted with static. Arcee cursed softly again, they were either too far underground for the signal to carry long distances, or Arcee’s com had been damaged. Considering Hardwire couldn’t even <b>talk</b> in his current form, asking if his com was functional was pointless. She considered her limited options for a breem before she turned reluctantly to Hardwire, “Think you can fly in that form?” Hardwire glanced expressively at his wings, then at her in a vaguely sarcastic manner. Arcee rolled her optics at him, “Having wings doesn’t mean you know how to use them, Wire.” Hardwire snorted and reared up on his legs so that his wings could unfurl and flap once or twice, sending torrents of wind whipping across the ground. Arcee huddled closer to Hardwire’s leg and tried very hard to suppress the flash of unease that went through her spark when Hardwire raised his helm and unleashed a short spurt of fire from his now-massive jaws.</p>
<p>He settled back onto his wings with a loud thud and gave her an expectant look. Arcee forced her spark to settle, “I’ll take that as a yes.” She glanced up, “We should rendezvous with the others, Starwish will be able to fix you up enough to let you transform.” Assuming they could find a platform large enough and sturdy enough for Hardwire to land on. And assuming Hardwire could safely maneuver his new alt mode back up the way they had fallen without crashing into everything. Which assumed that Hardwire would be able to get off the ground with those new wings of his in the <b>first place</b>.</p>
<p>Arcee did her level best to ignore the fact that all of those assumptions rested on the ability of a mech who had never flown anything before in his life —the Decepticon dropship he’d rammed into a building that one time <b>did not count</b>— and who had previously been terrified of heights until that fear had been forcibly trained out of him by the War. Arcee pushed down the more logical parts of her processor —which were all telling her that this was stupid and meltdown and to not do it— and carefully began to scale Hardwire’s leg. The appendage proved harder to climb than she anticipated, and Arcee slipped and fell twice before Hardwire shifted and lowered his frame enough that she could climb up his massive shoulder joint instead.</p>
<p>Arcee settled cautiously between Hardwire’s shoulders at the base of his long neck, her servos finding tentative holds on the large, flexible metal spikes that ran down the length of his spinal strut. She shifted awkwardly for a few breems while Hardwire watched on curiously. Arcee finally settled on a position that she was fairly certain would not cause her to fall off and offline within three kliks and braced herself, “Okay, Hardwire, let’s try this. <b>Slowly</b>.”</p>
<p>Hardwire chuffed —something she could feel vibrate up through her servos and armor—, then slowly reared up and spread his wings wide. His helm tilted up, eyeing the dark expanse above them for several kliks before he settled firmly on his haunches-</p>
<p>And shot into the air far too fast for Arcee’s tastes with a powerful leap and several hard flaps of his wings.</p>
<p>Arcee would forever deny screaming in terror and pressing her frame tight to Hardwire’s back those first few kliks as he made a straight upward shot into the air like some kind of primal green rocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was like coming home.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t have been like that, because Hardwire had never flown before in his life. Not like this, not under his own power with his own wings rather than in some kind of airliner or dropship. Frag, he’d been afraid of heights vorns ago before necessity had forced it out of him. But this was different. This was <b>freeing</b> in a way he’d never known he needed and it was already becoming hard to imagine how he’d ever coped without it. The fear that had been trying to seize his spark —because once again his body was different and foreign and had been <b>changed</b> without his knowledge or permission— fell away, leaving nothing behind but a deep, primal exhilaration for flying. It was like his dream of being on the mountaintop, only better and far more real.</p>
<p>Hardwire did a spiraling swerve around a broken outcrop of bridge that he had fallen through previously, a deep rumble of laughter bubbling up inside him as he heard Arcee give a high squeak of sound in response. She was far less composed than usual and while a part of him didn’t like seeing his mate distressed for any reason, the part of him that had dealt with vorns of her teasing him over his own moments of unwarranted panic was relishing in the turned tables.</p>
<p>His wings pounded again, carrying him higher and higher up the deep chasm, back to where they had fallen. The chasm was easily large enough for him to maneuver now that he wasn’t panicking and focused only on protecting Arcee —not that a part of him wasn’t focused on that right now—, though an instinct in his helm prodded and complained about being underground. Underground was for taking shelter in from the Torrents. Underground was for hiding the younglings when there was no nearby safe aerie or warren. His kind were not meant to be underground for long, they were meant for the sky and the high, secret places no one else could touch.</p>
<p>His wingbeats faltered for a klik as he realized what he had been thinking. <em>How do I know all that? What is </em><b><em>my kind</em></b><em>?</em></p>
<p>An answer came to him from the instincts he hadn’t known he’d had, but for the life of him could no longer remember being without. <em>We are Predacons. I am Predacon.</em> Hardwire felt his lip plates curl as he swerved carefully around another ruined metal bridge. If his instincts were to be believed, he’d just changed species again … or perhaps had been a predacon instead of a normal cybertronian all along. The realization should have disturbed him, terrified him. Becoming a cybertronian certainly had. Instead he felt … oddly blasé about the entire idea, as if the concept was right and fine and had always simply … been.</p>
<p>It took several long kliks of flying steadily upward and inwardly debating with himself to come to the conclusion that he was mentally compromised as well as physically changed. Whatever had happened to give him a dragon/predacon form —he highly suspected that stupid program stuck in his helm— it had also plugged him with the instincts and impulses of a predacon too. It would explain his ability to fly without ever being taught and why he now had —and was inexplicably accepting of— instincts he was <b>sure</b> hadn’t been there before.</p>
<p>Ratchet was going to have <b>kittens</b> over this when they got back. Hardwire was pretty certain that the stuff required to pull off his new form and integrated instincts was far more invasive than the procedure that had given him his dreaded Bāsākā mode and Ratchet already gave frequent death threats over the mysterious program and its odd activity in his subroutines of late.</p>
<p>A low rumble rolled from his vocalizer at the thought, but Arcee’s firm pat on his shoulder brought him back to his current situation. They had arrived at the section of chasm from which they had fallen. Hardwire slowed to an awkward hover, eyeing the nearby entryways and exits for any sign of the others. His nostrils instinctively flared in search of familiar scents before he could consciously think to test the senses of his new form.</p>
<p>The others had already moved on quite some time ago if Hardwire’s nose was correct. The scents still lingered, but were steadily fading into a background of energon and metal and wild things. Arcee made a frustrated noise from between his shoulders, “Still no com signal. Well, what now Partner?” Hardwire’s helm tilted to the side as he considered their options. There was really only one, now that he thought about it. Hardwire being stuck in a new form or not, they still had a mission to complete. Make for the Core. It was where the others were no doubt heading themselves, their healer included. His nostrils flared again and his helm swiveled, searching for a large enough exit to escape the chasm.</p>
<p>The darkness that had seemed so oppressive and thick in his mech form gave way easily for his predacon optic lenses as he sought for a path to the Core. “Hardwire? Are you listening to me? I’m thinking we should head to the Core. Rendezvous with the others.” Hardwire gave an absent nod to Arcee’s words. He felt his partner shift slightly on his back, “Of course, the brilliant question of the joor is <b>how</b>. Optimus was the only one who knew the way … we could be lost down here for vorns if we aren’t careful.”</p>
<p>He gave a low hum of agreement as he scanned their surroundings. Aside from having to find a tunnel large enough for his new form, there had to be some kind of clue on which way to go to reach the Core in time. Some kind of sight or scent or sound or- Something stirred in the back of Hardwire’s processor, a sixth sense tugging on his mind until he could no longer ignore it. It was like his newfound instincts, but slightly different. A … sense. A knowing that he couldn’t quite reach.</p>
<p>He focused on it, cautiously trying to coax it forward and hoping it he wasn’t going to regret listening to the newfound urge. He already had brand new instincts to deal with, he didn’t need something else crazy. The niggling grew and became clearer, then faded. Then it came back even stronger than before. A chuff of confused frustration escaped him. Because he didn’t have time to deal with more mysteries, he had to rendezvous with the rest of the Pride at the Core because there Megatron was trying to destroy all of Cybertron and-</p>
<p>Sense exploded into the forefront of his mind in the form of a call. It was deep and wordless and spoke to him on a level far below his conscious mind and instead seemed to communicate directly with his new instincts. A command to <em>fly-hunt-fight-</em><b><em>defend-come-</em></b> that would not, could not, be denied. It rattled in his processor and seized at his spark with knowing and intent. It shoved its way into all the corners of his awareness and before he was truly aware of what was happening, Hardwire felt the more mech —the more <b>human</b>— parts of him suddenly give way and take backseat to the predacon parts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arcee felt Hardwire go rigid beneath her and saw his helm snap up as if listening to something, “Hardwire-?” Her question never got a chance to escape her vocalizer as with a deep, feral growl, her partner suddenly tucked in his wings and dived. Arcee barely managed to keep her position on his back, servos clutching at the spikes running down Hardwire’s neck and back as he hurtled into the darkness as a distressingly diagonal slant for his insane speed, “<b>Hardwire</b>!” He didn’t seem to hear her, just continued to dive with his wings folded tight around his frame.</p>
<p>She saw the entrance of a huge tunnel without a bridge of metal connected to it just in time and flattened herself against her —seemingly meltdown— partner’s back. Hardwire shot down through the tunnel which had just enough of a downward slope that they didn’t crash straight into the floor. Instead, they fell down through it at speeds approaching that of jets or even seekers. The wind shrieked around them, pushed aside into even narrow pockets of space as Hardwire’s diving frame took up more of the tunnel than Arcee was at all comfortable with.</p>
<p>Arcee held on tight, not sure what was going on in her partner’s helm, but hoping fervently that it didn’t either get them offlined or lost. The slope began to level out and Arcee barely kept herself from screaming as Hardwire pulled up and partially unfolded his wings, skidding to a stop inside a cave only just big enough to contain the both of them. He twisted in mid-slide so that his side crashed against far wall instead of his helm and took off again, his claws and folded wings screeching and clanging off of the sides and floors of the next tunnel he barreled down.</p>
<p>Arcee kept herself as flat against his frame as possible, just in case, even as she shouted, “Hardwire, have you gone meltdown? Where are you going?” There was a flash of yellow as his helm turned just enough to focus on her out of the corner of one optic and Arcee felt something shiver up her back struts.</p>
<p>There was no sign of Hardwire in that gaze. This was the gaze of the feral creature she had at first mistaken him to be. This was a predator on the hunt and for a moment, Arcee was terrified that he was going to turn his helm all the way around, rip her off of his shoulders, and tear her frame apart with his sword-like fangs. Then the feral edge softened a fraction into something more recognizable and the low shivering croon he had used to sooth her terror the first time echoed around them. A tiny bit of relief warred with the majority of her concern as Hardwire resumed focusing on the path only he seemed capable of seeing. Her partner was still in there, but it was clear that there was something <b>else</b> in there too. Something dangerous and wild and energon-thirsty. Like a wild animal or a-</p>
<p>Or a Bāsākā mech.</p>
<p>More specifically, <b>her</b> Bāsākā mech. The only Bāsākā mech ever recorded who didn’t mindlessly kill everything in his path, who actually acknowledged the different sides of a greater conflict and worked to defend his side even in the throws of his fury.</p>
<p>She knew there was more to Hardwire’s Bāsākā condition then she had been cleared to know. She knew that Ratchet had claimed to have instituted a control program over it that kept him from harming femmes, younglings, or the Autobot mechs while on the field. But Hardwire had confided bits and pieces to her over the vorns and Arcee could read between the lines. Enough to know that Hardwire hadn’t always been a Bāsākā mech. Enough to know that while Ratchet <b>had</b> done something to try to help Hardwire’s Bāsākā rage, there had already been something <b>else</b> —some kind of program— in place at the same time as the artificially installed Bāsākā coding. Something put in place by someone on the same level of depravity as Shockwave but not the same skill level, which was what had been causing Ratchet so much stress lately as the program had been changing somehow without his consent.</p>
<p>She had pointedly done her best not to really think about it. She hadn’t been cleared to know and Arcee had learned long ago that dwelling on intel classified by the Prime himself was both pointless and dangerous. She had trusted Ratchet when he said Hardwire was cleared for duty and she trusted Hardwire to watch her back, mystery program and prior history with meltdown scientists or no. But now, riding on the back of an alternate mode Hardwire hadn’t known he’d had, with that <b>look</b> in his optics and memories of all the oddities that had been happening to him lately —the random bouts of something not-quite-Bāsākā but not-quite-sane, the unexplained agitation, the <em>dreams</em>— a new theory came to her.</p>
<p>While there was a chance that Hardwire had simply gone Bāsākā while in his new mode, what if it was something more than that? What if the mystery program attached to Hardwire’s Bāsākā code wasn’t just a control program, but some kind of installation program? One with a hidden, dormant trigger that would only activate under very, very specific conditions? Specific conditions such as the first-time activation of a hidden alternate mode based on a terrifying creature of myth?</p>
<p>If she was right, and the activation of the alternate mode was a trigger to something involving the Bāsākā code…</p>
<p>Hardwire had already told her that the program was put in place by someone with a pretty fragged-up mind and moral compass. It wasn’t too much of a leap to think that whoever would go to all the trouble of creating an artificial Bāsākā mech and then giving that mech a terrifying beast mode wouldn’t have a trigger in place to permanently <b>combine</b> those two deadly factors.</p>
<p>Hardwire galloped down another tunnel, taking a turn so tightly Arcee wouldn’t be surprised if he’d scraped off paint. The armor beneath her vibrated with a low snarl and Arcee caught a glimpse of a pack of creatures native to the underworld frantically skittering out of Hardwire’ way as he thundered past, ignoring them with the same aggressive contempt of an alpha predator among lowly turbo-rats.</p>
<p>She really hoped she was wrong on her new theory, but considering Hardwire’s luck, she wasn’t betting on it.</p>
<p>She could only hope that Hardwire would still recognize the other Autobots as friendlies the same way he had recognized her and that either Ratchet or Starwish could fix whatever had been done.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire paused in his race to aid <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark for the first time in a long time. His nostrils flared as he took in the new scent, trying to pinpoint what it was and where. A moment later, he roared hatefully he registered the unmistakable stench of <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s blood and his audios picked up the distinctive sound of <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s Fiends rampaging through <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s territory. He detoured, fury building and stoking his fire as he went on the hunt, his spark screaming to <em>destroy-destroy-burn-them-all-don’t-let-them-spread-</em>.</p>
<p>He dropped downward through a nearly vertical tunnel, fire building in his chest as the sounds of the Fiends grew closer-closer-closer and Hardwire roared again because how dare they invade his territory, his home? How dare they spread their poison and filth and lies? How dare they-<b>how-dare-they-make-them-BURN-</b> He dropped out of the tunnel and into the cavern with a crash, taking the Fiends by surprise, and fire roared out of his jaws as he bellowed his fury at their trespass, at their very existence.</p>
<p>His fire petered out, but he could see that some of the armor had survived and with another bellow, Hardwire unleashed a second wave of fire on the cavern itself, determined to not just end the Fiends, but to <b>erase</b> them. <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s cry echoed through the back of Hardwire’s processor as his fire trailed off a second time and he wasted no more time on the destroyed Fiends. <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus was in danger, Hardwire was <b>needed</b>, and while destroying the Fiends had been important, there was no time to linger over his victory.</p>
<p>He raced down the different tunnels as quickly as he could despite his inability to fly in such narrow spaces, but his detour to destroy the Fiends had cost him precious time and the most straightforward route to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark. Now he had to search out different routes, ones that would take longer to reach <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus, especially since he always had to consider the size of the passageways, and remember to only enter ones that would fit both himself and <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee clinging to his back.</p>
<p>Something shrieked off in the distance, at first far away and brief, then quickly growing in volume and frequency the closer Hardwire got to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark. Hardwire felt a deep shiver of noise echo from his chest in response to the off-putting, endless howls of, <em>“Wrong-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-kill-fight-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-kill-me-</em><b><em>kill-me</em></b><em>!” </em>He pushed himself to move faster, straining his limbs to fit and move through tunnels far too small for his comfort. Although he had never heard it before, he somehow already knew the voice and cry of one of <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s Turned. Turned were different from Fiends. Fiends were willing, Fiends were part of <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s Pack by choice and reveled in the madness that came with his cursed blood. Turned were not willing. Turned were forced into <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s service, shackled by his whims and driven to frenzy by his torment.</p>
<p>Turned were so much more dangerous than Fiends. Turned would kill and kill and kill without pause even as they screamed for something to kill <b>them</b> in return. Fiends could be commanded, outwitted, even frightened. Turned … couldn’t.</p>
<p>Turned didn’t <b>care</b>. About anything. Not life or commands or their former Pride or Pack. Turned just kept going and going until they were destroyed.</p>
<p>He couldn’t let a Turned near <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus or his own Pride, he <b>couldn’t</b>.</p>
<p>The last tunnel opened out into the wide cavern that led to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark chamber and Hardwire’s wings snapped open, fire already searing from his jaws as he hurtled straight for the ruined entrance that was coated —desecrated— with <em>Mad-Demon-Alpha-</em>Unicron’s blood. His fire met the blood-stones, setting the entire entrance ablaze for a heady few kliks as he barreled straight through it, fast enough that the heat would not damage the much smaller and less fire-resistant <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee on his back.</p>
<p>He attacked without bothering to examine his new surroundings, without even waiting to see past the fire and smoke clinging to his helm as he rushed through the entrance. He bellowed as he outstretched his claws, already knowing exactly where the Turned would be from the reports of his other senses, <em>“Submit-to-me-fight-you-my-territory-mine!”</em> He slammed full force into the howling Turned even before he had finished his challenge, throwing it across the chamber and trying to pin it beneath him to end its threat and its misery, <em>“Kill-you-threat-stay-down-die!”</em>.</p>
<p>The Turned writhed underneath him, refusing to be pinned and heedless of the fire he spread across its frame as it shrieked the same mindless cry over and over, <em>“Wrong-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-fight-kill-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-kill-me-</em><b><em>kill-me</em></b><em>!”</em> It bucked underneath him, its longer frame forcing him off of it and Hardwire took to the air so as to not be pinned himself. The Turned lurched upward after him, huge pincers snapping for his throat. Hardwire swatted the attack aside with his tail and fire bloomed in his chest plates as he aimed at the momentarily stunned creature.</p>
<p>His fire washed over the Turned’s frame, trying to burn out the impurity and corruption that had driven it mad. The Turned twisted in on itself, its scream losing all meaning except for <em>pain-pain-</em><b><em>pain- </em></b>As Hardwire tried to finish it off in one fell blow. The shift in the shriek’s tone to <em>“Kill-you-kill-you-kill-kill-kill!”</em> Was his only warning for when its tail whipped up and slammed into his helm, diverting his fire and nearly knocking him from the air.</p>
<p>Hardwire snarled and climbed further into the air, out of reach of the multi-limbed Turned and its dangerous flailing. He hovered there for several long kliks, watching as the Turn shuddered and crawled along the ground, wondering if he had done enough damage to finish it yet. But no. It was still alive and Turned did not stop so long as they were alive and in large enough pieces to move. Hardwire bared his fangs down at the Turned, catching its wandering attention away from the others in the chamber —he could not let the Turned focus on his Pride, they would never survive it’s wrath— with a commanding snarl of, <em>“Up-here-my-fight-my-foe-come-try-kill.”</em></p>
<p>The Turned shook itself free of the last flecks of melted armor and launched itself up the wall after Hardwire, <em>“Wrong-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-fight-kill-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-kill-me-</em><b><em>KILL-YOU</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p>The fight that began lasted for far longer than Hardwire wanted it to. A back and forth of fire and taint and explosions as the two collided. He was reluctant to close the distance between them again, to get too close to beams of tainted light or the flailing limbs. Instinct burned through him, warning him of what would happen should any of the taint somehow enter his own body. Teeth could not be used in this fight, physical injury could not be risked, not when it would mean becoming a Turned himself and betraying his Pride against his will.</p>
<p>Slowly, the Hardwire-that-was-Predacon and the Hardwire-that-was-Mech began to reintegrate as instincts failed to finish the battle. Strategy slowly came back into play as Hardwire became increasingly more aware of himself and his circumstances, of the beams- lasers that came far too close to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em> the Core. Strafing from a distance was taking too long, was too inaccurate. For all the armor melting off of the Turned’s frame, none of the damage was lasting enough to bring it down or offline it. But getting too close was too much of a risk-</p>
<p>Then a laser grazed just over his back, he heard <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee give a yip of fear, and suddenly caution was thrown to the side under the combined force of the Predacon’s protective rage and Hardwire’s reckless drive to do anything to keep his loved ones safe.</p>
<p><em>“No-touch-kill-don’t-threaten-mine-mine-</em><b><em>don’t-touch-what’s-mine</em></b><em>!”</em> Hardwire flared his wings, banking into a tight descent toward the Turned with his claws outstretched and rage tinting his sight red-red-red. His claws clamped down on its neck, just below the helm as a close-range fire blast finally dealt with its laser-emitters. With a vicious yank, Hardwire had wrenched it off the wall and pinned it to the floor, the long blade on the tip of his tail burying into the thrashing coils to prevent it from throwing him off like last time.</p>
<p>Predacon instinct combined with old human memory and Hardwire’s wing-claws latched onto the huge pincers and <b>pulled</b>. The screams of the Turned beneath him devolved to meaningless screaming again as Hardwire sent a near white-hot blast of fire straight down its throat. He released the Turned and threw himself into the air just in time to avoid the majority of the blast radius, managing to remain airborne despite bucking air currents only because of the ancient instincts still predominant in his thought processes.</p>
<p>He slammed down to the ground just inside the entrance to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark chamber, his armor rattling and vents heaving from the strain and heat of the fight. For a moment, all of his thought processes and instincts went still, emotions spent as he struggled to shift gears after the abrupt end of his battle. Then he recognized the still figures just on the other side of the entrance and his anger came trickling back. His gaze swept over the two groups, settling on the Pride of <em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron.</p>
<p>Instinct demanded immediate attack —the enemy Alpha was <b>right there</b>, weak and unprepared—, but Hardwire refrained. His Pride stood too close, they might get caught in any attack he made, even the physical ones because of his large frame. Instead, he narrowed his optics and rumbled, <em>“Leave-now-this-territory-mine-not-welcome.”</em></p>
<p><em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron’s fusion cannon came up, pointing at Hardwire in clear defiance of his warning —one that the traitor-kin of <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus did not deserve— and Hardwire bristled in renewed fury, <em>“</em><b><em>Traitor-kin-not-welcome-stay-die-devour-you-burn-kill-LEAVE</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p><em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron turned and fled, taking his Pride with him, his cunning overriding the ferocity of his scent-name in the face of Hardwire’s greater wrath.</p>
<p>His Pride turned and began to run as well —to chase <em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron? No, wait, there was terror in their scent— and Hardwire jumped carefully over them to make them stop. Shifting to face them he rumbled, <em>“Wait-Pride-go-where?”</em></p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide cursed fervently, weapons coming to bear —On him? Why on him? They were part of the same Pride— and <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus called out the name of their Pride, “Autobots-!”</p>
<p><em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee stirred on his back then, conveying what Hardwire could not, “Wait! Hold fire! Hold fire!” The others of the Autobot-Pride stilled in surprise as <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee clambered higher onto his back and into their view, “Hold your fire! We’re friendlies!”</p>
<p>A distant part of Hardwire was amused at the expressions on the faces of his Pride, especially <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish, who so rarely gaped unashamedly these cycles. <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz looked just as stunned as his mate, the usually chatty Beta only managing a weak, “Arcee?”</p>
<p><em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee began to climb down Hardwire’s frame to the floor and he obligingly lowered his shoulder closer to the ground so that she would not fall. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee patted his side absently as she moved closer to the Autobot-Pride, “It’s us. Both of us.”</p>
<p>There was a long pause as his Pride stared expectantly over Hardwire’s shoulder for some reason —oh, wait, they didn’t know about his new form, they probably thought he was riding on a dragon like <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee— when <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide growled, “Well? Where’s Hardwire?”</p>
<p><em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee gave a shaky laugh and Hardwire nudged her side in worry at the mild hysteria he could pick up in her scent —he wasn’t that scary was he?—. She rubbed a servo along his jaw in response and he had to work not to purr at the sensation and lose focus on the conversation, “N-no, you don’t understand. He- He’s right here.” Her other servo came up and firmly patted his nose, “<b>This </b>is Hardwire.”</p>
<p>Hardwire finally lost control of his vocalizer —no wonder Earth cat’s loved chin rubs, AllSpark it felt amazing—, <em>“Good-good-yes-more-yes-good…”</em> but he did manage to keep enough focus on his Pride and the conversation to smile sheepishly, his purr changing mid-note, <em>“Pride-hi-sorry-oops-surprise?”</em></p>
<p>“<b>What the scrud</b>.”</p>
<p>Well. Hardwire supposed he deserved that reaction. He <b>had</b> made quite an entrance after all. He hadn’t thought <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus would be the one to say it though, and the sheer surprise of <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus being the one to blurt it out had Hardwire give out a short burst of grinding, whooshing laughter.</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide did his best to hide his flinch and snapped, “Yeah, yeah, very funny Hardwire. Now cut the scrap and transform!”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s laughter stopped abruptly as he remembered the dents along his legs and back and whined, <em>“Can’t-stuck-hurt-stuck-frustrated-help-can’t-talk-stuck-</em><b><em>frustrated</em></b><em>.</em>” His attempts to talk drifted away into a meaningless low hiss as the more mech-human part of Hardwire felt rising frustration at being unable to speak normally. He remembered Predaking had only ever spoken English —or Cybertronian as might be the real case— when in his mech form, but somehow it still felt unfair that Hardwire was restricted to a strangely emotional, concept-based language of animalistic sounds while in his own predacon form.</p>
<p>Thankfully for his patience —and <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide’s spark-rate— <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee was there to explain for him, “He can’t. He transformed during the fall to save me and fragged up most of the transformation seams on his outer legs, lower backplates, and … tail. I think he bounced off a lot of those thin metal bridges as we were falling and the landing was basically just a crash.”</p>
<p><em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish immediately stepped forward, her shock being pushed aside in favor of slipping into her role as healer, “Right, of course. That makes sense. Hardwire, move your wing a bit so I can get a better scan angle of your … new mode. I need to catalog all of the damages.” Hardwire began to shift obligingly when something tugged on his senses, dragging all of his thoughts and focus away from his Pride and back to the chamber that contained <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus.</p>
<p>The tug came again and this time Hardwire realized that there were <b>words</b> somehow being conveyed in the soundless pulse, <b><em>“Come to me.”</em></b> Hardwire went rigid and unmoving for a klik, the mech-human part of himself frightened and alarmed at the sudden presence of a <b>voice in his helm</b> giving him orders.</p>
<p>The presence tugged again, not unkind, but firm and resolute all the same, <b><em>“Come.”</em></b></p>
<p>Hardwire took half a step in the direction of the chamber, then hesitated again. Out of the corner of his optic, Hardwire could see that <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus and <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish had gone still as well. <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus suddenly turned and strode for the chamber with fearless but reverent steps, his voice oddly quiet as he spoke, “That will have to wait, Starwish. We have another matter to which to attend.”</p>
<p>“Optimus?” The question came from <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz, wary and confused.</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus half-turned toward his Beta as he answered the unspoken question, “Primus desires an audience.” <em>Oh. </em><b><em>Oh</em></b><em>. That’s who I’m hearing. That’s the voice that led me to the Core. It was Primus calling for help defending himself.</em> That was … mind-blowing really, even though the Predacon part of him seemed utterly unsurprised.</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide shifted uneasily, “Where- Where should we stand guard while we wait for you, Optimus?”</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus shook his helm, “You misunderstand, Ironhide…”</p>
<p>The voice came again, deep and ancient and so much larger than Hardwire could ever be despite it only being in his helm, <b><em>“Come.”</em></b> The voice seemed to reverberate around Hardwire and from the way the rest of his Pride jolted, he realized that <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had not just spoken to Hardwire this time.</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus tilted his helm regally in the direction of the chamber, “He wishes to speak to all of us.”</p>
<p>His Pride stared at each other with stunned expressions, and Hardwire smelled fear intertwine through the scents of <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide, <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz, and <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee. <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish was more overawed than frightened, something akin to wonder and recognition in her optics as she followed Optimus into <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s chamber. The other three remained frozen for a few more kliks before Hardwire gently nudged their backs with his helm and neck as he rumbled, <em>“Go-speak-no-danger-I’m-here-keep-safe-promise-promise.”</em> Even if they did not understand him, his actions galvanized them into action and Hardwire followed behind as the others reentered the home of <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark.</p>
<p>It was time to meet the creator of Cybertron.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0081"><h2>81. Twilight of Cybertron Part 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Chamber was different from how they’d left it just breems ago. Starwish gasped as trails of blue light as wide as rivers curled through the air, physical manifestations of the spark-song she could hear filling the Chamber to the overflowing even though she was not actively listening for it. The trails brushed against the damaged plating of the massive chamber and Starwish watched in awe as the gouges and burns faded away under the touch of the blue. Orbs of light slowly began to drift and sway around them, flitting around the trails of blue with an ease that seemed alive. <em>Because it is. This is life. Primus’s life. Overflow from his spark energy … I’ve never … I can’t…</em></p>
<p>There were no words grand enough, colorful enough. It was like nothing Starwish had ever seen before and gave off a gentle, all-encompassing heat she had never felt the like of in all her vorns. A trail of blue curled closer around her and she sensed amusement from a source that was neither herself nor her bonds, <b><em>“So young, yet you speak as if you have lived long enough to see all the wonders of this universe.”</em></b></p>
<p>“Primus…” The name slipped her vocalizer in a gasp and she looked around to see if anyone else had heard his words. Optimus was staring fixedly at Primus’s actual spark chamber suspended high above them, his expressions shifting faintly and rapidly as if he was thinking a thousand thoughts at once. Ironhide was shaking minutely as he watched a river of energy loop lazily around his frame, optics as wide as they could go. Jazz shifted closer to her, something nameless whispering of their spark-bond as he tracked several of the flitting orbs. He seemed utterly absorbed in them, it was as if he hadn’t heard what Primus had just said to her.</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>“That is because he didn’t, Small One.”</em>
  </b>
  
</p>
<p>Starwish jolted and looked back at the softly pulsing river of light looping around her, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>The river expanded slightly, then shrank in time with Primus’s next words, <b><em>“He cannot hear what I say to you because they are words meant for you alone. Just as your replies are meant only for me. None here can hear what you say to me, just as you cannot hear what I have to say to them.”</em></b></p>
<p>“You … you’re holding multiple conversations at once?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>“I am.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>A memory file rose to the fore and Starwish murmured, “Like Galadriel, then. You … can you read minds too?”</p>
<p>The air around her took on a tinge of curiosity, <b><em>“To a certain extent, yes. But I know not of this </em></b>Galadriel <b><em>of which you speak. Is that your Origin, Small One?”</em></b></p>
<p>“My Origin?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>“Origin. The place of your beginnings. The forge in which your first frame was fashioned and in which you received a spark. Because you are not one of mine. For all that you bear their form and hold Harmony in your spark with the one beside you, you were not always so. I have witnessed the sparks of all that have emerged from the AllSpark since its first coming to Cybertron. I know their names and recognize their Songs and yet yours is … unfamiliar. I do not know you, nor do I know your purpose among my children. So I ask, Small One, who are you and where is your Origin?”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>Starwish felt a thrill of fear ripple through her. Less than a breem of speaking to Primus and he had already realized that she was not originally cybertronian, “I don’t know who made my first cybertronian frame, nor do I know who gave me a spark. My name is Starwish now, and … my home planet was Earth.”</p>
<p>The air turned thoughtful, <b><em>“Earth … and what was your name before, Small One?”</em></b></p>
<p>“Melody. Melody Travers. I was a member of the human species. I … I don’t know how I was turned into a cybertronian.”</p>
<p>The thoughtful air turned probing and then intensified to the point Starwish felt like she could not vent under the scrutiny. Just as she felt like her spark was going to stop from unease, the air abruptly lightened with recognition and realization, <b><em>“Ah, now I see. How strange. You have come quite a long way, Herald Starwish, to have danced from one realm to the next in such a manner.”</em></b></p>
<p>Starwish’s spark lurched at the sudden change in title, “W-what did you call me?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>“Herald Starwish. For that is what you now are. Have you come to save my children from the Dirge of Destruction, Herald Starwish?”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>“I don’t- I don’t understand. What’s a Herald? What is the Dirge of Destruction? Is that-” She barely bit back the words “is that the death of Cybertron and the Autobot’s exile”, but the air around her shifted to surprise anyway and she remembered that Primus could read minds.</p>
<p><b><em>“Ah. So you know of that already, just as the other does. How strange that you should know of the future, yet not know what you now are.”</em></b> There was a considering pause and Starwish tried to keep her thoughts from becoming impatient, <b><em>“The first Heralds were creations meant to stand alongside my sons and daughter, the Thirteen, in their battle against the Destroyer. They were not born of my spark nor at my behest, but were created by the AllSpark itself, even before it came to rest inside that which would be named Cybertron.”</em></b></p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“Many of them fell in the battle against the Destroyer, for despite all their Gifts, they could not cause harm to any living thing. Not even him. Still others were offlined in the Shattering of the Thirteen, broken by the chaos and strife of my eldest children turning against one another in hatred. The last of them fled this universe with my son, Vector Prime, to places where my optics cannot reach. But now it seems as if, though she still refuses to return, the last Herald still seeks to protect my children. For she has given her Gifts to you, one not bound by the original Laws of the Heralds, one with the passion and will to do whatever must be done to protect that which is held precious to you.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>Starwish felt like her world had just tilted on its axis. So many vorns wondering who and why and how, and now, after she had given up hope of finding the answers, here were a few —far too few— explanations at last. She took a half-step back as she struggled to process it all and the air turned patient, the river of energy drifting carefully away so as to give her room to think, “You … I … What Gifts?”</p>
<p><b><em>“The Gifts of the Herald are hers to discover and hers alone. It is not my place to speak of it.” </em></b>Starwish felt her plating bristle with anger but Primus added firmly, <b><em>“You will know your Gifts when it is time for you to use them and not before. To tell you before it is time would cause only harm to both you and my children. I would not have that, not when they are already so hurt, and are about to lose their Origin.”</em></b></p>
<p>The reminder of why they had come so far beneath Cybertron’s surface stung her, but the unspoken reprimand was gentle, fatherly almost, and so Starwish carefully boxed up her frustration and set it aside in favor of the bigger picture, “Isn’t there something I can do to help you now?”</p>
<p><b><em>“No, Herald Starwish. Already my spark grows weaker, too weak to attempt to purify the corruption when it invaded my Chamber for fear of being corrupted myself. Too weak to do much more than call for the aid of others. If my children are ever to have a home to which to return, I must shut down all of my external processes and rebuild my spark anew.” </em></b>Starwish bowed her helm, feeling grief both within and without as she processed his words. She had already known the answer before she asked the question, but it still hurt to hear it. The blue energy drifted closer to her and hummed in an attempt to comfort, <b><em>“This will take many vorns. First to shut down my processes, and then many more before I will be able to restart them. Until such a time as my children may return to me and peace be restored, will you grant me a favor, Herald Starwish?”</em></b></p>
<p>Starwish’s helm came up in surprise, “A favor? Me?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>“Yes. I would ask you to take care of my children, on both sides of this conflict in which they are trapped, as best as you are able. While I have little actual power at this juncture to offer in return, in exchange, I will grant you my favor, my mark, so that all of my simpler creatures who remain untainted and all of those sensitive to my spark-song would sense my blessing upon you and do you no harm. They will aid you in your quests and defend you from those who would inflict injury or harm upon you.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>Starwish shifted her gaze up to Primus’s actual spark chamber, as if doing so would be like looking him in the optic, “I … Why me?”</p>
<p>A chuckle sounded, vibrating through her plating and filling the air with gentle, amused remembrance, <b><em>“Children. Always asking questions. Such was the question of Orion Pax when he first stood within my Chamber. I gave him the same answer I give you now; Only those who do not seek true strength and power are worthy to wield it. Only those who give freely of themselves before anyone else are worthy to lead. Only the servant can understand what it is to be a kind master.”</em></b> Primus seemed to hum contemplatively, <b><em>“You knew that you could not help me in my plight, yet your spark was willing to try, to fight, to give all had I but asked it. There is an unwavering kindness in your spark-song, a kindness many of my children have long forgotten. It is in that kindness I would place my trust. If you will accept it.”</em></b></p>
<p>Starwish wondered if she should take more time to think about the answer already in her spark. She had doubts that she was as kind as Primus seemed to think she was, not after vorns of seeing the Decepticons take comrade after comrade from her. Not after Shockwave’s laboratory. What Primus was asking was far too large a task for just one femme, even with a “mark of favor” to help her along and yet … she was a medic. She had taken an oath that —despite what war had forced her to do time and again in the defense of herself and her patients— she still did her best to keep that oath. Do No Harm, Heal All Hurts. If she looked at it from that perspective…</p>
<p>Then wasn’t Primus just asking of her the same the same thing she already asked of herself, only on a larger scale?</p>
<p>It was foolish to simplify it so much, but even so, Starwish found herself answering, “Alright. I will … grant you this favor. As best as I am able, anyway…”</p>
<p><b><em>“I would ask no more than that.”</em></b> The river of energy that had been drifting lazy circles around her suddenly swelled and wrapped tight around her frame and Starwish gasped at the sensation of something imprinting just on the outside of her spark like a protective sheath. The feeling swelled out from her spark chamber, curling down her chest plates and over her arms and down her legs, carving delicate lines of bright, incandescent energon blue mixed with sparks of an odd, brilliant, sunrise orange that dazzled her senses.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of her optics, she thought she saw something similar happening to Hardwire, but she couldn’t bring herself to pay attention or care about that when her every sense was overrun with the sensation of floating in a boundless, symphonic sky, free and welcome and loved. Primus’s voice rang out, though whether it was in her mind or spark or out loud she could not tell. It seemed to be everywhere, filling every corner and reaching to the very horizon of the sky-sensation she had been swallowed up in as the Song of Cybertron shifted in tone to acknowledge the addition of a new measure, <b><em>“May all who see and understand look upon my Mark and know my favor rests upon you. May your servos be deft and your spark ever kind as you go forth. And may all who meet you upon your paths of life know you as one of my children, for I claim you and name you Canticum Medica, Herald of the AllSpark and Healer of my Children.”</em></b></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If anyone had ever told Jazz that he, a thief and a saboteur, a killer with the dirtiest of servos, would be among a chosen few to stand in the presence of Primus’s very spark, he would have laughed in their faceplates and sent them to Ratchet to have their helms checked. Because surely there were any number of Autobots more worthy to experience this? Surely there was someone better, someone not as tainted by death and war to see and feel the overflow of Primus’s spark energy, to stand in the presence of the life of an entire <b>world</b>? He had killed so many of Primus’s children, stolen from them, broken them, surely Primus would not have anything to say to someone like that save for condemnation?</p>
<p>The twisting fragments of spark energy, like the snowflakes in Starwish’s memories, brightened just a bit and Jazz sensed dry amusement, <b>“You think so little of yourself, yet in the same vent presume to know my thoughts, Jazz of Clan Tigre, sparked of Iacon yet raised of Polyhex, follower of Optimus Prime?”</b></p>
<p>Jazz froze, too frightened to even drop onto his knees. His processor raced at the implications of the sentence spoken by the deep, ancient voice. He supposed he had been rather arrogant, when it was put that way. Though he was more than a little alarmed by the implication that Primus could hear his thoughts, because there were a lot of things in his helm that he really, really didn’t want anyone to see, not even the First Cybertronian. Especially him.</p>
<p>The lights danced around each other and him, the amusement shifting to a soothing calm, <b>“Your mind is your own, Jazz of the Autobots. I merely listen to what rises to the very surface of your processor and spark-song, no deeper.”</b></p>
<p>Jazz took a deep vent to steady himself and glanced around at the others. After a quick examination of their frames and expressions, he turned back to the dancing lights, his accent dropping away without prompting, “They can’t hear what you’re saying to me.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Indeed. This is our conversation, not theirs. Does this concern you?”</b>
</p>
<p>Jazz fluttered his plating in a weak shrug, “Only the part of me that wants to know everything. But I figure I don’t get a say in how this show’s run, now do I?”</p>
<p>The lights flared with a more genuine amusement and swirled intricate patterns around him, taking in his measure, <b>“You do not. Besides, I do believe you already know more than most about what goes on around you, do you not? You have found Harmony with Herald Starwish, she who knows more of the world than of herself.”</b></p>
<p>Jazz felt his spark pulse in grief as he realized what Primus was asking after, “So it’s true. You’re offlining. We’re going to be exiled.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Not quite offlining. There is a way for my spark to recover. But it will take many, many vorns to repair what has been broken and during that time I will not be able to sustain any of my children upon cybertron’s surface. You and all others who wish to survive must take to the stars until I have recovered enough to welcome you home.”</b>
</p>
<p>He bowed his helm, guilt warring with grief as he wondered how many signs he had missed or ignored in favor of the War, how many ways he and the other Autobots had inadvertently driven Primus to this point. The lights swirled closer to him, and Jazz was confused by the sense of sympathy and comfort they gave off, <b>“What is done is done, my child. Yours is not to ponder, yours is to move forward and protect the Last Prime. Besides, you are not completely without hope, for the last of the Heralds stands in your midst and with her the Lord Protectors. They will surely aid you and protect my children from the Dirge of Destruction.”</b></p>
<p>Jazz’s helm came back up in surprise, “Heralds? Lord Protectors? Dirge?”</p>
<p>The lights dimmed with confusion, then lit with sad understanding, <b>“You do not know. Has so much history truly been lost? Have the Songs of Remembrance truly fallen silent? It would seem I have failed you in more than one way…” </b>Primus pondered something for several long moments before he continued, <b>“In the beginning of Cybertron’s history, there were the Thirteen, my first children. With them were the Heralds, the first of the AllSpark. It was they who drove away the Destroyer from this world, and they who were to protect it … until the Shattering of the Thirteen turned those plans to ruin. So other plans were implemented, other titles given and champions raised, all in preparation for the coming of the Dirge.”</b> It was technically impossible for spark energy to sigh, but somehow the lights gave that impression, <b>“But there is no time left to teach you the lost histories. You must follow Optimus Prime and your mate and prepare for the Exile. You have a little over ten vorns until the last of my external functions shut down. After that point, there will be no new energon to sustain you. The simpler of my creatures will go into a deep stasis to await the restart of my functions, but you and those of my children you call Autobots must take to the stars and remain there until it is safe for you to return.”</b></p>
<p>Jazz felt the tactical parts of his processor kickstart into high speed, “How long will that be? How will we get off-world?”</p>
<p><b>“I know not. To rebuild a spark takes time, to rebuild mine enough to once again support other life, even longer. I suspect that Herald Starwish and the Lord Protectors will be able to tell you when the time is right. As for your transport…”</b> One of the lights separated from the rest and brushed against Jazz’s servo. There was jolt of energy and an influx of images and knowledge, <b>“Go to this location. It is where your ancestors kept the majority of their exploration craft in the cycles when they explored the stars. Whether they are still salvageable, I cannot say, but they will be your best hope.”</b></p>
<p>There was a pause and the distinct impression that Primus had turned the majority of his attention to something else. His attention returned and with it came a mix of grimly amused and sadly grateful feelings, <b>“Your sparkmate, Herald Starwish, has agreed to grant me a favor in exchange for my Mark. This cannot be kept wholly separate from you, as you are the other half that makes her whole. I would brace yourself, First Lieutenant Jazz of the Autobots.”</b></p>
<p>Jazz began to ask what all that meant —why would Primus ask a favor from Starwish? what was Primus’s Mark? What would it do to her? Why did he refer to her as a Herald when he had said that the Heralds were destroyed back in the time of the Thirteen?— when there was a rush of energy and a flurry of impressions —endless sky and symphony and free-free-free— and Jazz felt a loose sheath of energy settle around his spark. It didn’t separate his end of the bond from Starwish, but rather seemed to extend from her to encompass him as well, albeit more loosely and distantly than what he sensed on her end. Jazz felt his vents wheeze with the shock and staggered, his optics snapping away from the dancing lights to look over at his sparkmate for the first time in breems.</p>
<p>She was glowing, surrounded by Primus’s spark energy as deep lines and runes formed and sank into her armor —possibly even below her armor, into her protoform itself— and for a moment he thought he saw what she could be, what she would become, what <b>Herald</b> meant-</p>
<p>And then it was gone. The energy pulled away from her, the runes and markings faded away and Jazz had to catch her in his arms as she sagged, “Star? Melody!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ironhide was firmly convinced that he wasn’t supposed to be here. A simple soldier, an old war-mech like him, really shouldn’t be standing in the presence of the Core of Cybertron —of Primus!— while what was clearly a load of mystic, prophetic scrap went down. Oh, Optimus could handle this kind of thing just fine, Jazz and Arcee were probably crazy enough to bluff their way through it, and Hardwire and Starwish had proven time and again to have no substantial self-preservation routines —the Twinlings were like that too, he suspected it was a human thing— and would probably find the entire affair fascinating. But Ironhide?</p>
<p>Ironhide knew his place. He knew his limits and his function, and while he had been all too ready and willing to come to the defense of the Core, now that there was no fighting to be had and only a lot of —how did Hardwire put it? Oh yeah— <em>mumbo jumbo</em> happening, Optimus really should have just let Ironhide stay outside and guard the fragging door like a good soldier.</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“You say your place is at the door, yet my child Optimus has insisted time and again that your first and best place is at his side. Do you doubt your Prime?”</b>
  
</p>
<p>Ironhide tried very hard to keep his spark from jumping straight out of its chamber, “I-I- Yes- No-! It’s just- This isn’t what I was built for!” Ironhide paused to take a deep vent and calm down. It didn’t work, but he pushed on anyway, “Optimus thinks too much of me.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Not so. You are loyal and steadfast, yet you are not afraid to call your Prime’s intentions into doubt if you feel he has overstepped. These are qualities any leader should seek among their inner circle. You were among the first to stand at his side, and you would be the last should others ever fall away from it.”</b>
</p>
<p>Ironhide very carefully didn’t voice his doubts over how that made him worthy of standing in the chamber of Primus, let alone speak to him, and the air turned stern, <b>“You doubt my words, Ironhide of Iacon, Bodyguard of the Last Prime?”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide flinched, “No, sir.”</p>
<p><b>“Good. For there will be much to do in the vorns ahead and little time to be wasted upon such doubts.”</b> The air softened, <b>“I called for all of you, not just Optimus Prime, and this was for a reason. Do you know what that reason is?”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide shook his helm, “No, sir. I … thought it was because Megatron was trying to use Dark Energon on you… sir.”</p>
<p><b>“That was part of it, yes. For the ‘Dark Energon’ of which you speak is far more dangerous and from a far fouler source than you know. But I had called to Optimus to make this journey before he learned of Megatron’s intentions. One that already some of your number are aware.”</b> There was a pause, heavy and contemplative, <b>“You are not one for puzzles or complicated speech, so I will speak to you plainly, Ironhide of the Autobots. I am offlining.”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide felt his legs almost give out from under him and his systems reset several times in an effort to keep from glitching, “…What?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“I did not misspeak. I am offlining. The damage done to my body and spark are too great. If I am to survive and recover, if Cybertron is to ever support life again, I must shut down my systems for many vorns. During those vorns, all who wish to live must leave. You must go to the stars and dwell among them until such a time as I can safely restart my functions and support life once more. Optimus Prime will lead you, but War has already made his spark heavy and I know his manner, he will blame himself for my condition.”</b>
</p>
<p>Ironhide managed a weak snort, “Yeah, that sounds like his kind of stupid. Says he’s just a regular mech and then turns around and tries to carry the weight of the universe on his shoulder-struts.”</p>
<p>The air turned briefly amused before sobering, <b>“Indeed. And I would not have him carry the burden of this news, and the preparations that follow, alone.”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide felt some of the fear fade as he focused on the new objective, “You askin’ me to keep an optic on him? I already do that.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“True. But if Optimus emerged from communing with me alone, claiming that the Autobots must leave their only home in order to survive and with none to back up his claim…”</b>
</p>
<p>Ironhide winced, “A lot of the hard-helms wouldn’t believe him and would just make getting everything ready more of a pain in the aft.” He realized he had just sworn —again— in the presence of the most ancient and revered of all Cybertronian kind and blanched, “Ah, no offense, sir.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“None taken. Yours is far from the worst vocalizer to fire off in my presence.”</b>
</p>
<p>A part of Ironhide <b>really</b> wanted to know who in the past had come down here and cussed badly enough to leave such an impression on Primus, but he refrained, “So, we’re here as backup, vouching for Optimus.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Among other things. One of which will be to protect him from those who would see the Last Prime harmed and to support him when he attempts to ‘carry the universe on his shoulder-struts’.”</b>
</p>
<p>Ironhide nodded slowly, “So, kick the afts of troublemakers and kick Optimus’s aft when he starts to get too hard on himself. I can do that, sir. Anything else?”</p>
<p>The air around Ironhide had a distinctly nostalgic and amused tint, <b>“Truly the creation of the clan of my twelfth child, you are a pleasure to speak to. But no, for now, that is all I would ask of you. The other tasks will fall to others as fits their purpose.”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide saluted, then flinched in surprise when Primus’s spark energies wrapped tight around Starwish and Hardwire. Worry jolted through him. He knew they weren’t originally Cybertronians, were they being punished for it somehow? “What’s happening to them?”</p>
<p><b>“Nothing painful. Our conversations are merely drawing to a close. Herald Starwish and Lord Protector Hardwire have granted me great favors. I am giving them something in return, as thanks.”</b> Primus seemed to consider Ironhide for a moment, <b>“What would you have done if I had been inflicting grave harm upon them?”</b></p>
<p>“Shot at you.” The response was instant and thoughtless and very stupid, but Hardwire had fought too many battles by Ironhide’s side and Starwish had saved his aft too many times with her field patch jobs for him to answer otherwise. Even to Primus. Less than a vent later, Ironhide thought of something that might be more effective than shooting at the ancestor of all cybertronian life and added, “Then I would have set Optimus on your aft.” Because Optimus could talk down anything other than Megatron and his empty-helmed goons, and even then, Optimus managed to pull that off when it really counted.</p>
<p>Deep, genuine laughter shook the air, <b>“Optimus Prime could not have chosen a better bodyguard and friend. May your path always be so straightforward and you and your One find your sparks’ desire at the end of your journey for your loyalty, Ironhide of the Autobots.”</b></p>
<p>Ironhide gave a brisk nod and salute —because there was really nothing he could say to that, not after everything he’d just learned and experienced— and moved to stand closer to Optimus. His Prime had bowed his helm and seemed to be slowly leaving whatever conversation Primus had been holding with him. Ironhide waited patiently for him to finish, though he kept a close optic on Starwish and Hardwire as Primus’s spark energy retreated from them, just in case they needed a servo.</p>
<p>He’d come too far with them to merely take a stranger at their word on their behalf. Not even if that stranger was —quite literally— Primus himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of all the weird, crazy things that had ever happened to her because of Hardwire —and that included the recent dragon-riding stunt— this, <b>this</b>, was now the top one. Probably would be for a long time too —though not forever, she wasn’t dumb enough to take that bet—.</p>
<p>Primus —because with this much spark overflow the foreign emotion had to be from Primus— seemed amused as a deep voice echoed in her helm, <b>“Yet despite the many unusual circumstances into which he has dragged you, you still love him, do you not?”</b></p>
<p>She was frightened by the voice but the fear was pushed aside by her surprise over the chosen question, “Of course I do.” <em>But why does that matter to someone like Primus? Hardwire and I are just nobodies to him.</em></p>
<p><b>“You are not ‘nobodies’ to me, Arcee of Iacon and Praxus. I take note of every spark that emerges from the Well, I celebrate their lives no matter how long or short, and I mourn their fall to the darkness or their premature ends.” </b>Arcee dipped her helm, stunned but suitably chastised for her assumptions. Primus’s voice softened to something more contemplative and curious,<b> “But I ask because I am intrigued by the pair of you. Already one of my children has Harmonized with a spark of unknown Origin, you truly intend to do the same? You would Harmonize with this one who is Other?”</b></p>
<p>Arcee felt herself go very still, “What do you mean, unknown origin?”</p>
<p><b>“…You do not know. Ah, but I suppose that is no real surprise, it is not something one speaks of lightly. Though I would have thought that one so intent on Courting you would have spoken to you of his Origin by now.” </b>Primus seemed to scrutinize her for several kliks, <b>“Your Courted keeps secrets from you, secrets of his nature and his Origin. Does this not concern you?”</b></p>
<p>Arcee’s helm was spinning a bit, because she’d expected a lot of things being summoned into the chamber to speak with Primus himself, but this had definitely not been on the list, “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“The one you know as Hardwire was not sparked on Cybertron, nor has he always been what you have seen. I ask again, does this not concern you?”</b>
</p>
<p>Arcee wrapped her arms around her waist, processor racing in confusion. She glanced up at Hardwire to see what he would make of Primus’s accusations, but the mech seemed entirely focused on something else. <em>He can’t hear this.</em> The thought was unexpected but unshakable, <em>he has no idea what Primus is saying to me. Telling me.</em> And suddenly Arcee was angry. Her plating bristled and her vocalizer fired off before she could consider the consequences, “Core of the planet or not, first of our race or not, I don’t see how that is <b>any</b> of your business. If Hardwire has secrets he hasn’t told me then he’s got a fragging good reason why not and I don’t give a frag if he is- was- something <b>other</b> or sparked somewhere else. Right <b>now</b>, Hardwire is my partner, my Courted, and my friend. He has been for vorns. Anything he was before then is his business and no one else’s. Not even yours.”</p>
<p>Arcee realized that she’d mouthed off to the ancestor of all Cybertronian life half a klik after her mouth had shut and she went rigid, waiting for the rivers of energy around her to turn furious for her disrespect. Instead, an aura of satisfaction and approval washed over her, <b>“Well said. The mate of a Lord Protector must not be swayed by the words of any save for her mate and her Prime. Although…”</b> The voice trailed off, pondering something she could not discern the nature of.</p>
<p>Arcee risked a question in the silence, “What is a Lord Protector? Did that fragger do something <b>else</b> to Hardwire? Isn’t a Bāsākā mode and a <em>dragon</em> alt mode enough?” Because she swore, if someone had plugged something else in her partner’s helm or frame for him to worry about on top of all the other experimentation he’d survived…</p>
<p><b>“You do not know…?” </b>Primus seemed to sigh, <b>“No, I suppose you would not know, not if the songs have truly been silenced. A Lord Protector is not something ‘else’, Arcee of Iacon and Praxus. It is a title for what he already is. A Lord Protector is a, second, to a Prime I suppose you could say. He is and will never be a Prime, but he holds within a power and a command that most mechs do not. In the early times, when this world was young and the race of my children even younger, Primes sought out Lord Protectors to aid them in the protection and ruling of their lands and clans. Lord Protectors were mechs —or femmes— who were strong enough to safeguard their Prime’s territories in their absence and wise enough to lead in their place should an emergency arrive.”</b></p>
<p>Arcee tried to slot that into place with what she knew of Hardwire and Optimus Prime, “So … Lord Protectors were officers? Like how Prowl is SiC and Jazz leads Special Ops and Ultra Magnus is commander of the Wreckers?”</p>
<p><b>“Not quite. Others can hold positions of high rank, but this does not make them Lord Protectors. The position of Lord Protector is … unique.” </b>There was a flicker of something akin to frustration before it settled to a mournful calm, <b>“I am afraid that I have no simple way of explaining the traditional role of a Lord Protector. Not without the revelation of lost histories and a great deal of time that we do not have.”</b></p>
<p>Arcee felt her armor flutter with frustration, but she looked around alertly instead of venting her agitation, “Why is there no time? Are the ‘Cons coming back?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“No. They do not return and I do not believe they will. But they do not have to, for the damage is already done. My spark is wounded, Arcee of Iacon and Praxus, too deeply to maintain a steady flow of energon or see to the upkeep this world. I can survive the damage, but to do so will require I shut down all external functions for many thousands of vorns.”</b>
</p>
<p>Arcee’s spark froze and all other questions vanished from her mind, “You can’t. You can’t. We’ll all offline…”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Not if you leave. Both Autobots and Decepticons have long been seeding other worlds with my energon. You must take to the stars and seek out those deposits, those worlds. You must live there until I am able to resume my functions.”</b>
</p>
<p>“But how will we even get there? Cybertronians haven’t left the atmosphere in vorns! More than vorns! We have no spacebridges!”</p>
<p>Energy brushed against her and an image formed in her processor, <b>“This is the main dock in which your ancestors kept their craft. Go and salvage what you can and flee. Make haste, for the energon reserves already within the planet will not last very long, no more than a few vorns I expect. You must be gone from here by then.” </b>He sensed her confusion and her despair and the energy curling around her turned soothing, <b>“I know it is much to ask. Many of your faction will not take Optimus Prime at his word and will resist. You and your Courted must aid him in safeguarding the future of your race, in ushering your people to the stars.”</b></p>
<p>Arcee bowed her helm, “I…” She wanted to deny it, she wanted to shout, to scream. But she didn’t. She was not a rookie, and she was not stupid. Those actions wouldn’t help. Her servo came up in a tight salute, “Understood.”</p>
<p>Primus considered her for several long kliks, then changed the subject abruptly, <b>“Do you mean to mate with your Courted? Even though he is of a different Origin and is a predacon?”</b></p>
<p>Her helm came up again, startled at the sudden subject change, “I- Yes. I do. I don’t care about … Origin.” <em>Whatever that is.</em> The rest of his sentence registered with her and she shouted, “A <b>predacon</b>?”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Yes. You did not recognize his form as such?”</b>
</p>
<p>“It’s new and no, I thought it was … something else. He has a predacon alt mode?”</p>
<p><b>“Not just an alternate mode. He is a predacon, in form and spark and life-signature. I am surprised you did not know.” </b>If pure spark energy could make a thoughtful helm tilt, Primus managed it, <b>“If you did not know, then you have not made the extra preparations for bonding have you?”</b></p>
<p>Arcee felt a new kind of dread add to her already heavy spark, “No, I didn’t- what preparations?” She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to seem weak, but the question slipped free anyway, “Does this mean that I can’t bond with Hardwire?” She didn’t think she could take that. She loved him, her partner, her friend, her <em>dragon</em>. Arcee had no idea what to make of the revelation that he was apparently a <b>predacon</b> —hadn’t those gone extinct a long time ago and been non-sentient?— but if this meant that she physically couldn’t bond with him-</p>
<p>Primus interrupted her spiral of thoughts, <b>“You can bond, with my blessing even. But be warned that on a fundamental level, predacons differ from cybertronians. If you mingle spark energies, there will be permanent consequences beyond that of Harmony.” </b>He seemed to regard her fondly, <b>“But I doubt that would stop you. No, it would just make you stronger for it.” </b>Spark energy drifted closer, <b>“All of my children have a long and hard journey ahead of them, but I fear Lord Protector Hardwire’s will be harder still. He has granted me a favor and I would make his journey easier if I could, even if only in this one matter.”</b></p>
<p>Arcee began to speak, but was distracted by Primus’s spark energy suddenly latching onto Hardwire’s and Starwish’s frames, “Hey-!”</p>
<p>Primus interrupted her smoothly, <b>“Do not fear, I do them no harm. But listen well, Arcee, Courted of the Lord Protector, for I will only grant this once.” </b>Energy touched her servo again and a rune carved itself onto the back of her servo plating, <b>“Before you bond, go to Alpha Trion in the Hall of Records. Show him this mark and tell him you seek the Gift of Onyx. He will know of what I speak. After that, speak with your medic, and your Courted about Harmonization.”</b></p>
<p>Arcee stared in shock at the rune for what felt like an eternity, trying to organize everything she’d learned and everything she still wanted to know. Then she looked up at the Core, “Why would you do this for us?”</p>
<p>The air turned sad, <b>“You, and all of my children, deserve far more than this. I only wish I could do more. Stand strong by your Courted, Arcee of Iacon and Praxus, and do not falter. Now go.”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardwire fluttered his plating, awed and uneasy as he watched the dancing of <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark energy. It was everywhere in the chamber, like waves of warmth and light, intelligent and gentle and … weak. Far weaker than instinct said it should have been. While the energy was already healing the scars and burns left by the battle, something about the energy seemed off. Still powerful, there were no doubts of that, but fainter than he had been expecting somehow. <em>Though I’m not sure why I expected differently,</em> he mused sadly, <em>with the planet dying, of course his spark is weakening.</em></p>
<p>A voice rippled through his mind and senses, like the call that had drawn him to the battle, but far less demanding and more conversational, <b>“So, you already know of that. Interesting.”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire’s helm jerked back with a loud rolling bark of surprise, <em>“Hear-me-how-fear-what-you-why-hear-me?”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Be at ease, young one. Yes, I can hear your active thoughts to a certain extent, but I mean you no harm. For despite your separate Origin, you are predacon in spark and life-signature now, and you have done much in the defense of my children.”</b>
</p>
<p>Hardwire vented deeply in an effort to calm himself, dimly aware of how his plating was bristled and stiff like a startled cat. <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus could hear his thoughts … that was… very disturbing but also convenient considering his current inability to speak. A hundred questions came to mind, but Hardwire narrowed it down to just one and did his best to think <b>at</b> <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus, <em>“How did you know that I wasn’t originally cybertronian?”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <b>“I have born witness every spark that has left the AllSpark since the beginning of Cybertron’s inhabitation and I know the songs of each one. Yet yours is unfamiliar and no predacon has been sparked to walk the surface of this world since the Great Cataclysm. Therefore, you are from a different Origin.”</b>
</p>
<p>Okay. That was mind-blowing, but made sense. On to the next golden question of his life,<em>“I’m a predacon now?”</em></p>
<p>The question earned a flare of surprise and then intense scrutiny, <b>“You did not know?”</b> The scrutiny became uncomfortable and Hardwire growled softly, instinct begging to bare his fangs at the perceived threat. The scrutiny eased moments before Hardwire gave into the urge, <b>“No. I suppose you would not know. I doubt any medic has run the necessary tests to discover that, and my spark-child and his mate were always very clever at concealing things. To answer your question, Young One, yes. You are predacon. The fiercest of my children’s descendants, a line long lost because of Prima’s hardened spark and narrow processor.”</b> There was a dimming of the energy nearest Hardwire and a sensation of old sadness, like a father ruminating on the mistakes he wished he could have stopped his child from making.</p>
<p>More questions were pounding in Hardwire’s processor, —about the implications of what <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had revealed, about the ancient predacons, about this Prima that <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus mentioned so sadly— but <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had questions of his own now, <b>“What are you called, Young One, and what was your Origin?”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire dipped his helm, <em>“My name is Hardwire. I used to be called Michael Travers. I come from a planet called Earth, but … I don’t think it’s the Earth that Optimus might- will? Find here.”</em> How to explain possible dimensional travel and future knowledge via media to a giant, super-ancient core of a planet?</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“No need. I am already familiar with such concepts. Though the thought of being a mere character in a story is … disturbing. But less disturbing, I would suppose, as awakening in such a world after having been changed to better survive it.”</b>
</p>
<p>And <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had already put that much together from just their short conversation. Wonderful. He was beginning to see why so many cybertronians swore by <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s name, because this was very…</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Disturbing? Unnatural? There are many words from which you could choose, Hardwire of Earth, and I have heard them all at some point. But there is no time for lingering on such trivial matters. You are aware of what is happening to me. Are you also aware of what must be done to preserve the race of my children?”</b>
</p>
<p><em>“Yes.”</em> Hardwire could still remember <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus’s speech —in both the Prime show and the Bay movies— of how they had fled. But only in the Prime show had there been hope of returning someday, even if that time seemed forever in coming. Even by cybertronian standards.</p>
<p>The air turned sad but pleased, <b>“Good. That makes this simpler. There is indeed a chance, only a chance mind you, that my children may return to me once my spark is repaired. But this will take much time, and many will resist the Exodus. Many more will despair before it is time to return, and I fear what such things may do to Optimus. What new depths of depravity the war between my children may reach when they no longer have a shared home to give them even the slightest restraint.”</b></p>
<p><em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus seemed to sigh,<b> “I fear that both sides will blame the other for my state and use it as an excuse to reach new heights of violence against one another. They may even, in their despair and grief, turn against their chosen comrades and leaders, splintering into even more factions that would destroy all others until there is no hope for peace to be restored between them and even more of their history, of my history, is lost to their hatred.”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire huffed and focused his thoughts,<em>“With respect, there’s not much I can do about that.”</em></p>
<p>The sensation of scrutiny came back, though not as intensely as before, <b>“Ah, but there is, Hardwire of the predacons. Alpha Trion has long kept the written history of this world, but he was always too enamored with Prima to doubt his will and much that should have been well known was kept secret and many things have been lost despite his best efforts. Especially as he ages and his kin cease to listen. I would remind them of the Old Ways if I could. I would grant Optimus the strength of a Lord Protector, to support him in ways even his friend and bodyguard Ironhide cannot.”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire had a distinct impression of dread, <em>“So? What does that have to do with me?”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <b>“I do not regret granting Optimus the title of Prime, for he was and will always be worthy. But Optimus’s strength lies in his kindness and the quiet wisdom of compassion. He does not possess the wild spark, the Fury, that my child Onyx once wielded. The fire that brought low Onyx’s enemies and, for a time, kept even Megatronus’s temper from breaching its banks. Megatron once had potential to be such a fire, but he has strayed and will no longer heed any wisdom but his own.”</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>“No matter your Origin, you have been gifted the form and Fury of my child Onyx and in your chamber the spark of the Predacons beats anew. In you there is the potential to be Optimus’s Fury, to bring to heel those who do not respect his patience and scorn his quiet strength.”</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>“Ironhide’s place is by the side of his Prime, to watch his back and destroy threats that come too close. But you, your place is roving the endless skies of your Prime’s domain. You are a predacon. Fury and fire and the storm-clouds that hold painful death forged into metal and given spark. Hunting and battle are your instincts and nature. There was a time when your kind shook the heavens with your power, power to stand on equal ground with the Thirteen themselves, only submitting to one who’s strength was even greater than your own. I would have you remind my children of these old truths on Optimus’s behalf. I would have you rage for him and remind those who would betray him just why they should praise the AllSpark that he possesses a gentle nature that prefers to stay his servo until there is no other option.”</b>
</p>
<p>Energy from <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark curled closer, coaxing, <b>“I know this is much to ask, especially when there is so little I could do to repay such a favor, yet ask I must. Will you do this thing for me? Will you be Optimus Prime’s Fury, his Lord Protector? Will you remind my children of the name of Predacon and why they were once revered and feared?”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire hesitated, he didn’t know if he could do that. Yes, his Bāsākā program —if that was even what it was— was terrifying and ferocious and yes, there was a strong part of his newfound instincts that heard <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s words and shivered with glee at the thought of fulfilling such a purpose. But Hardwire was Hardwire. He was not a monster to be feared, he was a fellow autobot, he was <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee’s Courted, he was … he was just Hardwire. And yet…</p>
<p>He looked over at <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus, who seemed wrapped up in his own silent conversation with <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus, and considered. He thought about the many autobots he had met over the vorns, both good and bad, about how they might react to the orders to flee the only home they’d ever known. He thought about how long it would take to be able to return and how those autobots would handle such a long exile. He thought about everything he’d seen in the show and the movies and asked himself, with what he knew now about cybertronians, would <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus truly need something like <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus described?</p>
<p>The answer, as much as he wished it wasn’t, was <b>yes</b>. The decepticons would only grow more violent and underhanded after losing their home, and Hardwire could name a lot of autobots who were only autobots because they hated <em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron more than they hated <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus. Once news of their impending exile got out, once they were up in space, grieving the loss of an entire planet on top of the War … Hardwire winced at all the scenarios that sprung to mind. Suddenly the mystery of why the autobots were so scattered amid the stars, why so few had ever answered <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus’s call in the show, was not so mysterious at all.</p>
<p>The vorns about to come were <b>not</b> going to be good ones and, while <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus was the strongest mech Hardwire knew, his strength did not show in the ways a lot of mechs —even autobot mechs— understood or respected. He would be questioned and snapped at for every order and at every turn. <em>Serious-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ultra Magnus was long absent, working hard to bring the Wreckers to some semblance of order after the Dytraxi Incident. <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide would only be able to do so much from his place at <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus’s side. <em>Steady-Logical-Beta-</em>Prowl would be busy being SiC and head tactician. <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz was already drowning in his work as head of Special Ops … and none of them would have the time or physical power to personally keep all of the <em>Fury-Stubborn-Warrior-</em>Grimlocks of the army in line.</p>
<p>His fangs bared subconsciously and his instincts snarled for energon at the mere thought of it all. Hardwire carefully reined in those instincts and returned his focus to <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus, <em>“I’m going to regret this, but fine. I’ll do what you ask as best I can. I will be Optimus’s … Lord Protector, to the best of my ability. I swear it.”</em></p>
<p><b>“Thank you, young predacon. It is not much, but in exchange for your vow, I offer you what knowledge I can give you of Onyx’s children and a name befitting your race and rank.”</b> Energy latched onto his frame, filling Hardwire’s processor with images and impressions and spark-deep knowledge even as <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s voice echoed through his being, <b>“In the tongue of predacons, I name you <em>Steadfast-Fury-Beta-</em>Hardwire, Chosen Lord Protector of Optimus Prime, Descendant of Onyx Prime, Fury of the Clouded Sky, Wrath of the Last Prime.”</b></p>
<p>Hardwire felt emotion fill him as the gifted scent-name settled on him like a weight, filled with meanings and sub-contexts that he only now understood as <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus imparted knowledge and understanding of what he now was, what it meant, what it was to <b>be</b> predacon. He reared up onto his hind-legs, wings spread wide as instinct threw his helm back in a deep roar of, <em>“Assent-understanding-will-keep-promise-will-be-strong-worthy-of-name-worthy-of-Alpha!”</em></p>
<p><em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s energy slowly retracted from him with one last pulse of approval and remorse and Hardwire settled back onto his forelimbs with a deep vent. A glance around the chamber showed that <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus was retracting from everyone, their own private conversations finished. His helm snapped back to stare at the Core as <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus spoke once more, this time aloud for all of them to hear, <b>“Time grows short. It is time to bid you all farewell,”</b> a deep metal grinding echoed directly above them as a tunnel transformed out of the metal of the chamber, <b>“Go. Return to your kin and prepare. Once you have gone, my chamber will seal completely so that none may dare attempt entry again.”</b></p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide stared up at the tunnel <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had just created and shifted nervously, “Wait! How are we supposed to get up there?”</p>
<p><em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus gave no reply, his energy had already retreated back into his Core. A part of Hardwire keened at the silence, knowing that no one would hear from <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus again for thousands of vorns, or possibly even never. <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish gave voice to the keen in Hardwire’s spark from where she was leaning heavily against her mate, her optics wide with an understanding, a devastation, that he didn’t want to think on just yet. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee shakily moved closer to him, one servo coming to rest against his neck while the other remained cradled close to her chest plates. Hardwire could faintly smell impressions of <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus’s spark-scent on them all, but particularly upon <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee’s servo and <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish’s … everything really. It made him uneasy, the newfound but strong primal part of him agitated at the spark-scent of a foreign Alpha —because <em>Great-First-Alpha</em> he might have been, but he was not <b>their</b> chosen Alpha, the Alpha of their Pride— lingering on their armor. It wasn’t right, last gift or not, it just wasn’t. The rest of the Pride might think that they’d-</p>
<p>He pushed the worries of his instincts aside. No one else would be able to smell spark-scents like he currently could, so there was no point in fretting. Besides, <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus wasn’t just any foreign Alpha, he had every right to do what he had done. Besides, Hardwire had agreed to it and he was certain the others had too.</p>
<p>“Optimus?” The voice belonged to <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide and Hardwire realized with a jolt that <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus had yet to move or speak.</p>
<p>Finally, and with great sorrow creeping into his spark-scent, <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus looked away from the Core, “Yes, Ironhide?”</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide moved closer to <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus, worry for his Alpha threading through his spark-scent, “I asked how Primus expects us to get all the way up there. Let alone get out through it! Shouldn’t we just head back the way we came?”</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus looked over his shoulder-plate, “I do not believe that is an option, Ironhide. Look.” All gazes swung to where the fractured doorway had once been … only to see that <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had covered the hole with solid, unmovable plating at some point during their conversations. <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus turned back to examining the exit opened by <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus, “At any rate, that exit is a straight route to the surface, it will be much faster.”</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide sounded distinctly frustrated, “If we can even get up there! What does he expect us to do? <b>Fly</b>?”</p>
<p>Hardwire couldn’t resist giving a short chortle and a low bark, <em>“Ahem-yes-called-for-flight?”</em> All optics swung to him and Hardwire expressively gestured at his wings with his helm and wiggled his optic ridges with a mischievous flash of fang. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee pressed a servo to her faceplate with a groan, <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish’s optics rounded with a mix of trepidation and excitement, and <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz smelled like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run away screaming but was leaning toward the former. <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest-plates, “Frag. No.”</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus gave his bodyguard a look that only his old friend seemed able to translate. <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide shook his helm rapidly, “No. <b>No</b>. Not happening Optimus. I don’t care if I have to <b>climb</b> that tunnel with my own servos while <b>carrying you</b>. I am <b>not </b>getting on Hardwire.”</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus still smelled sad, but there was a fond sort of amusement leaking into his tone anyway, “But Ironhide, I thought you trusted him?”</p>
<p>Black armor fluttered unhappily, “To watch my back in a firefight, yes. To take an extra patrol shift when I need him to, yes. To take my sparkmate and Bumblebee down to the range for target practice when I’m too busy, yes. But that? <b>Pit no</b>.”</p>
<p><em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz inched closer to Hardwire, examining his frame with a thoughtful scent, “Ah don’t know, ‘Hide. Might be fun. ‘Sides, he got Arcee down here safe enough, didn’t he?”</p>
<p><em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee was now fully leaning against Hardwire’s neck, looking like she was only a half-step away from banging her helm against his plating —was it bad that he felt proud about passing on that bit of illogical human behavior?—, “Trust me, that is <b>not</b> a comforting thing to say.”</p>
<p><em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz only looked <b>more</b> interested at that and now had an expression that reminded Hardwire far too much of the Twinlings. <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide was already halfway to the solid wall that used to be an entrance, a stubborn set in his shoulders that indicated he was more prepared to waste all of his ammo trying to shoot a new entrance than actually get onto Hardwire’s back and fly. Hardwire tried to be insulted, but failed. <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide hated flying around in the enclosed space of the dropships on a good cycle, he couldn’t really blame the older mech for being so twitchy at the thought of open air riding.</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus halted his bodyguard with a single, drawn out, “Ironhide…”</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide stopped, looked over his shoulder at his Alpha, looked back at the solid metal wall of the chamber, looked back at his Alpha, looked up at the exit <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus had created for them, and heaved a deep sigh, “Optimus…”</p>
<p>“You can ride in the middle if you so desire, Old Friend.” <em>Where it isn’t as easy to fall off and there is someone in front to cling to,</em> went unsaid but Hardwire was certain was being implied.</p>
<p>Ironhide growled and turned back, pausing next to his Alpha to snarl, “I hate you. What happened to the meek little Archivist I first met who could barely touch a blaster?”</p>
<p>“A large and irritable old soldier was assigned as his bodyguard and told him to either pick up the blaster and learn to use it or go throw himself to the scaplets and save the old soldier the trouble of cleaning up the mess.”</p>
<p><em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide continued to grumble and snipe at <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus as the two moved closer and Hardwire watched their banter in fascination. He had known the two were close and had seen hints of this kind of dry sarcasm from his Alpha before on the field, but this much unabashed back-and-forth was unheard of to Hardwire. His nostrils flared slightly, taking in their scents, and he sobered as he picked up the reason why. Both of them were grieving and … scared. Not about the flight, not really, but about whatever it was that <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus must have told them. They needed a distraction, badly, before they had to deal with it and face the brunt of the Autobot-Pride’s denial of what was surely going to be <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus’s most controversial order.</p>
<p>It took quite of a bit of wrangling, arguing, swearing, and his Pride falling off of him while trying to climb up or get situated, but eventually everyone was settled along his back and —sort of— ready for take-off. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee was up front, practically balanced on his neck, partially magnetized to him to help keep from losing her grip as she hunched low against his plating, already anticipating what his take-off would be like. Behind her was <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish, quiet excitement humming off of her in waves. Behind her, with his arms locked firmly around her waist was <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz —who had only consented to the position after being convinced it would keep his mate safer—.</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus came next, though only because <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide’s sense of duty in protecting his Prime and Alpha had narrowly overridden his fear and dread. All save for <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz were holding tight to his spines and trying their hardest to follow <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee’s advise to squeeze with their legs to keep from falling off when Hardwire “took off like a glitched rocket”. Hardwire thought his Courted was drastically exaggerating his take-off speed.</p>
<p>Hardwire carefully curved his neck to get a good look at everyone, <em>“Ready-safe-confident-go-go?”</em></p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus met Hardwire’s gaze without flinching or showing the trepidation Hardwire could smell leaking out of him, “We are ready Hardwire.” Hardwire gave a chirp of acknowledgement that sounded far brighter than his actual mood and hunched low, wings flaring out and rising high in preparation-</p>
<p>He was a bit surprised —but thrilled— when <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus shouted, “Roll out!” The familiar phrase jolted through Hardwire’s audios and he heard himself give a roar of assent as his wings snapped powerfully down the same moment he leapt with all of his strength. Two more wingbeats and he was airborne, surging upward through the tunnel and laughing despite himself at the high-pitched screech that had definitely <b>not</b> come from the femmes —his Courted had braced for it and his sister had just laughed with glee along with her mate—. Metal spiraled and energon lines glowed, providing light that Hardwire did not actually need to navigate such a straight upward path.</p>
<p>He slid from a straight rise into a rapidly ascending circle for the sake of his passengers who were desperately clinging to his armor against the force of wind and gravity. Behind him, he could hear a deep grinding of metal and old gears, their exit tunnel sealing behind him layer by layer as he climbed. The journey up was far shorter than the journey down, but still long and by the time natural light became visible from the long-awaited exit to the tunnel, Hardwire’s predacon instincts were screaming with the desire for <em>freedom-air-sky-sunshine-</em></p>
<p>Then they were out, surging into the open skies above Cybertron with a whoop from <em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish and <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz. Hardwire let loose a short burst of flame as he did a quick victory spin —that had <em>Strong-Steadfast-Defender-</em>Ironhide cursing at him with a touch of hysteria— and leveled out high above the surface of their dying home world. A few rough, agitated edges in Hardwire’s psyche he hadn’t even been aware of smoothed out at the sensation of endless room to roam and clean, wind-stirred air rushing in and out of his vents. <b>This</b> was where he was meant to fly, to live, to travel. Not the claustrophobic tunnels and their tight, winding, tricky depths that never saw sunlight and rarely gave enough room to fully stretch out.</p>
<p>His helm swiveled a bit as he took stock of their position and surroundings. At least a cycle, probably more, had to have passed since they left, because the sun was in roughly the same position as it had been when they left. Stars turned endless wheels in the sky that never turned blue —not like Earth skies, yet so familiar now— and below him, pitted and battle-scarred landscape stretched away to the horizon. They were in autobot territory —thank you <em>Great-First-Alpha-</em>Primus—, flying above the no-mech land that surrounded Iacon. Iacon itself towered in the near distance, its skyscrapers reaching for altitudes even higher than Hardwire’s current height and the unscarred metal of the buildings glinting in the sunlight.</p>
<p>Hardwire banked toward Iacon, already trying to mentally pinpoint where a good landing point would be … and how to land without crashing and offlining all of his passengers. He’d managed to land after battling the Turned, but he had more passengers to consider this time and probably a bunch of jumpy autobots to look out for. Hopefully his instincts would know how to land without committing suicide again. And that nobody would try to shoot them down.</p>
<p>Over the high shush of the wind over his wings, Hardwire heard <em>Trickster-Loyal-Beta-</em>Jazz call to <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus, “O.P.? Just occurred to me thah ya might wanna call ahead and clear a landin’ area. Wouldn’t want tha turrets or tha guards ta shoot ‘Wire down with us on him. ‘Specially since I don’ think he’s had much practice <b>landing</b> with a bunch o’ passengers in his new alt mode.”</p>
<p><em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus sounded surprisingly calm for sitting on the back of a previously extinct flying monster of cybertronian worst nightmares —because he was now wasn’t he? AllSpark he was going to be like some kind of primordial monster come back from the dead to the other autobots—, “A good idea, Jazz.” <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus switched over to the inner coms, which Hardwire was surprised to find he could still access —but couldn’t use because his vocalizer wasn’t cooperating—, ::Optimus Prime to Iacon Command, do you copy?::</p>
<p><em>Steady-Logical-Beta-</em>Prowl responded immediately, ::Affirmative. We have your signal, Prime.::</p>
<p>::I need you to clear a route along these coordinates, shut down the turrets along that route and relay orders to all patrols and guards to hold fire. We are returning via a … most unusual method of transportation.:: Hardwire chuffed at his Alpha’s wording, unusual indeed.</p>
<p><em>Steady-Logical-Beta-</em>Prowl paused before responding just long enough for Hardwire to imagine the praxian sending a nearby wall one of his flat, what-have-you-done-now looks, ::Understood. What kind of transport should the patrols scan for, and will you need a landing pad or medical assistance?::</p>
<p>::A large landing pad cleared of all personnel, and tell Ratchet meet us there. As for a transport description…:: Hardwire could almost swear <em>Kind-Wise-Alpha-</em>Optimus was smothering a laugh, ::How well versed are you in pre-Great Cataclysm mythology, old friend?::</p>
<p><em>Melody-Sister-Healer-</em>Starwish —clearly listening in like Hardwire was— gave a light, high titter of laughter and Hardwire could almost feel Arcee’s sympathy for <em>Steady-Logical-Beta-</em>Prowl’s pointedly long silence. This was going to be … interesting to explain to everyone. Especially since he was going to be flying into Iacon in full view of anyone who happened to look up —or down if they were aerials—.</p>
<p>Where they could then panic at the sight of a monster from their most ancient history texts flying overhelm in their city.</p>
<p>When it was common knowledge that <em>Fierce-Shattered-Alpha-</em>Megatron’s pet cyclops liked flaunting all the rules of nature and ethics to make new, better, killing monsters for his violent Alpha —the cyclops was still making new variants of insecticons to this cycle—.</p>
<p>…Wonderful.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0082"><h2>82. Twilight of Cybertron Part 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>What</b>. <b>The frag</b>. <b>Did you DO</b>?”</p>
<p>Prowl withheld a flinch at the sheer volume of Ratchet’s bellow as they both stood by the building entrance to the landing pad and observed Optimus and his team —barring Ironhide who had fallen off during the rough landing— slowly disembark from their … unusual transport. Prowl could feel a helm-ache forming, not just from Ratchet’s apoplectic volume, but from the newest complication his Prime had managed to collect. In the back of his processor, Prowl had to marvel at how, even after all these vorns of collecting data on his Prime, Prowl <b>still</b> managed to miscalculate Optimus’s talent for the understatement.</p>
<p>“Hardwire unlocked, and became accidentally trapped in, a new alternate mode based on an old legendary creature” indeed. He was sure that Optimus had intentionally failed to leave out the part where Hardwire’s “new alternate mode” was 10.0584 meters tall, 64.008 meters long from nose to tail-tip, and had a staggering wingspan of 160.02 meters.</p>
<p>Optimus had also left out the part where Hardwire’s new alternate mode was quite clearly based off of the predatory, spark-shock inducing, long thought extinct, cybertronian-devouring <b>predacons</b>. Which meant —if Zipline’s well-known seeker programing and Hardwire’s nearly flawless first flight through the city was any indication— that Hardwire now had the impulses and programming of a predacon as well.</p>
<p>Prowl felt the majority of his logic drives crash trying to compute all of the ramifications, then laboriously restart just in time to prevent a glitch. Several of them crashed again when Ratchet left his side, stomped over to the returning team, and promptly slammed his wrench into the helms of each one barring his medical apprentice. Personally, Prowl would have excluded the mech with probably compromised moral and sub-processor coding and denta the length of an average mech’s forearm from that kind of abuse. But Ratchet was not Prowl and —despite all of his lectures on self-preservation programming— was clearly lacking essential coding in that area himself and thus didn’t hesitate to slam his wrench down on Hardwire’s large muzzle.</p>
<p>Hardwire flinched away from the blow and briefly bared his denta. A deep, plating-rattling growl echoed from the mech-predacon and Prowl could not stop his doorwings from flattening against his back plates in a visceral fear reaction. Instincts and logic both advised backing away as a prudent course of action —but not running, running was a prey reaction and would incite a predatory response—, but loyalty to his Prime —who had promised that Hardwire was still safe despite his new modifications— kept Prowl’s pedes magnetized to the spot.</p>
<p>That, and movement of any kind would likely draw attention to himself, which his logic drives concluded would not be in Prowl’s best interests at that moment. His efforts to remain unnoticed and unobtrusive turned out to be moot though, as within kliks of coming to that conclusion, large yellow optics focused on him and another plating-deep rumble echoed over the landing pad. Prowl’s doorwings flattened more tightly to his back plates and only vorns of rigidly practiced self-control kept his venting steady and outward signs of his racing spark suppressed. Hardwire’s helm —4.2672 meters long, Primus that would provide a jaw size big enough to devour a two-wheeler whole— dipped down so that it almost touched the landing pad, the rumble shifting to a soft shiver of noise that Prowl theorized was supposed to be comforting. It wasn’t, but a part of Prowl —the part not busy calculating survival rates and the potential jaw strength and puncture capabilities of denta that long— appreciated the effort.</p>
<p>Ratchet and Starwish were too busy circling Hardwire, running scans, and debating the finer points of their findings and how it would effect repairs to notice the interaction. Prime and Ironhide were also preoccupied on the comlinks, attempting to field all of the frantic alert pings coming from the many mechs —both on duty and off— that had spotted Hardwire fly in. Prowl should have been fielding the questions and alarms as well, but his processor was still too busy trying not to glitch out or give in to the urge to run away screaming —highly unadvisable, not enough data to determine whether Hardwire would be able to suppress the resulting predatory response or whether Prime would notice and call Hardwire off in time or whether Hardwire would even <b>listen</b> to Prime in that form—.</p>
<p>“Prowler? Prowler, it’s okay.” Ah, Jazz. Jazz was there, having hurried away from where he’d been discussing something with Arcee. The smaller mech was now at Prowl’s side, gentle servos touching one of Prowl’s arms as he murmured, “Easy, Prowler, ‘Wire ain’t gonna hurt ya. He may look big an’ scary now, but he’s still tha same mech he always was. Just calm down.” The wording caused Prowl to realize somewhat distantly that he must have been projecting his fear strongly enough that Jazz picked up on it over their Amica Endura bond. Prowl forced his gaze away from Hardwire’s now massive predacon frame to focus on Jazz’s visor.</p>
<p>One of Jazz’s servos wrapped around his wrist, “Come on, he’s safe. Ah’ll show you.” Prowl’s vents hitched as Jazz began to gently pull him toward the predacon. Prowl shot Jazz a look that was unashamedly pleading, instinctual terror paralyzing his vocalizer despite all of his attempts to circumvent it with logic —because right now logic agreed with instinct that this was a <b>bad idea</b>, instincts screaming <em>not-safe-not-safe-no</em>— The grip on his wrist tightened and Jazz’s voice became low but unshakable, “Trust Hardwire, Prowl. And if you can’t do that, then trust <b>me</b>.”</p>
<p>It was … not a good argument. His experience with Hardwire, while mostly positive, was nowhere near long enough by cybertronian standards to count as reliable evidence in the face of something of this magnitude. There were too many unknown variables, too many <b>known</b> variables —experimented on, nasty temper when finally pushed to the brink, bāsākā program— that were already negative before this massive alteration of data. As much as he might have wished otherwise, Prowl was slow to trust and the trust he had in Hardwire was not yet deep enough to brave this kind of test —not when that growl he sent at Ratchet for touching something sensitive was so loud and deep and his claws so sharp as they flexed on the landing pad—.</p>
<p>But Jazz … Prowl trusted Jazz. Prowl had known Jazz for longer than he’d known most other autobots. He had known the mech as both enemy, ally, friend and then Amica Endura. Jazz was illogical and unpredictable, Jazz was dangerous and more than a little criminal when he wanted to get his way or reach a chosen objective. But Jazz was also loyal. Protective. Trustworthy. He would not knowingly take Prowl into danger without warning him first, he would not tell Prowl to trust unless he believed there was a worthy basis for that trust.</p>
<p>Prowl could not bring himself to trust Hardwire in this new form … but he already trusted Jazz, and Jazz said it was safe to approach. Prime had deemed it safe to approach, Ironhide had consented to <b>riding</b> on Hardwire. He trusted them as well. So he would do this. He would trust in their judgement. He would trust in his Prime and in Hardwire’s mentor.</p>
<p>Though mostly, he would trust in his Amica Endura.</p>
<p>His pedes came unstuck from the landing pad and he took a tentative step forward, then two. Jazz walked with him the entire way, not rushing, not pulling. He just kept a firm grip on Prowl’s wrist as Prowl hesitantly forced himself to approach, forced himself to think and stay calm past the repeated crashing of several of his logic drives as they struggled to restrain and calculate past the blinding terror that clenched at his spark.</p>
<p>Hardwire’s attention had been diverted to Ratchet when the CMO had attempted to examine a particularly large dent on Hardwire’s tail —an action met by an unhappy chuff and an irritable snap of massive teeth at the air above Ratchet’s helm, something the medic did not deign to respond to beyond scowling and removing his servos from the appendage— but halfway into Prowl’s slow approach, Hardwire noticed him and those intense yellow optics —just this once, red would have been a comfort, if only by familiarity— settled on his frame.</p>
<p>Twenty steps, twenty-five, thirty. Hardwire lowered his helm to the ground again but did not make a sound as Prowl forced himself to close the final distance and stand directly in front of the jaws of which his logic drives had been calculating the bite strength —easily enough to snap an average praxian frame in half, possibly enough to chew through a Brute frame in one to three bites—. The long helm shifted to stare at him sidelong through one optic and while Prowl’s already flattened doorwings flinched at the motion, he stubbornly refused to back away. Vent in, vent out, vent in, vent out. Jazz was watching him, radiating a quiet confidence and concern through the grip on his wrist and Prowl —rather illogically, but comfortingly— allowed the sensation to steady him.</p>
<p>He reached out a servo —not shaking, his self-control was too impeccable for that, but the movement was far slower than normal— and, after several kliks of hesitation and a soft encouragement from Jazz, rested the servo on Hardwire’s cheek plating. Hardwire continued to hold still, only emitting a deep, shivering croon in greeting. Prowl’s doorwings twitched away from his back plates at the sound, trying to catch all of the layers and sub-tones it held that he was certain only a praxian —or Jazz when he was completely focused— would have been able to pick up.</p>
<p>The croon rolled into a low, constant rumble —not a snarl, not a growl, the harmonics were similar to a cyber-cat’s purr, though a great many octaves down the scale— and Prowl’s doorwings pricked up further. Rising halfway from his back, they began to flick from side to side as he caught and analyzed the tones and inflections, struggling to work out some kind of equivalent translation of what Hardwire might be attempting to communicate since his vocalizer was clearly unable to form speech at this time.</p>
<p>The pitch of the … purr … shifted just a fraction lower still on the scale, vibrating up Prowl’s servo and into his doorwings with intent and for the first time in vorns —since before the War and its concussive blaster fire that could be so damaging to heightened sensors— Prowl let himself fully <b>listen</b> the sound, like praxians used to revel in doing before the War. To feel the sound-waves in a way that conveyed more emotion and intent and energy than any non-praxian mech would ever truly understand-</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>…Oh.</p>
<p>Prowl’s doorwings relaxed into a welcoming position almost without his consent, his sparkbeat slowing and easing back down to something close to the normal rate as he let the protoform deep impressions of <em>safe-affection-friend-welcome-safe-safe</em> to vibrate up through his doorwings and into his frame. His logic drives eased as the terror that had been trying so hard to override them receded into mere nervousness at something unfamiliar, then into nothing at all. Prowl vented in, vented out, blinked once, and then flicked his doorwings in the praxian equivalent of a smile, “Welcome back, Hardwire.”</p>
<p>The yellow optic brightened and the purr shifted upward in tone dramatically, buzzing Prowl’s doorwings with <em>relief-welcomed-friend-happy-relief</em>. Prowl flicked a doorwing down fractionally in an apology —because of course Hardwire was more unnerved by his situation than anyone else, it was only logical— and Prowl followed up the nonverbal gesture with a quiet, “My apologies. I should not have doubted your self-control, even over a new alternate form. However, you are very … large.”</p>
<p>A flash of denta in a —very intimidating— smile, followed by a quick rolling warble that conveyed <em>sarcasm-amusement</em>. Prowl gave a very faint hum of response, “Yes, I am aware of my understatement. What is your status?” There was a responding chuff and growl of <em>frustration-pain-sorrow-relief</em> that Prowl was unable to properly translate from lack of context. The frustration and pain could very likely be attributed to his new alternate mode and the damage it had taken. But the sorrow was —so far as Prowl could determine— without cause. All of the away team had returned, and no one appeared to bear injuries beyond minor ones. Something to do with their mission itself, perhaps. But surely there was not enough sorrow in the growl or in the behavior of the others to indicate a mission failure…</p>
<p>“Prowler? You can understand ‘Wire?”</p>
<p>Prowl flicked a wing, “Only rudimentarily. His vocalizations in this mode may not form Cyber Standard or any conventional language structure, but my doorwings are able to detect … emotional impressions of sorts within the sound.”</p>
<p>Jazz looked intrigued, but did not press. Instead, he came to a loose attention as Optimus approached. Optimus nodded to Jazz before focusing on him, “Prowl.”</p>
<p>Prowl saluted, “Prime.”</p>
<p>“I need to broadcast a faction wide order of utmost importance. How soon can the necessary encrypted channels be prepared?”</p>
<p>Prowl set several of his logic drives to the problem, the result did not take long to procure, “I would need to confirm with Blaster, but I estimate it would take four joors to have the majority of Autobot channels prepped for a simultaneous broadcast. Unless you wish to address even the outposts?”</p>
<p>Prime nodded, and Prowl did not think he was imagining the heavy new weight that seemed to press against his Prime’s shoulder struts now, “The outposts, the Wreckers, and every mech and femme possible, both on the field and off.”</p>
<p>Prowl carefully did not calculate what kind of message might bear that much urgent importance as well as the regret he could see in his Prime’s frame, “I would estimate a minimum of six joors then. Blaster would be able to give you a better timeframe.”</p>
<p>Optimus idly patted Hardwire’s neck plating as the mech —predacon?— gave a noise of <em>worry-regret-anguish-worry</em>, “Long enough to hold an officer’s meeting then. You should be informed beforehand.”</p>
<p>Prowl felt his doorwings lower, “The mission was a failure then.”</p>
<p>Optimus shook his helm, “No. Megatron was successfully repelled from the Core before he could taint it with Dark Energon. This is about a different matter, one I am afraid is almost entirely out of our control.” He rested a servo gently on Prowl’s shoulder for a moment, “I will explain at the meeting. This is not a discussion for the open air.” Prowl dipped his helm in uneasy assent.</p>
<p>The discussion was interrupted rather abruptly by Hardwire’s sudden, loud, yelp of <em>pain-agitation-indignation </em>and Ratchet’s equally loud snap of, “Stop whining! There’s no way I’ll be able to fit you into the medbay for a <b>proper </b>examination unless we restore your transformation capabilities! Which mean these dents need to come out!”</p>
<p>There was a whine of <em>pain-unhappiness-pleading</em> that needed no translation —apparently some sounds truly were universal— and Ratchet rapped Hardwire’s massive hip joint with a wrench as he scolded, “I can’t just <b>give you</b> pain meds in this form! There could be unknown fuels in your lines! New program data that would interact incorrectly with it! You could suffer from a reaction! Mood-swings! Nausea! Disorientation! Loss of limb control! <b>Spark-shock</b>!” The wrench was swapped out for something Prowl had seen frequently enough during his own tenures in the medical bay to recognize as a dent-removal tool, “Now stay still and let us work.”</p>
<p>Hardwire settled against the landing pad with a noise of <em>unhappy-irritated-tired-irritated</em> and despite his previous victory over terror, Prowl felt a quick jolt of fear at the flash of fangs so close to his own frame. Jazz patted his arm and opened a private com channel, ::Trust me, it terrifies everyone when he does that. ‘Cept maybe Arcee, but she’s his Courted, so Ah guess she has no reason ta be scared, no matter how big and pointy and pyromaniac ‘Wire’s gotten.::</p>
<p>::…Pyromaniac?::</p>
<p>Jazz gave him an unapologetic smile, ::This new form o’ his can breathe fire. It’s hot enough to melt most mechs in a single blast.::</p>
<p>Prowl vented slowly to keep from otherwise reacting, ::Someone gave a Bāsākā mech the ability to not only fly, but to breathe fire as well?::</p>
<p>::Yep.::</p>
<p>Prowl thought about that for a long twenty kliks, then promptly decided that his cycle had just become far too complicated and deserved, just this once, to be labeled appropriately —no matter how inappropriate the language technically was—, ::Slag.::</p>
<p>::That <b>is</b> what any ‘Cons Hardwire came across became, yeah.::</p>
<p>Prowl sent his Amica Endura a <b>look</b> —which only garnered weak chuckles— because that was Not. Helping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took Starwish and Ratchet about a joor to finally map out all of the damaged transformation seams and correct the framework and plating around them to enable transformation. Optimus, Ironhide, Jazz, and Prowl had vacated the landing pad by that point to deal with the mass semi-panic that was occurring throughout Iacon as word of the “predacon” spread like an Earth wildfire and to make preparations for an officer’s meeting that would no doubt involve Optimus announcing Primus’s command to leave the planet. The meeting would not take place for at least another joor or two —because Ratchet would need to be there, Starwish suspected she and Hardwire and Arcee would as well just this once— and after that-. Starwish carefully cut off that line of thought in favor of focusing on her task.</p>
<p>Carefully realigning the last of Hardwire’s dent-warped plating —and ignoring the irritated growl the painful move earned—, Starwish slid off of Hardwire’s back and glanced over at Ratchet, “I’ve finished on my side.”</p>
<p>Ratchet paced around Hardwire for a few kliks, muttered dire threats under his vocalizer that Starwish knew were just a cover for how stressed and scared he was before he came to a stop next to her and nodded sharply, “That should be all of them. Try to transform now, but take it slowly! Stop the process if it becomes noticeably painful.”</p>
<p>Hardwire made a noise that was probably agreement —hard to tell when his vocalizer was so deep and draconic— and a moment later his plating flared and shifted into the transformation sequence. Starwish knew the moment the grinding sound started that something was wrong, but Hardwire ignored Ratchet’s prior order and current cursing and kept pushing the sequence. A cry of pain started halfway through, rising in volume and pitch as armor roughly slid and changed and subspaced as needed. Arcee took half a step toward her Courted, “Hardwire!”</p>
<p>Finally, the last of the sequence completed and Hardwire fell onto his servos and knees with a weary gasp. Arcee made to run to his side, but faltered as she looked, really looked, at him. Her expression twisted into one of shock and anger and Starwish understood exactly what Arcee was feeling even as her medic side took over and sent her running to Hardwire’s side, already scanning while Ratchet cursed and the others on the landing pad looked on in alarm.</p>
<p>Despite her hissed mutterings for him to stay still, Hardwire pushed himself to his pedes and Starwish got a very, very good look at everything that had made Arcee freeze.</p>
<p>The transformation had altered Hardwire’s mech form.</p>
<p>His frame was much taller. Where once he’d only been a foot or so taller than Bulkhead, now he had to be at least two feet taller than Megatron himself. His legs were now digitigrade, with two sharp-looking claws attached to each pede. His plating, while still the same green shade it had been before, now had leaner, spikier, more predatory shapes to them. His helm, while mostly untouched, had gained several overlaid pieces of plating that worked their way from his forehelm to the base of his skull like some kind of multi-layered spiky crest. Along the outsides of his forearms ran a row of three hooked barbs, like the special vambrace armor she’d seen some of the Special Ops use, the barbs meant to deflect or trap blades and claws. Hardwire’s fingers —while not much longer than they had been originally— now ended in sharp, lethal points.</p>
<p>Starwish could still pick out pieces of his original alt mode —his tires were in the same place they always were and he still had headlights on his chest plates— but the changes were so many and so drastic that if she hadn’t witnessed Hardwire transform and sensed his familiar red optics staring down at her in puzzlement, she would have had a lot of trouble believing that the mech —the <b>predacon</b>— before her was actually <b>Hardwire</b>.</p>
<p>Hardwire attempted to stand perfectly straight, but nearly overbalanced and instead had to content himself with a posture that leaned forward ever so slightly, knees bent with just enough potential power to pounce. Like a predator ready to spring forward at a moment’s notice. He looked … more baffled than anything else as he stared down at Arcee, then Starwish, then the —for once speechless— Ratchet. Finally, he looked over at where Optimus, Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz were gaping at him and commented slowly, “So … I’m going to guess that everyone else didn’t get a lot shorter all of a sudden.”</p>
<p>The comment snapped Ratchet out of his silent daze, unleashing a new storm of words that Starwish had actually never heard before as he practically bullied Hardwire off of the landing pad and toward the medbay. Starwish followed on Ratchet’s heel struts worriedly, processor already spinning with implications and stress and by Primus how were they going to explain <b>this</b> to the rest of the autobots? The only reason they were not being stared at now was Jazz trailing along behind, issuing emergency orders to his Special Ops mechs to clear a path of witnesses to the medbay. If Hardwire’s dragon form had caused a near panic flying in, than seeing his new mech form —so tall and intimidating and predatory and red-opticed— was sure to stir up an absolute frenzy. And they needed to maintain as much calm and order as they could before Optimus made the evacuation announcement and everything went to Pit anyway.</p>
<p>To think, just a cycle or so earlier her biggest worry had been broaching the subject of her little brother’s mysterious spark-drain with Master Yoketron. Now she had an impending exile, a little brother, a <b>big</b> brother, a conversation with a living planet about her origins, and a favor <b>to</b> said living planet to fulfill to the best of her ability until the war ended —if it ever did— to worry about.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0083"><h2>83. Twilight of Cybertron Part 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
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<p>The announcement made over every available com channel sent chaos through the autobot forces. Disbelief warred with anger and denial, spark-break and rebellious rage. The Iacon brig was already half filled with autobots who had lost control of their emotions and gone too far with their protests, crossing the thin line into insubordination despite all of Optimus Prime’s attempts to calm the masses and bring them to heel.</p>
<p>Ratchet was almost ashamed to admit he had almost been one of them. Almost. He was too angry to truly be ashamed.</p>
<p>He sat in his office now, several joors after the meeting that had preceded the faction-wide announcement, staring without seeing at the various datapads in front of him and trying to piece his life and self-control back together. He would have tried to piece his broken spark back together, but he already knew that was a futile effort. The meeting had not ended well, and even now, Ratchet could still feel helpless fury seethe in his spark, the kind that lashed out at anyone because the true target was not something he could reach. Or perhaps there was no true target.</p>
<p>After all, who do you blame for killing an entire planet?</p>
<p><em>Megatron and the decepticons, that’s who.</em> Pointed out a part of his processor, <em>if they hadn’t started this war…</em> But wars needed at least two sides to continue and therein lay the core of Ratchet’s outburst in the meeting. He had called Optimus a liar, right to his faceplate. Said it was impossible to lose an entire <b>planet</b>. But Optimus had had Ironhide, Jazz, Arcee, Hardwire, and Ratchet’s own medical apprentice Starwish backing him up. He had the word of Primus himself, and Jazz had compiled data from over the vorns that individually looked like nothing, but when put all together…</p>
<p>Ratchet rubbed a servo over his helm, and felt, for the first time in joors, a tiny pang of guilt at the memory of the look on Optimus’s faceplates during some of the things Ratchet had said. He couldn’t remember his own words clearly, but the gist of it was … well, he was lucky he was CMO and that Optimus was such a soft spark, or Ratchet would definitely be sitting in a brig cell right now awaiting court martial. Ironhide had been forced to pry Ratchet away from Optimus, but even then Ratchet hadn’t stopped until Hardwire had suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of his armor and <b>shook</b> him like a wayward sparkling. The shaking had been accompanied by a deep, feral growl that sent a shiver of terror through him even now.</p>
<p>Surprise and fear —because for all he had covered it up with bluster and cursing, seeing and handling Hardwire’s new form had been the most terrifying thing in his life to date— had stilled him long enough for Starwish to slip a mild sedative in his lines. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to force him to be quiet while Optimus, Ironhide, and Jazz had outlined the rest of their information and their tentative evacuation plan.</p>
<p>Ratchet threw the datapad he’d been staring at onto his desk with a noise of disgust and began to pace. Evacuate Cybertron. That was Primus’s command. An impossible one. Even if Jazz <b>did</b> find a shipyard full of space craft at the coordinates he’d been given and even <b>if</b> those space craft proved salvageable, the idea of getting in one, of <b>leaving</b> Cybertron … He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even conceive it. The Age of Exploration was long over, long before Ratchet had even been sparked. Cybertronians were no longer meant to traverse the spaces between the stars and even if they were, to leave their home behind after fighting so long to keep it? To just … <b>give it up</b> to Megatron and his ilk? All of their sacrifices, the prices paid by all of the mechs and femmes that had bled out and joined the Well under Ratchet’s servos despite his best efforts rendered moot? Just like that? Every cable and diode inside Ratchet’s frame physically recoiled at the mere thought and his spark shuddered under the sheer magnitude of his feelings about the matter.</p>
<p>His spinning thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open to admit someone. Only two personnel in the medbay had the access codes to his personal office, and First Aid was busy helping the initial prep and catalog all of the autobot faction’s medical supplies upon the Prime’s order, “Go away, Starwish. I wish to be alone.”</p>
<p>The door slid shut, and for a moment he thought his hoarse order had been obeyed, then, “I commed Master Yoketron, he’s agreed to leave his dojo and come visit Fast Track personally in the medbay to evaluate what happened.” Ratchet didn’t turn around to face her, just gave a vague noise of acknowledgement and hoped she would go away. Of course, being the most stubborn of his apprentices, she didn’t, “Did you finish analyzing Hardwire’s CNA samples?”</p>
<p>Ratchet closed his optics, praying for patience, then opened them, “Yes. They … the CNA structures have no known match in the medical database. The base structure is similar to a cybertronians, similar enough to be spark compatible, but other than that…” He gestured irritably toward the datapad he had thrown on his desk, “Well, you can read the details for yourself. But as far as any medical test known to cybertronian kind can confirm, Primus was right. Your brother is a predacon.” And how, <b>how</b> had Ratchet missed that for so long? True, CNA tests were hardly ever run these days —simply no point when there was no time to worry or work on cures for something as delicate and rare as CNA viruses— but surely there should have been some kind of sign? Some kind of clue that Ratchet had missed? The mysterious program that had been inside Hardwire’s processor for so long was almost completely gone now, dissolved save for a few command platforms and basic runtimes.</p>
<p>The Bāsākā code itself was missing on first and even fifth glance, only found when Ratchet had thought to check the core codes of Hardwire’s sub-processor. It had fragmented and rearranged inside the core sub-processor coding, merging with other bits of data and essential subroutines until it was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the code. But its influence was painfully obvious. The wild, feral edge that had always been present when Hardwire went Bāsākā now clung to the mech like an electric charge, even when he was coherent and talking as quietly and calmly as he ever had. There was an <b>awareness</b> to the mech now, a predatory aura that set every instinct in Ratchet’s helm on edge, even though Hardwire was clearly in control of himself —though he had admitted to noticing new instincts and impulses, all of them seemed to be under his control for the moment—. It had been that aura that had frozen Ratchet mid-word when Hardwire had stormed forward and shook him like a plaything during the meeting. The seething air of anger and disapproval, like invisible fangs around his neck cables, had paralyzed Ratchet.</p>
<p>Because he’d remembered in that instant that there was no control program now, nothing stopping the battle frenzy he had seen over the vorns from coming to bear on <b>him</b> for being so blatantly aggressive toward the Prime —the only mech Hardwire seemed to listen to on a good day, definitely the only one he listened to on a bad one—.</p>
<p>Starwish interrupted his thoughts again from where she was leaning against his desk and quietly reading through the datapad, “As CMO, I would have thought you’d be overseeing the initial inventory count. Helping outline the rationing plan.”</p>
<p>Ratchet felt his plating bristle at the calm in her tone, “I am not participating in this-”</p>
<p>Blue and red flashed up to lock gazes with him, for once as implacable as the cyber-ninja he kept forgetting she was, “Don’t. You made your opinion quite clear in the meeting Ratchet, but that doesn’t mean you can just stick you helm in the <em>sand</em> and pretend the problem is going to go away.”</p>
<p>Ratchet loomed over her, “Don’t <b>lecture me</b>, Apprentice Medic! Do you have <b>any idea</b> what he is demanding of me? Of all of us? This world is our <b>home</b>, we cannot just abandon it to the decepticons for untold vorns on the <b>hope</b> that we might return someday! We can’t just … just leave! Cybertron needs us! Cybertron-”</p>
<p>“Is on the brink of offlining. And if we stay, our offlining will be guaranteed.”</p>
<p>“Then so <b>be it-</b>!” Pain. Ratchet stared blankly at the wall for several kliks, processing how he had gone from glaring at Starwish to staring blankly at the wall. He shifted his helm back, one servo coming up to touch his now throbbing cheek-plating, “I-”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” He found himself pinned beneath her suddenly heavy gaze, a gaze that was fierce and brittle and clouded with tears, “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare try to stand there and say that it’s better to just give up and offline than face a future without a home world. Don’t. Even. Dare.” She made that odd swallowing motion of hers and her vents hitched slightly as she glanced away for a moment before looking back, “I know this hurts, Ratchet. Primus, I know. But you can’t do this right now. You <b>can’t</b>. Optimus <b>needs</b> you. He needs his friend, his CMO, he needs everyone he can get because <b>this is happening</b>. Screaming and shouting and denial isn’t going to make it go away.”</p>
<p>Ratchet made a frustrated gesture, “Then what would you have me do? Just <b>give up</b> on my home?”</p>
<p>Behind the thin sheen of tears, Starwish’s optics were hard, “Home isn’t a place. It’s a people. It’s <b>your</b> people. The people you care about. As long as you have <b>them</b>, as long as you do everything you can to keep them <b>safe</b>, then it doesn’t matter what planet you are on … or what your species is.”</p>
<p>Her word, soft and tight and pained, filled with remembrance and understanding, drew Ratchet’s hurt fury up short. He stared at her for a long time. Horrible understanding filled his spark, and suddenly he wished desperately that he hadn’t said any of that, hadn’t had to hear her response. Hadn’t had the opportunity to <b>understand</b> what she had been living through already for vorns. He closed his optics tight, then opened them, unable to keep himself from staring at her, “How…” <em>how do you stand this? How can you live like this? Taken away from everything you’ve ever known, knowing that the chances of ever going back are basically none? Knowing that even if you do return, nothing will ever be the same? How are you even standing here right now?</em></p>
<p>She looked at him, and she suddenly seemed … much older than the number of vorns he knew she possessed, “One cycle at a time. If that gets too much, then I focus on just one more joor, sometimes even just one more breem. Sometimes…” she glanced at the walls, gaze distant, seeing something that only she knew, “All I have strength for is one more step. So that’s what I do. I take one more step, and then I tell myself to take just one more.” Her lip plates pressed tightly together in something that was a grim parody of a smile, “It’s why I sing all the time. Why I dance whenever I can. Those things, little things, things like <em>Christmas</em>, or music, or stories, they’re all I have left to prove that my home was real once.” She shrugged, tiny and fragile, “Being with Hardwire and the Twinlings always helped when the singing couldn’t, even if the Twinlings were too young to really understand and they don’t really miss <em>Earth</em> the way I do. Then I Harmonized with Jazz, and he helps me too, whenever he isn’t on duty.”</p>
<p>Her gaze settled back on him, her expression serious again, “I’ve already lost one home world Ratchet, and I’m about to lose another. No matter what happens next, nothing is ever going to be the same. For any of us. It’s going to hurt. You are going to hurt, and that pain isn’t ever going to fully go away. But screaming and shouting, blaming everyone else, refusing to help … it’s not going to do anything other than make it worse. So please…” Her face twisted and for a moment, Ratchet saw depths of despair he hadn’t thought her capable of, pain he didn’t think a spark could survive —because how do you survive losing everything you’ve ever known, down to the composition of the ground beneath your pedes—, then her expression smoothed over and she rested a small servo on his arm, “Please don’t make this hurt even more than it already does. Don’t commit suicide trying to stop something you can’t change. Optimus … Optimus doesn’t deserve that, and neither do you.”</p>
<p>Shame settled in his spark now, deep and mortified over what he had done, the things he had <b>said</b>, and Ratchet vented deep and slow in an effort not to sway under the sheer force of it. He closed his optics and tried not to think about the memories —he would have apologies to make in his near future, lots of them—, then forced his frame to straighten and opened his optics again, “I need to go help First Aid with outlining a rationing plan.” Something almost proud flashed through her optics and Ratchet had a moment to wonder when his apprentice had become the teacher instead before Starwish stepped away and made for the door, “I’ll check on the current patients for you and see if Cogwheel has any ideas for conserving our surgical equipment. Then I will begin preparations for Master Yoketron’s visit.”</p>
<p>They exited his office and turned to go their separate ways when Ratchet caught her shoulder and murmured, “Thank you, Starwish.”</p>
<p>Starwish gave him a quiet look that wasn’t really a smile even though it pretended to be one, “Don’t thank me yet.” She pulled away from him before he had a chance to think more on her words and trotted away, leaving Ratchet to seek out First Aid … and plan for the litany of apologies he needed to make.</p>
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<p>Arcee pulled up in front of the Hall of Records and transformed. She approached the grand doors in her root mode, coming to a halt the moment the guards noticed her and gestured imperiously with their spears to do so, “Who approaches the Hall?”</p>
<p>Arcee idly rubbed the servo that had been touched by Primus’s spark energy and called back, “Arcee of Iacon seeks admittance into the Hall of Records.”</p>
<p>“For what purpose?” Snapped one of the guards irritably, “Do you not have preparations to make for the impending Exile?”</p>
<p>Arcee bit back an acidic retort to the comment —if only barely— and forced her tone to remain respectful and formal as she answered, “It is those preparations that bring me here. I come upon the orders of one greater than I, to seek out Alpha Trion and bring him word of certain circumstances.” Close enough to her purpose without making it sound selfish. Primus <b>had</b> told her to speak to Alpha Trion after all, and with how busy she anticipated her vorn becoming soon, she wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.</p>
<p>The guards exchanged glances, “What circumstances?”</p>
<p>Arcee flared her armor briefly in impatience, “That is for the audios of the Master Archivist alone. Now grant me entrance before I report your impediment of my mission to Optimus Prime!”</p>
<p>A bluff, kind of, since Optimus was no doubt even more overwhelmed with tasks than anyone else, but her confidence in his name and the unspoken implication that he was the one who had sent her finally had the guards stand grudgingly aside, “Enter, Arcee of Iacon, be about your business swiftly.” Arcee jogged past them before they could change their minds and entered the Hall of Records.</p>
<p>She had been inside only a few times before, and despite her urgency, she couldn’t help but stop and stare at the towering, wall-sized shelves filled to the brim with knowledge both new and old. The sense of timelessness and age and forgotten things now reminded her vaguely of standing in Primus’s spark chamber, and she flattened her armor in a reverent gesture. Her armor fluttered out again when two Archivists rushed past, talking noisily over each other as they gestured toward different sections of shelves and rattled off terms that went over Arcee’s helm completely. Another glance around revealed similar activities happening everywhere, and the quiet hush she recalled from her previous visits was nowhere to be found as the Archivists bustled to and fro on urgent tasks.</p>
<p>Guilt pricked her spark at the thought of interrupting this —because the preservation of so much history and knowledge through the upcoming Exile was important wasn’t it?— and she wondered if she should turn around and come back another time. It wasn’t like she’d be able to find Alpha Trion in this chaos anyway, and everyone was too busy to ask for directions-, “E-excuse m-me? A-a-are you Arcee o-of I-Iacon?”</p>
<p>She jerked in surprise and turned to see a two-wheeler mech about her height shuffling closer. The mech blinked at her impatiently and Arcee remembered his question, “Ah, yes. I’m Arcee.”</p>
<p>The mech motioned for her to follow him as he broke into a trot, “T-this way t-then. M-Master Trion is w-w-waiting for y-you.”</p>
<p>Arcee ducked under the arms of an Archivist carrying a large box of something, “He is?”</p>
<p>The mech, who seemed to have a bad vocalizer glitch, nodded, “Y-yes, of c-course. W-w-we received a r-report of your arrival and p-purpose from the entrance guards. Alpha Trion has b-been i-in the Deep Archives f-f-for several cycles now with orders to not be d-disturbed for any r-reason, but for you, he has made a-an exception. He i-is w-waiting for you in his office.”</p>
<p>Arcee wondered just how much knowledge was collected here that there was a “Deep Archives” compared to the thousands of datapads and consoles she could see as her guide led her down a twisting maze of corridors, “Oh … Thank you.”</p>
<p>The mech glanced over his shoulder dryly, “D-don’t. I-if Master Trion thinks y-you’re wasting h-his time, it w-w-will end very badly for you. H-he is not a mech t-to be crossed.”</p>
<p>Somehow, Arcee couldn’t see herself being particularly threatened by an Archivist. But then, the past few cycles had been full of surprises —such as Hardwire’s new mode and the alterations done to his person without his <b>consent</b>—, so she bit back the sarcastic comment that tried to rise, “I don’t plan on taking up too much of his time.”</p>
<p>“G-good.”</p>
<p>The rest of the brisk walk was made in silence and filled with so many twists, turns and double-backs that even a scout of Arcee’s vorns found herself completely lost. She couldn’t imagine striding through the identical towering halls and chambers filled to the brim with datapads and holograms and consoles with the surety of the mech guiding her. Not even if she’d had a map downloaded directly into her processor. Yet her guide didn’t hesitate for a moment, jogging through the busy corridors and over bridges —bridges! In a building!— with the same ease Arcee might use to approach a patrol through Praxus prior to the War.</p>
<p>It occurred to her belatedly that any mech or femme sparked in the Archivist Caste in Iacon spent the vast majority of their vorns in this place, some of them rarely leaving it even when off-duty. Even with the mech-power shortages that the autobots were facing, a substantial portion of the archivists had been allowed to stay off the frontlines and here in their original function. So it was little wonder that while any other autobots would find themselves lost beyond recovery, the archivists would know it better than they probably knew the city or even themselves.</p>
<p>Eventually though, her guide came to a stop in front of a single, unassuming old door. There was no decorations or name plate or any other kind of marker to what lay beyond it, and it was one of the old-fashioned kind of doors that required manual opening. Very antique … much like the current section of archives they were in. Arcee tried to withhold her skepticism and suspicion as her guide knocked quietly on the door three times. <em>If they’re just trying to shove me off on some secretary back here where I won’t be in the way…</em></p>
<p>The door opened a moment before she could finish that thought, revealing a very young praxian with wide blue optics that looked a mix between nervous, serious, and excited. Arcee felt her irritation spike, —this was certainly no “Master Archivist”—, but then the praxian’s optics went even wider and he called over his shoulder, “She’s here, Master Trion! Arcee of Iacon!”</p>
<p>From further inside the room, a much older voice, with a low, deceptively soft ring to it that reminded Arcee oddly of Primus, answered, “Let her in Smokescreen. Turing, you may resume your duties.”</p>
<p>Turing bowed to whoever had spoken and hurried away without so much as a goodbye. Arcee stepped cautiously into the room, allowing the young praxian to close it behind her and politely ignoring his loud whisper of, “Wow…” as he stared at her. She didn’t have any time or inclination to pay attention to the praxian however, as her optics were immediately drawn to the very large, very ornate, very <b>old</b> desk sitting in a place of pride in what had to be the most cluttered room she had ever seen outside of a bombed out building. Standing beside the desk, just as large and ornate and old, was a mech who could only be Alpha Trion, Master Archivist of the Hall of Records.</p>
<p>Blue optics that were as seemingly depthless as the chasm in the Underworld had been regarded her cooly, “You have a message from Optimus?”</p>
<p>Arcee stepped further into the room and mustered her courage, “No.” Blue optics narrowed and flashed brighter in a silent warning. In a flash of intuition, Arcee realized that the mech before her had not always been a peaceful, cloistered leader of archivists and keeper of antique trinkets. The mech before her had a presence that was more than just his size and age, a sense of command and charisma that reminded her uncomfortably of Optimus when he was angry. She steeled herself and hurried to explain her purpose before the old mech had her thrown out, “I have just recently returned from a mission to the Underworld. I was on the team Optimus Prime led when he went to commune with Primus.”</p>
<p>There was a gasp of awe behind her and Arcee wished that the young mech —clearly a rookie given bodyguard duty for his own safety— would <b>leave</b>. This was hard enough to say seriously when the only listener was the Master Archivist watching her with narrowed optics. Even so, she kept going, “I was given this, and commanded to seek you out.” As she spoke, Arcee held out the servo that Primus had touched and marked. The rune had faded to nothing at some point during the flight back to the surface, but Arcee could still feel traces of Primus’s spark energy tingling against her protoform and trusted —as much as her cynical spark could— that Primus’s promise would hold. She had to believe it, for the sake of herself and Hardwire and any future they might hope to have together despite the impending loss of their homeworld.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion studied her almost disdainfully before his optics dropped down to her outstretched servo. She had seen many mechs freeze in her lifetime for many reasons, but she had <b>never</b> seen a mech go that still, that fast. It was as if all time had stopped around him, not a single vent or plate movement or change in optic brightness. He stayed like that for a breem, unmoving, unspeaking, unblinking, to the point the young praxian behind her began to inch closer in concern, “…Master Trion?”</p>
<p>He didn’t seem to hear the praxian, but the sound did appear to shake him loose of his paralysis. His back bent as his servos grabbed her outstretched one as gently as if she was made of the finest glass. One thumb traced over the back of her servo and a tingle of energy raced up her arm from the point of contact as the rune that had faded suddenly blazed back into existence, as brilliant and unintelligible as when it had first been placed there. Alpha Trion’s vents stuttered and his optics blinked rapidly as if in disbelief of what he was seeing. <em>Or, no, not disbelief. … Grief? Why grief?</em></p>
<p>His optics brightened and snapped back up to hers, a silent question in them. Arcee forced her vocalizer not to waver and her gaze to remain locked with his —even though they now glowed with age-age-age, like aeons of loss and victory, lost secrets and terrible mysteries best left forgotten all condensed in two lenses of blue— as she answered the unspoken demand, “I seek the Gift of Onyx.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alpha Trion stared at the small, fierce-opticed two-wheeler and wondered for a very long breem if he had gone meltdown. In his mind’s optic, he saw someone else standing before him. A femme who was bit taller, and wore armor painted a far darker shade of blue mixed with burnished bronze and purple and pink dusting like the sunset of an alien world and marked with scars of her bravery. But the glow in her optics was just as fierce, the set of her lips just as stubborn, the aura around her just as loyal and steadfast and fiery.</p>
<p>For a long, crystalline moment, with the soft pulse of his creator’s spark-energy under his palm and Onyx’s long-unused name hovering in the air between them, Alpha Trion thought that Duskshadow was standing before him once again, demanding the return of that which should have been hers. That <b>would</b> have been hers had it not been for the Fallen’s actions and the Shattering of Alpha Trion and his siblings.</p>
<p>It was almost enough to break his already damaged spark beyond repair.</p>
<p>Then a voice that did not belong to the memories of the past, but to that of a young apprentice of the present, pierced the silence, “Master Trion? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” And with those words, Duskshadow was gone again, returned to being nothing but dust and lingering memories of a stubborn, sarcastic sense of humor, a wild untamed spirit, and a long-ago time when things were so much simpler. In her place stood the femme Arcee. Shorter, with lighter blue armor covered in intricate silver lines and knots and the engraving of something that could have been Onyx’s alternate form were it not for the emerald color stamped proudly over her spark chamber.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion pushed back the part of him that wanted to break and instead straightened up and commanded Smokescreen without ever taking his gaze off of the femme who bore Primus’s mark, “I am fine, Smokescreen. But this is a matter between myself and Arcee alone. You are dismissed. Go help Turing and the other Archivists with their preparations until I send for you again.”</p>
<p>He saw the young praxian’s doorwings droop in the corner of his vision, “But-!”</p>
<p>“That is an <b>order</b>, Smokescreen. Leave and speak of this to no one. Ever.” Finally he ripped his gaze away from the femme to fix his newest apprentice with the full weight of his gaze, the gaze of a Prime, even if he no longer answered to that title, “Understood?”</p>
<p>Smokescreen immediately submitted under the intensity of Alpha Trion’s gaze, doorwings flinching down against his back and optics wide as he stammered out, “Y-yes, Master Trion. I u-understand.”</p>
<p>“Then go.”</p>
<p>With a shaking salute, the young praxian all but fled out the door, leaving Alpha Trion alone with the femme who bore Primus’s mark on her servo and the form of the first predacon over her spark chamber. Alpha Trion straightened up, gaze solemn and heavy as he addressed her, “Do you know what it is you seek?”</p>
<p>To her credit, the femme did not flinch under his gaze, nor did she look away. She met him, gaze for gaze, with a stubbornness that reminded him all too clearly of Duskshadow, “I know that it will help me.”</p>
<p>That answer was not good enough, not to justify the opening of old spark scars and the revealing of hidden —broken— pasts, “Help you to do <b>what</b>? What task has Primus given you that you would require the Gift of Onyx?”</p>
<p>Doubt flickered through her optics for the first time, but she held firm, “Not a task. It was his blessing. To help me.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion felt his energies unfurl for the first time in aeons, allowing the weight of his presence to lean over hers, a silent demand for a better answer even as he pushed, “To help you with <b>what</b>? The Gift of Onyx is not something I would relinquish lightly, not to a femme of which I know nothing. Answer me honestly.”</p>
<p>Her spark presence shuddered under the weight of his, strained under the pressure of his silent demand to yield and obey. But it did not bend. She did not yield. There was defiance in her essence, a deep thrum of denial, of <em>you-are-not-mine-you-do-not-command-me</em> that kept her from folding to his will, “Why do you need to know? I have <b>Primus’s blessing</b> to receive it. What else would you need?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion pressed harder, he would not —could not— give up one of the last labors of his spark-brother —so obstinate he had not even let Solus help, even when it was her area of expertise and not his— without a good reason, Primus’s blessing or not. “<b>Answer</b>.” The voice of a Prime, not an Archivist, echoed around them, and the femme’s armor flattened defensively against her protoform as her gaze finally wavered, flicked down for a moment in fear.</p>
<p>Then it flicked back up again, burning and determined, “So that I can sparkmate safely with my Courted despite the inevitable … side-effects … and stand by his side even as our race marches toward exile.”</p>
<p>
  
  <b>
    <em>Predacon</em>
  </b>
  <em>. One of them still </em>
  <b>
    <em>lives</em>
  </b>
  <em>. One of them </em>
  <b>
    <em>survived</em>
  </b>
  <em> to have a descendant.</em>
</p>
<p>The revelation shocked him to his core, his spark presence flinching and retreating under the force of the conflicting emotions the realization brought. Alpha Trion forced himself to stay still, to not bend even though he wanted nothing more than to sit down in the nearest chair and glitch. Disgust and terror warred with spark-deep relief and he could not decide which reaction was more appropriate. Because he had seen the destruction Onyx’s children were capable of, seen the brutality they could sink to, the savagery embedded in their very CNA —the ability to devour the metals and energon and <b>sparks</b> of normal cybertronians, their distant kin, and revel in the taste—. But on the other servo, it was such a relief to realize that not all of them were gone, that Onyx’s legacy was still out there, not destroyed as so much of the Thirteen’s history and legacies had been over the vorns of war and change and discovery and secrets.</p>
<p>The loss of Onyx’s children —those whose frames had been based off of him and who had been given his instincts and wild, loyal spark by the AllSpark— had been one of the few points of contention between Alpha Trion and Prima. The only one Alpha Trion had never forgiven Prima or himself for allowing. Because Prima had known the Predacons were not all as savage and energon-thirsty as the Predaking, had known they were of <b>Onyx </b>—which meant they were untamable, but not unteachable, understanding could still have been reached, unity might still have been found—, but had stood aside and let them burn anyway and Alpha Trion had not said a word of protest at the time. Had let Prima commit his sin unchallenged while the sun blazed and the predacons all melted away in madness and agony.</p>
<p>Except, it had not been all of them. Because here stood a femme in search of something that would guarantee her survival in bonding with a spark as powerful and wild as a predacon’s, willing and blessed by Primus himself to bind herself to someone who could oh-so-easily fall to even deeper depths than Megatron himself.</p>
<p>Alpha Trion stared down at her, incredulous and, yes, even afraid —of the consequences, of his many secrets, of what this meant for a predacon to reemerge at so critical a time, of allowing this femme to bond and potentially create <b>more</b> of them— but then his gaze fell upon the rune still pulsing on her servo and he only gusted a heavy sigh from his vents. He had listened to fear before, and it had cost him the legacy of one brother and the friendship of another —Alchemist had never agreed with Prima’s decision to let the predacons meet their end, had never forgiven Alpha Trion for standing idly by—. He would not let it rule his processor, would not repeat the mistakes he had made before. Primus had blessed this femme’s intent to Harmonize with a predacon, so he would just have to trust his creator’s judgement.</p>
<p>He nodded slowly at the femme who had stood her ground through the entirety of his silent musing and turned, “Then follow me, I have little time to spare from my tasks, even for something such as this.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion led her through his office, past the teetering stacks of sentimental trinkets and old texts he didn’t have the spark to see thrown out despite their obsolete status, through the maze he himself had constructed to disguise the true secrets contained within the room. He led her all the way to the far wall and traced an old rune into the wall with a low murmur in the language of the Primes. He led her into the old chamber that he had used to reveal the existence of the Heralds to Optimus not that long ago —and were the events connected? Two long-extinct races reappearing so close together in time?—, and ignored her gasp of surprise over it as he knelt slowly just to the side of the room’s center.</p>
<p>His spark reached out into the metal, feeling the old pulses of energy —the last lingering remnants of Solus, her gift to him, a refuge and haven imbued with some of her own spark energy to keep him safe whenever he needed somewhere private and silent to just sit and think— and coaxing them into shaping the metal as he desired. There was a soft whisper of metal and transformation as the chamber obeyed his silent command, accessing the large subspace pocket he had connected to that room alone —one that could only be opened by his spark signature and his knowledge of the old ways—. Old artifacts —remnants of his siblings legacies, trinkets of mechs and femmes he had met over the aeons and could not bear to risk forgetting— flashed through his processor as the subspace pocket reacted to his presence and opened.</p>
<p>He found the one he was searching for and pulled, the center of the room quivering with light and energy for a few kliks as the Gift of Onyx was taken from its aeons old resting place and into the open at long last. The femme behind him gave a strangled noise of awe, and Alpha Trion almost could have smiled at the the amazement his brother’s work garnered. He had built a mannequin frame for his brother’s creation not long after the Hall of Records had been founded, to pose it and keep it pristine and whole in his brother’s honor rather than piled together in some forgotten corner of the chamber’s subspace pocket. So it was not a pile of odds and ends that met the femme’s gaze, but a lifelike replica of what should have been … and apparently would be now.</p>
<p>Just over six meters at the shoulder, darkened yellow optic lenses with a tiny, clear telescopic focusing slit that would shine with whatever color optic was hidden beneath stared out from the smooth, vulpine helm that was turned just so, as if it was watching both occupants of the room. His brother had modeled it loosely after one of Liege Maximo’s creatures, which in turn was a more long-legged prototype of the turbofoxes of the modern era, giving the frame an almost delicate appearance despite the strength he knew was in the armor and the power that the Gift of Onyx could grant.</p>
<p>Large audio amplifiers were currently fixed in a slightly back-folded position —so precise he could have measured an unbending diagonal line from audial tip to muzzle end— as if to better pick up sounds from behind. A slight glitter of silver testified to the —poisonous— fangs barely poking out from beneath the upper lip plates. The large wings, —smooth, flexible weave with a strong framework and wall-clinging hooks on the two main joints— were folded neatly against the sides and back of the frame, arranged in a way that made it impossible to tell at a glance that the wingspan was —wing-tip to wing-tip— twice the length of the overall frame.</p>
<p>It stood on four deceptively small paw-like pedes that were designed for balance on narrow surfaces and tipped with sharp, hooked claws. Its legs were designed for large leaps and swift acrobatics. The beautiful but wild appearance was rounded off with a long, whiplike tail just over a third of the total frame-length coiled loosely around the back pedes, the lethal blade —a smaller but otherwise identical version of Onyx’s own tail-blade— glinting in the low light as if it had been freshly forged and polished rather than hidden away for countless vorns. And, of course, Duskshadow’s old frame colors —or as close to them as Alpha Trion could remember— twined over the entire frame. A ghost of his past that no one else could ever understand the significance of.</p>
<p>The sight of it stabbed at his spark with remembrance and sorrow —for his long-lost brother who had wanted to grant his Courted the gift of the skies, for the Courted that loved and was loyal to her Prime even to the point of following him into the Well— and he had to force his optics away from it. His gaze fell on Arcee, who was staring at the Gift of Onyx with an expression of awe and disbelief … but surprisingly, not a single hint of fear.</p>
<p>She stepped carefully closer, optics wide as she tried to take in every angle and feature of that which she had so stubbornly demanded, “This is…”</p>
<p>“A Predacon frame,” he answered wearily, “built for a femme spark, designed for speed and agility to compensate for the very small size.”</p>
<p>“Very small?”</p>
<p>“Your Courted is far larger is he not? There are no records of any predacon being under eight meters at the shoulder struts, most were closer to eight and a half or nine. Some were even recorded as being over ten meters.”</p>
<p>Her optics flickered away from the frame for the first time since it had appeared, curiosity in her gaze, “There are records of predacons? Predacon <b>heights</b>?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion kept his expression flat, not giving any sign of the memories that taunted him, “This is the Iacon Hall of Records. Every piece of history ever preserved can be found somewhere within these walls. Besides, mechs of antiquity, just as mechs of modern cycles, take pleasure in describing the size of the foes they have fought and the monsters they have escaped.”</p>
<p>Her optics narrowed again, “Hardwire is <b>not</b> a monster.”</p>
<p>—<em>Spilled energon and the roar of victory, metal and cables torn gleefully to shreds, spark chambers devoured whole and inhabited, fire that turned even the finest armor to smelt—</em>, Alpha Trion vented carefully, “His kind could easily be considered such.”</p>
<p>A bitter scoff, “Compared to the race that destroyed its own home-world?”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion closed his optics, grudgingly conceding the point. He opened them again, “Touch it with the servo Primus marked.”</p>
<p>She gave him a questioning look, but when he refused to elaborate further, she tentatively reached out and rested her marked servo on the muzzle of the frame. There was a jolt of energy, a crackle of <em>life-knowledge-ownership</em> that Alpha Trion could feel from across the small room. He watched, expressionless even as his spark cried out, as Duskshadow’s familiar colors faded away, morphing and twisting instead into a rich blue that was highlighted with raised silver knots and lines. The green engraving that was so reminiscent of Onyx’s frame did not appear, the size and shape difference between the femme’s frame and the Gift of Onyx too great for that part of the detailed design to transfer over.</p>
<p>Arcee snatched her servo back with a startled cry and Alpha Trion waited a few kliks for her to calm before he explained wearily, “What this frame lacks in size compared to other predacons, it makes up for in ability. The armor is coded with an automatic re-coloring program. It can become almost any color or combination of colors on command so long as it not too intricate or attempting to copy something incorrectly sized. The recolor takes almost no energy to activate and can be run indefinitely. It was designed as a defense and hunting mechanism, the perfect camouflage of its time, useful even now for times when patience and stillness are more effective than short-term total light refraction.”</p>
<p>Arcee stared at the frame with wide optics, something fragile and bright in her gaze he did not wish to identify —not when it was so close to happiness, not when it was about something like this, giving up this treasured piece of his past—, “That’s amazing.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion strode slowly to the front of the frame and plucked a large canister from between its front paw-pedes. He held it out to her, “This contains all of the necessary internal mechanisms that your natural frame does not possess. It also contains extra protoform material, a supplement formula you will need to consume every cycle for the first three metacycles after you integrate with the Gift of Onyx, and an access code to an additional subspace pocket that you will need in order to carry both the armor and all of the internal mechanisms without sacrificing all of your own subspace.”</p>
<p>She took it carefully from his servos and he gestured to the frame itself, “The upper fangs are capable of releasing different kinds of viruses at will. One that will cause paralysis, one that will act as a temporary sedative, and one that is lethal. The tailblade is capable of releasing the paralysis virus and lethal virus as well, but not the sedative.”</p>
<p>He motioned to the optics, “The slit lenses act as a focusing mechanism. Optical clarity can remain clear and precise up to twice the distance of a normal predacon’s vision, even in low lighting. There is more, but I do not have time to explain all of the abilities to you.”</p>
<p>Arcee looked overwhelmed by it, “That’s … this is… Who made this? Why? This isn’t the old frame of a predacon … is it?”</p>
<p>“…No,” Alpha Trion sighed quietly, “this was to be Onyx Prime’s courting gift to his One. He always said that his greatest wish was for his One to be able to take to the skies as freely as he did, to stay ever by his side, so he set about forging this for her with his own servos. He completed it shortly before they both offlined.”</p>
<p>Blue optics flickered to him, shock and a sudden realization in them that Alpha Trion was too … tired … to worry about anymore, “You <b>knew</b> them. You knew one of the Thirteen.”</p>
<p>The irony of her words —so close, yet so far, so intuitive yet so ignorant— drew a very old, tired laugh from him, “Femling, I knew <b>all</b> of the Thirteen. I was there when they commanded that Cybertron be filled with life and I bore witness to their fall. I carry their triumphs in my spark, and I will bear their secrets and their sins to my tomb.”</p>
<p>Stillness reigned in the chamber for a long breem as she studied him with a new light in her optics. Finally, she met his gaze again, and he could <b>see</b> all of the questions crowding her processor, the demands for more information that begged to spill from her vocalizer, and Alpha Trion braced for all of the insensitive questions he had —not un-cowardly— hidden from for so long.</p>
<p>Her mouth opened, “Thank you for your time and sacrifices.” She bowed, low and respectful, then turned and began carefully gathering up all of the pieces from off of the mannequin he had forged. Alpha Trion stared at her, uncomprehending for a long moment at her lack of questions —questions he <b>knew</b> she had—, and was rendered speechless when her next words were not inquiries into his past, but a quiet, “Can I have an trailer attachment for a two-wheeler model? I don’t think I have enough subspace to carry all of this.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion blinked several times before he nodded and pinged a silent command for the required attachment to be left in front of his office door, and for whoever brought it to await further instructions at the end of the hall. He held his silence as the femme carefully carried Onyx’s old courting gift out of the secret chamber and to the front of his office piece by piece, holding each one with gentle, reverent servos. When the attachment arrived, Arcee wheeled it inside the office without prompting and began to fill it’s localized, open-code subspace pocket with the armor and canister.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until she was double-checking that she had everything and preparing to leave with the filled attachment that Alpha Trion found his vocalizer, “You do not have questions for me?”</p>
<p>She glanced his way briefly, “All do respect, would you answer any of them?”</p>
<p>“Depending on the question, yes.”</p>
<p>Her servos stilled, “Why is Hardwire the last predacon? What happened to them?”</p>
<p>“The Great Cataclysm. Just as the legends say.”</p>
<p>She was no longer looking at him, just staring at the trailer that now contained the Gift of Onyx, “Hardwire can transform. Onyx Prime was apparently a predacon too. Why didn’t they just go into deep stasis like the rest of cybertronian kind?”</p>
<p>“They did not know, and they were not taught how.”</p>
<p>Her optic ridges furrowed, “…Taught…?” Her optics went wide and Alpha Trion knew that, in an instant, she had come to the devastating conclusion of truth. Her optics snapped up to Alpha Trion’s, and there was a burning kind of hurt in her gaze that sent a shiver through his old spark, “<b>Why</b>?”</p>
<p>He could take aeons and still never be able to truly answer that question. Tell her all of the intricate reasons and events and betrayals that led to that singular mistake —and many, many other mistakes besides—. So, he settled for the simplest one, the one that lay at the core of the problem when all was said and done, “…Never underestimate just how intimately connected hurt and hatred are. Those who hate, hurt others. But just as often, those who hate were hurt first, and it is through that pain that they learn to hate in the first place.”</p>
<p>Her engine revved, “That doesn’t make it <b>right</b>.”</p>
<p>Oh, Duskshadow would have loved this femme. They had the same sense of passion, same compass of right and wrong that Alpha Trion had lost by accident so many times over his own life, always finding it too late to fix whatever wrong he had let happen this time, “No, it does not. But that is the way of the world.” His gaze drifted away to settle on the book Solus had given him, even now sitting innocently on his desk as if it did not hold the greatest secrets of past and future, “The Thirteen suffered much in their lives. They were young, but they were also the first, and so there was no one there to teach them that feelings are not always the best way to determine right from wrong. Grief can blind even the gentlest and most noble of cybertronians, cause them to lash out at entire groups for the faults of a few.”</p>
<p>His gaze returned to her, heavy and old, “Listen well, Arcee, Courted of a predacon. Even a Prime, even the <b>greatest</b> of Prime’s, can become blinded by their hurts. But when they lash out, the consequences are never small.” —<em>Screaming accusations, rage and hurt overflowing into madness, a </em><b><em>wail</em></b><em> of grief as the fiercest of their brothers clutched Solus’s lifeless frame to his armor, begging her to come back, apologizing over and over without reply until his vocalizer could no longer function, a bond broken beyond repair by the words of one and the naivety of the rest—</em>, “Regimes fall, entire species perish no matter the ferocity and strength of their kind, and … precious things are broken that cannot be remade.”</p>
<p>“Optimus has never, <b>would never</b>, do that.”</p>
<p>“And I pray every cycle that you are right on that. But my point stands. There is nothing more dangerous than a Prime who’s spark has been broken beyond the point of repair. Because when someone that powerful stops being able to empathize with the others around them, the only thing they become capable of is destruction and hate until they either become too old to continue their path, or they do something so horrifying it wakes them up to their own cruelty and they break to the point of being powerless.”</p>
<p>“Is that what happened to you?”</p>
<p>The air around them stilled. They stared at each other, the old Prime and the Courted of a predacon, and between them hovered the chasm of millions of vorns and thousands of secrets that must never be spoken. So many secrets meant to be carried to his tomb-</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>But sometimes the most painful secrets were the ones that needed to be spoken of the most. If only so that the lessons they brought would not be entirely lost when he finally passed on.</p>
<p>Breems passed with that single word —that one black admission— hovering between them, and Alpha Trion waited. For anger, for accusations, for more questions, for anything. For nothing.</p>
<p>Arcee finally straightened up, turned to face him fully, and bowed with both servos over her spark, the traditional salute an enforcer to a Prime, “Thank you for your time, Alpha Trion. And … for your answers.”</p>
<p>Alpha Trion dipped his helm, a Prime to a respected ally, “May the AllSpark ever light your path.”</p>
<p>She transformed, a small hitch unsubspacing and clicking into place with the trailer, and her engine revved softly, “I’ll let you return to your work … Master Archivist.” <em>I won’t tell anyone who you really are.</em></p>
<p>Alpha Trion’s optic ridges went up tiredly, “Thank you. I hope your bonding goes well.” <em>Thank you. I hope you do not regret what you are about to do.</em></p>
<p>“It will.” <em>I won’t.</em></p>
<p>He opened the door for her, “An archivist will meet you at the end of this hallway to escort you out. Good cycle.”</p>
<p>She drove away with only a murmured farewell, and Alpha Trion shut his door a moment later. He stood there, leaning his forehelm against it for a long time, contemplating a thousand things and yet nothing at all. Then he slowly reopened the door and made his way back to the Deep Archives. He still had duties to perform on behalf of Cybertron and all of cybertronian kind. Not even the tearing open of old scars and revelation of ancient secrets could change that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0084"><h2>84. Twilight of Cybertron Part 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish stood just outside one of the lesser used gates of Iacon’s main base, awaiting the arrival of her Cyber-Ninja Master. It was rare that he left his dojo home anymore, but he had agreed to come when she asked him. The least she could do was take the time to meet him personally and escort him to Fast Track’s med-room when he arrived.</p>
<p>Fast Track was doing … better. Spark energy usually regenerated quickly with proper care and attention, so the few cycles she had been away had been enough for him to regain consciousness and the ability to speak. But his spark levels were still low enough to warrant his staying in the medbay, and his report on <b>how</b> he lost so much of his spark energy worrisome enough to justify a constant watch of his vital signs. Zipline hadn’t left his side since Fast Track had woken up sometime during Starwish’s mission to the Underworld, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were present and hovering whenever their duties didn’t force them to be elsewhere. If it weren’t for the evacuation orders and the sudden increase in priority missions to prepare for the Exile, she suspected they wouldn’t have left Fast Track’s room at all, orders or no orders.</p>
<p>There was a whisper of presence against her back and she leaned unhesitatingly into it, “Leaving already?”</p>
<p>A kiss was pressed to her audio amplifier, “Prime wants those ships found as soon as possible, an Arcee’s tha only other one Primus gave tha location ta.”</p>
<p>She tilted her helm back and quietly caught her sparkmate’s lips with her own, caressing his jawline with a servo, <em>“She’s not going?”</em></p>
<p>Denta nibbled lightly on her bottom lip as arms wrapped around her middle, <em>“She took off somewhere soon as the briefing was over. Something about following up on something Primus told her to do. O.P. knows what it is I think, he’s already placed her and Hardwire on an orn’s leave barring emergencies, evacuation or no.”</em></p>
<p>Starwish paused, pulling away from the kiss slightly in thought. She knew that one of the big reasons Hardwire would have been placed on an orn’s medical leave would be so that Ratchet could monitor and catalogue all the behavioral and physical changes his new frame and alt mode might cause, but to explicitly include Arcee in that same leave…<em>“They’re finally going to bond.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Seems likely. Can’t say I blame them. No telling if they’ll ever get another chance after this.”</em> So many things could go wrong with the evacuation, and if they weren’t bonded there was a chance they wouldn’t even be assigned to the same ship when it came time to leave. And that was the least horrible potential scenario. Casualties caused by angry, grieving riots or invading decepticons would not be impossible in this kind of scenario.</p>
<p>Jazz caught her lips this time, engine revving minutely. Starwish twisted her helm to feather kisses along the parts of his neck she could reach without turning around, <em>“Are you fetching me for the mission assignment?”</em></p>
<p>He sighed faintly and traced tiny circles along her middle with a thumb, <em>“Sorry. I know you want to stay with your brothers, especially after everything that’s happened, but Prime want’s to make sure the scouting party is prepared for anything and you have the most combat training out of all the medics currently available.”</em></p>
<p>She hummed faintly and rested the back of her helm against his chest plates, “I know,” she whispered out loud, “I understand. Do I have enough time to escort Master Yoketron to Fast Track? Introduce them?”</p>
<p>She could sense Jazz check his chronometer, “Yeah. We’re moving out in twenty breems. Still packed from the last mission?”</p>
<p>Starwish shrugged faintly, “Didn’t get a chance to unpack. Everything’s been … busy. Since the announcement.”</p>
<p>Jazz huffed a sad agreement and nuzzled his face against the side of her helm, “This is really happening.” There was an ache to his words she could feel over their bond. Starwish closed her optics and nodded. She had always suspected, no matter how much she’d hoped it wouldn’t happen. But here it was. The beginning of the end.</p>
<p>They stayed leaning against each other until they picked up the sound of Master Yoketron’s old, gravelly engine making it’s way up the road. Jazz silently unwrapped his arms from around her waist and moved to lean against the entryway instead, outwardly as relaxed and calm as he always was. Starwish straightened her posture but kept her shoulders loose, the easy ready position of a Cyber-Ninja awaiting another of her kind.</p>
<p>She watched Master Yoketron approach expectantly, then startled a bit when his engine sputtered and he abruptly transformed several meters away from her position, his optics wide and expression openly astonished. Starwish hesitated at the look on his faceplates, “…Master?”</p>
<p>His gaze swept her up and down, seeming to examine something she couldn’t see, “Oh, Young One…”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>This was not the first time legends had come to life before his optics. But it was the first time it had been one of <b>his</b> apprentices, and for all his vorns spent mastering emotional control, he could not stop the faint words from slipping out of his vocalizer as he looked, not with his optics, but with his spark, and saw that which he had only heard of in ancient myths before now.</p>
<p>Glyphs of purest blue and richest amber curled across her frame like liquid light. <em>Promise Giver</em> draped across each shoulder plate in amber gold while the untainted blue of <em>Favored Chosen</em> trailed from her arms like the ornate, flared metal-weave vambraces the High Caste femmes used to wear on special occasions. <em>Canticum Medica</em> wreathed her chest plates and torso in swirling gold as <em>Anointed Healer</em>, <em>Adopted Child</em>, and <em>Protected By Primus</em> twined around her hips and flowed down to her ankles like shimmering rivers of raw energon. Veiled across her forehelm and curled proudly across her folded prosthetics in blue was the phrase Yoketron had only heard once before, during a call from an old Archivist to the Cyber-Ninja Master who owed him a favor from long ago:</p>
<p>
  
  <em>Herald of the AllSpark.</em>
</p>
<p>He stepped closer to her, senses tingling with the whispers of the runes emblazoned across her very protoform and spark, his gaze tracing the thin ghostly streams of <em>Protected By Primus</em> and <em>Favored Chosen</em> that curled loosely around his apprentice’s sparkmate like tiny, grasping ribbons of blue and gold. His optics settled back on Starwish and he rested a servo against her startled cheek, “You have seen so much since I last saw you.”</p>
<p>Her optics widened even further, “You know?”</p>
<p>“I can see. What did you promise him, Young One, that you bear his Mark so clearly?” He failed to keep the worry from his voice. Promises were not things lightly broken, but promises given to the spark of the world itself, the spark of a dying leviathan and ancestor of an entire race…</p>
<p>Her lips quirked upward, sad but unafraid, “Nothing I was not already willing to give.”</p>
<p><em>But is it something you are </em><b><em>able</em></b><em> to give?</em> He carefully set that question aside for a later time. The presence of his apprentice’s sparkmate meant that she was assuredly needed for another task soon, and Yoketron had come here for a specific purpose, “We will speak of this in greater depth. Later. For now, take me to your brother.”</p>
<p>Gratitude flared in her optics as she bowed, “Thank you, Master. The medbay is this way.” She led him swiftly through the halls, her sparkmate trailing silently behind, her expression serious as she wove through the buzzing, unhappy activity. How things changed in just a few joors. When he had come online from his recharge that cycle, everything had been ordinary. Now the air was filled with far more tension than ever before as the same thought pressed in on the processors of every Autobot: Their homeworld was falling into deep stasis for an unknowable amount of time, and they had to flee as soon as possible. The Prime had made a point to outline that Cybertron was only falling into stasis, not permanent offlining. But to frightened, war-weary bots now being forced from their very planet, with no promise of when they would be able to return, the difference was negligible.</p>
<p>Yoketron had his own preparations to see to for the inevitable exile, but amid the initial rush of activity and agitation, he could not ignore a request of his apprentice. His tasks —and his grief over the news— could wait until the inevitable lull came between the first preparations and the last.</p>
<p>The medical bay was as filled with tension as the rest of the base had been, but no one stopped them as Starwish led him to a private room and keyed open the door. Twin growls of engines started the moment he ghosted through the door and Yoketron swiftly examined the aggressors. Twins, one yellow, one red, older than the pair of twins sharing a large medical berth. The elder pair were the ones growling, but the younger pair had gone still and relaxed in the way all Special Ops mechs did when wary of a stranger. The elders were ex-gladiators, he could see it in the line of their bristled armor and the stance of their wheeled pedes. Even if he had not known of their reputation as the Terror Twins, he would have known that the elder pair were incredibly dangerous to the unprepared. Or even the greatly prepared, considering it was their younglings on the medical berth.</p>
<p>Starwish subtly stepped in front of Yoketron and he felt a flicker of deep fascination and awe as the ethereal glyphs of <em>Protected by Primus</em>and <em>Favored Chosen</em> flared subtly wider as if to shield him from the aggression of the elder twins, “Easy everyone. This is Master Yoketron, my Cyber-Ninja Master. He’s here to help Fast Track.”</p>
<p>The growling eased, but plating remained bristled in warning as Yoketron eased his way past his apprentice —carefully not shivering at the phantom sensations of <em>power-will-blessing</em> given off by the glyphs as he passed through them—, and bowed fractionally at the waist in greeting, “Well met, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Well met, young spark-brothers of Starwish.” He reached out with his senses, mentally stilled at the muted echos of <em>power-chosen</em> that emitted from the younger twins, then forced himself to move on. <em>Think on it later. When you have time to meditate.</em> His gaze settled on the red and grey twin, the one who’s spark and magnetic field felt just a bit too thready to be healthy, “You are Fast Track. The young mech I was brought here to see.”</p>
<p>Both sets of twins exchanged glances before Fast Track straightened a bit on his berth, “Yeah. That’s me. How’d you know?”</p>
<p>“Your spark signature is not as strong as it should be.”</p>
<p>Blue optics narrowed, “I’m still wearing a spark suppressor.”</p>
<p>Yoketron allowed a tiny smile to curl his lips, “Indeed you are.”</p>
<p>The younger twins exchanged another glance —this one impressed— and chorused, “Ninja,” as if that explained everything. Perhaps for them it did.</p>
<p>Starwish handed Yoketron a datapad, “This has all of Fast Track medical reports pertinent to the case. Normally it’s strictly confidential, but we made an exception for this. Fast Track is permitted to answer any questions barring the details of the assignment he was on,” she glanced at her sparkmate to confirm and was given a subtle nod, “including non-sensitive data images pre-approved by Jazz.”</p>
<p>Yoketron nodded his thanks, but before he could speak, Jazz raised a finger in a respectful interruption, “Before this gets ta involved, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, ya need ta gear up. Ya got a mission with me in twenty breems.”</p>
<p>“<b>What</b>?” <em>Impressive synchronization, even for twins.</em> The one designated Sideswipe curled his servos in anger, “What do you mean we have a mission? We can’t just leave our younglings here with a complete stranger!” A brief glance his way and a curt, insincere, “Due respect intended.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s field fluttered with apology and an honest regret that inwardly surprised Yoketron —most mechs who held his position for as long as he had ceased being able to feel empathy by this point—, “Ah know, an’ if Ah weren’t massively understaffed right now Ah wouldn’t do this ta ya. But Ah got a priority mission from Prime thah needs to head out in twenty breems and you’re tha only mechs currently on base who have tha skillsets Ah need an’ are still on tha active duty roster.”</p>
<p>The one known as Sunstreaker took a deep vent that was obviously an attempt to restrain his temper, “You don’t have any Special Ops mechs that can handle it?”</p>
<p>“None thah aren’t already out in tha field with entire <b>lists</b> of missions they need ta complete before comin’ back.”</p>
<p>“Frag.” Fervent and quiet from both of the elder twins. Starwish raised a servo to attract the group’s attention, “I already have my gear packed and ready to go, so I can stay at least for a while and keep an optic on everything. Will that suffice?”</p>
<p>There were several kliks of silence, but not as many as Yoketron would have expected for such clearly protective guardians before Sunstreaker nodded, “Fine.”</p>
<p>A datachip flew through the air to be caught in Sunstreaker’s servo, “Thah’s your mission briefing. Ah’ll answer any questions yah have once we’re on tha way.” Jazz dipped his helm to first his sparkmate, then Yoketron, then his two subordinates on the medical berth, “Pardon tha abrupt departure, but Ah got scrap ta do ‘fore we leave.” With that, he ducked out of the room.</p>
<p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe soon followed, but not before quick, murmured goodbyes that Yoketron politely turned off his audios for —he could read lips if necessary anyway—, and gentle presses of forehelm to forehelm in deep, familial affection among the four. Once they had left —Yoketron pretended not to read the low mutter of “If he messes with our younglings, then your Cyber-Ninja Master or not, I’m hanging his spark chamber on a spire” on Sunstreaker’s lips as he passed Starwish—, Yoketron turned his audios back on and turned his full attention to the young mechs, “I do believe that to start off with, you should tell me whatever you can. Leave out no detail that is not classified, particularly what you felt and experienced during your loss of spark energy.”</p>
<p>Fast Track nodded solemnly.</p>
<p>Starwish had to slip away fifteen breems later with a murmured apology, and a joor after that, Yoketron was quietly ruminating over all of the data he had been given, particularly the still image Zipline had taken of his twin’s battle, which clearly showed Fast Track wielding the surface of Cybertron as a weapon to defeat his enemy —who’s optic color was particularly worrisome, but that was outside his purview at the moment—.</p>
<p>There was only one technique he knew of that could manipulate the surface of Cybertron while also draining the mech’s spark levels to such a dangerous degree. But it was … hard to believe. Even though it was the only option, and he could see that it had happened. Such a technique was not an instinctual thing. It could only be used —so he’d thought— after vorns of training and risk and meditation. Even then, it could not be used so precisely over such a wide area. There had to be an additional detail, another piece to the puzzle, that he did not yet have.</p>
<p>Yoketron kept his expression placidly neutral as he looked back up at the young twins, “What were your thoughts just before you performed this feat?”</p>
<p>Fast Track stared at the ceiling, “I was afraid. I needed to buy Zip time to get our ride out of there. Then there was that-” He checked himself and glanced at his worried twin.</p>
<p>Yoketron waited a few kliks, but when neither of them told him the information Fast Track had been about to say was classified, he prompted gently, “There was something else?” Both twins shifted, uneasy with his question, and he folded his servos placidly, his body posture intentionally loose and disarming, “I cannot help you if I do not have all the necessary information, young ones. I will not judge you, I merely wish to assist.”</p>
<p>There was a silent debate between them before Fast Track gusted his vents, “There’s- We have programs, in our processors. They assist us in our function a <b>lot</b>, but … we don’t really know how they work.”</p>
<p>“Like your sister’s then.”</p>
<p>They stared at him in surprise, “You know about that?”</p>
<p>Yoketron tipped his helm to the side in acknowledgement, “She has mentioned it once or twice over the vorns.” The first time during a meditation lesson, a cycle when she had been suffering from flashbacks.</p>
<p>Fast Track ran a servo over his helm, “Yeah. Okay. Like Star’s, just with different abilities. Mine … I thought all it did was enhance my processor speed and sensory input. But during the fight, it activated another level of the program and…” he mulled over his words, Yoketron waited patiently for the young mech to organize his thoughts, “It was like everything it had been before, but more. It- there was something about emergency files downloaded to help me control the next stage, and then suddenly I could understand … everything. The details are fuzzy now, but back then, I knew … everything. What the ground was made of, how fast the enemy was moving, what I needed to do. All of the data that usually gets syphoned off by the program so I can concentrate suddenly <b>wasn’t</b> and I- I used it. The metal just- moved. Because I wanted it to. Because it <b>had</b> to.”</p>
<p><em>Ah. And there is the missing puzzle piece.</em> As best he could see it, anyway. Memory file transference was illegal now, and had been for many vorns, but it had not always been so. Yoketron could still remember his younger vorns, training under his own master. Back then, Cyber-Ninja secrets were never spoken aloud. When the apprentice was ready to learn one of the secrets, the master would reveal it directly. Share the knowledge granted from experience in an intimate and silent ceremony watched over by a second master of the art. During the ceremony, a processor to processor connection would be formed, and memories of the required knowledge —just enough for the apprentice to safely begin practicing the technique themselves, no more, no less— would be transferred over.</p>
<p>It was not impossible for someone to have installed the necessary memory files in the young mech’s processor already, locked down under certain criteria. But that method of information was only as effective as it was under calm circumstances, where the student could take the proper time to assimilate the information and learn to use it in moderation. Used during the height of an emergency, especially with such a dangerous and delicate technique, and it was a wonder it had not gone even worse than it had.</p>
<p>The twins were watching him, awaiting his verdict. Yoketron nodded, body language still calm, “I see. I do believe I know what happened to you, Fast Track.”</p>
<p>Red armor fluttered in muted excitement, “Yeah?”</p>
<p>He met the young mech’s gaze, holding it firmly, unflinchingly, “Your program gave you temporary access to a secret technique, known now by only the highest of Cyber-Ninja Masters. It is called Processor over Matter.”</p>
<p>The twins’ optics flew wide, and Yoketron thought he saw a flash of recognition amid the shock, but then it shuttered away and Fast Track looked down at his servos, “So what do we do now?”</p>
<p>Yoketron allowed faint amusement to show, “Now? You rest. Recover your strength. And when you are well, you will come to my dojo, and I will teach you what you need to know to survive the use of that technique should you ever require it again.” Which, considering the announcement not that long ago, he would. Soon.</p>
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<p>By the time Hardwire was halfway to his quarters, he was more than ready to kill something. Or, at the very least, punt it across the base. Maybe set it on fire. The instincts slithering through the back of his processor, labeling each passing mech with a scent name —some of them very unflattering for the mech in question— and hissing every time a mech cowered away from Hardwire in wide-opticed terror —which was basically every time— <b>really</b> didn’t help. They were half of the problem, honestly, with the other half being his new mech mode.</p>
<p>Everyone stared. Literally everyone. Hardwire didn’t think even half of them recognized him underneath the additional spikes, claws, and several extra feet in height. Everywhere he went, mechs cringed away and whispered —on the coms or out loud, it didn’t seem to matter to them—. Several mechs almost pulled weapons on him only to spot the autobot insignia on his shoulder plate and freeze in stunned disbelief. Over the coms, the gossip exploded almost as badly as the rage and anguish over Optimus’s announcement. Mechs wanted to know who he was, if his alt mode had been the predacon everyone had seen overhelm earlier, if <b>he</b> was a predacon and if that was possible and how was a predacon an autobot and-</p>
<p>Hardwire had shut down his com around that point. He was too tired and agitated to deal with it. He’d wanted some friendly company, but Arcee had disappeared as soon as she could to go run some errand for Primus, Starwish was already back to drowning in medical duties, and everyone else was running around like headless chickens —the earth kind, Cybertronians didn’t have a chicken equivalent as far as he could tell— over the evacuation plans.</p>
<p>Meanwhile here was Hardwire, stuck being off duty for the next orn barring emergencies when he would have much rather had an overwhelming log of missions to complete to take his mind off everything. Like the instincts in his helm that looked at every mech that cringed or cowered or even screamed in startled terror and snarled <em>“Prey. Weak. Not fit for Pride.”</em></p>
<p><em>Shut it</em>, he told his instincts wearily for the hundredth time since returning to Iacon, <em>they are not prey. They’re just scared. It’s not their fault I’m some kind of primordial nightmare monster from all their scariest storybooks.</em> His instincts weren’t convinced, especially when another mech actually glitched out from fear. The rapid motion of falling, flailing limbs made him falter for a klik, his instincts roaring in the back of his helm loud enough to make his audios ring, <em>“Prey-weakness-pounce-</em><b><em>feed</em></b><em>!”</em> His vents stuttered and he forced his body to stay still until he was certain that his next movement would be his choice and not a wild lunge for the —<em>prey-</em> <b>mech</b>, <b>Autobot</b>— glitched out on the floor.</p>
<p>He didn’t look at the mech as several others rushed to him, hissing urgently to each other as they dragged their comrade —his comrade, fellow autobot, <b>not prey</b>— out of the way. He kept his optics firmly ahead of him, stayed patiently still until the glitched mech was out of the way and his instincts had settled back in his processor with a grudging rumble. Only then did he resume his trek for his quarters.</p>
<p>By the time he spotted the door, he could have cried with relief. The hallway was empty of gawkers, and all Hardwire wanted to do was lie down in dark and try to get his emotions back under control after all the slag that had happened the last few cycles —The mission, Ratchet’s blowup at Optimus, the medical tests, the announcement, the terror in the halls, his new Primus-slagged instincts—.</p>
<p>So of course, when he keyed in the code and stepped inside his quarters —he had to <b>duck</b> fraggit, this was going to take some getting used to—, he was met with a startled yelp of terror, the whine of a blaster powering up, and a shaky challenge of, “W-who the frag are-?”. His servos fisted and his temper bubbled over with a flash of red static. He stomped fully into the room, towering over the speaker before he could finish his challenge. Hardwire’s servo clamped down of the blaster barrel and forced it down and to the side, away from him as he loomed over the other mech, plating rigidly bristled and throat vibrating with a draconic growl of, “<em>Angry-stupid-Pride-stupid-weak-prey-angry-</em><b><em>angry-leave-me-alone-EAT-YOU</em></b>.”</p>
<p>Fear scent slapped him in the faceplate a klik later, almost overwhelming the identifying scent-name of <em>Loyal-Gentle-Defender-</em>Bulkhead. <em>Bulkhead.</em> The name registered and Hardwire vented heavily, dragging his instincts back under his control with the iron will of the desperate. There was nothing holding back a Bāsākā rage but his own willpower now and he was <b>not</b> going to hurt or kill a friend because of a lack of self-control. He was better than that. <b>He</b> was the master of his frame, not his newfound, stressed out instincts. Optimus had let him wander free in the base because he’d had confidence in Hardwire’s ability to remain himself despite his new form and unleashed instincts. He was not going to prove his Prime —Alpha, his alpha, <em>don’t disappoint the Alpha</em>— wrong.</p>
<p>His sight began to clear of red static, bringing Bulkhead’s petrified form in focus. He vented a few more times, slowly forcing his lips to relax out of the snarl into which they’d twisted, dragging his normal words out of the depths of his processor they’d sunken to. He spoke, his voice far lower and more graveled than usual, but even and non-aggressive so he decided it was fine. He even managed to keep the scent-name from sliding off his tongue as he rasped, “Bulkhead.” The word was foreign and smooth rather than the rumbling chirl it was supposed to be and it actually startled Hardwire for a klik to realize he’d spoken in English rather than Cyber-Standard. He hadn’t had a slip up like that —where he spoke one language when he meant to speak the other— in … vorns now probably.</p>
<p>But the word still had it’s desired effect on Bulkhead, fear receding under astonished, tentative recognition, “…<b>’Wire</b>?”</p>
<p>Hardwire nodded tiredly, his servo releasing the blaster now that Bulkhead knew who he was, “Yeah Bulk, it’s me.”</p>
<p>Bulkhead’s blaster slid back into his subspace and his servos fluttered slightly just above Hardwire’s plating, “I- You- <b>What happened to you</b>?”</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t feel like trying to give the full explanation —he technically couldn’t anyway, considering that a lot of his program was classified—, so he kept it short as he limped over to his berth and stretched out on it, “Primus happened.”</p>
<p>“…Pardon?” Bulkhead sounded even more strangled and incredulous than before.</p>
<p>Hardwire wiggled his pedes unhappily —his legs were several feet too long for the berth now— as he repeated flatly, “Primus happened. I’m a predacon now. Because apparently their extinction wasn’t something he approved of the first time around and I’m…” he struggled to pick a word, “descended, I guess? Of their spark nature … or something. I was still a little busy getting over the fact that I had a new alt mode that could breathe fire.”</p>
<p>He heard Bulkhead sit down hard on his own berth, “I- … Wow.”</p>
<p>Hardwire hummed in faint agreement, “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“…Is that why you almost ripped my helm off when you came in?”</p>
<p>He sent Bulkhead an apologetic look, “Yeah. Sorry. This new form comes with … instincts that don’t like having a blaster pointed at them. And everyone’s been staring at me.” Bulkhead knew that he didn’t like being stared at, even before his predacon instincts had started running rampant in his processor. Silence fell between them for several breems before Bulkhead shifted, “Wait, were you the creature that everyone saw flying in?”</p>
<p>“Yep. Prime wanted a shortcut.”</p>
<p>“…Oh.” Bulkhead didn’t seem to have anything else to say to that and perhaps he could tell that Hardwire was in a terrible mood, because he slowly made himself more comfortable on his berth and began awkwardly telling Hardwire about the little, inconsequential funny things that had happened on base while he was gone.</p>
<p>Hardwire drifted into recharge with his friend’s chatter lulling in his audios, his instincts oddly soothed by the sound that confirmed one of his Pride was alive and unharmed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0085"><h2>85. Twilight of Cybertron Part 11 - Novalek City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
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<p>Starwish shifted her weight to compensate for the rolling sensation of turbulence, processor drifting as she waited for the dropship to arrive at the location Primus had given Jazz. Vibes was up front, piloting the ship with more finesse than Starwish thought the fidgety femme was capable of. In the back with Starwish was Jazz, Cliffjumper, Bluestreak, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Mirage —a last-klik addition because he’d literally gotten off a different dropship from a mission just as they were leaving—, and Bumblebee. Bumblebee and Bluestreak stood in a corner off to themselves, Bluestreak’s wings wiggling and twitching so fast she thought they might start buzzing, clearly using the private doorwing language of the praxians to agitatedly ramble at Bumblebee without cluttering up the com channel. Bumblebee nodded once in a while to whatever Bluestreak was saying, but the faint, huddled quiver of his own doorwings told Starwish that he was nervous about his assignment.</p>
<p>Bumblebee had been a scout for several vorns now, and he had more experience and talent than he gave himself credit for. But she suspected that the stress of the recent announcement and the nature of the mission was dredging up his old rookie insecurities. She considered making her way over there to comfort him, but decided against it. Bumblebee was competent, he would settle down once they reached their location.</p>
<p>Instead, she brushed lightly against Jazz’s plating, sending a wave of calm to her agitated sparkmate. He disliked having only one other Special Ops mech on the mission. Especially when the other mech was tired enough from the mission he’d just come back from to have settled down in the far corner and fallen into a light recharge to recuperate. The mechs on their team were good, but they weren’t Special Ops, and she could feel Jazz fretting over what kinds of problems that might cause. Bluestreak in particular had to be causing Jazz stress. Because while they needed all the enhanced sensors they could get and praxian doorwings were almost unparalleled, if something happened and he found himself in close combat, then the mech could easily find himself in a bad situation. One that Jazz would blame himself for after the fact.</p>
<p>She sensed the dropship bank to one side and Vibes finally broke the silence over the coms, ::We’ve reached tha coordinates, bu’ there’s nowhere ta land. Ah’m gonna have ta settle us down somewhere else an’ yah’ll have ta drive tha rest of tha way.::</p>
<p>Cliffjumper bounced in place a few times, ::What’s it look like out there?::</p>
<p>The dropship doors slid open, allowing the howling wind to whip around inside, ::See for yahself.::</p>
<p>Everyone shifted to look out the doors, and Starwish heard Bumblebee gasp, ::Wait, is that- Where are we?::</p>
<p>Jazz looked grim, ::Novalek City. Whah’s left of it anyway.::</p>
<p>Starwish leaned out the doors slightly, optics wide behind her protective visor as she examined the view below. It was the ruins of a city, certainly, but nothing like any of the other cybertronian cities she’d ever seen. Arches and spires swirled and twisted in chaotic patterns, any streets visible amid the rubble were winding affairs that had seemingly no organized structure. In among the rubble, something liquid and golden-colored pooled or flowed like tiny waterfalls. Encapsulating the entire affair were the ruins of walls that looked suspiciously like flower petals, all swooping lines and deep curves in the few places they hadn’t been broken apart.</p>
<p>The dropship began to bank away to land outside the city and Starwish allowed Jazz to pull her back inside, ::The liquid, what is it?::</p>
<p>Jazz answered, ::It’s a malleable, ductile metal. It doesn’t have a use except as filigree on custom frames or really expensive courtin’ gifts. Novalek used ta export products made out of it. Part of tha city was made up of automated refineries thah processed it inta a pure, liquid form which was then collected and used by the artists of tha city. They used it ta decorate their city too.:: He flexed his cables in preparation to disembark, ::Went there once for ta provide music for a performance there. City was a fraggin’ maze even when it was in perfect condition.::</p>
<p>Mirage, fully awake now but still seated in his corner, added, ::Indeed. I visited a few times myself when I was young. It was built using designs inspired by a vast variety of alien planets and cultures. Incomprehensible to most cybertronian sensibilities. Guides were required for any visitor who sought to do more than sit in their hotel room. I am certain it has only become more baffling to navigate since its destruction.::</p>
<p>The dropship shuddered as it landed and the pulse of the engines lowering do a dull roar as it idled. Vibes sounded perfectly deadpan from the cockpit, ::Great, so we’re gonna hav’ ta find a lost shipyard in a city thah no bot knew how ta navigate save tha natives, who are all offline. An’ <b>then</b> we hav’ ta get out again ta report our findin’s. Won’erful.::</p>
<p>Everyone filtered out of the dropship and Cliffjumper gave a nervous laugh, ::Hey, at least it’ll be an adventure right?:: Vibes’ silence indicated that she wasn’t nearly as enthused about the subject as her Courted, but let it go.</p>
<p>Jazz clapped his servos to get everyone’s attention, ::Alright, focus everybody. This is ‘con territory and we can’t afford ta fail this mission. Everyone stay in contact and stick together as much as possible. But keep it quiet, las’ thing we need is ta trigger a nasty surprise left behind by the ‘cons when they leveled this place. Bee, ‘Rage, take point. Cliff, you’re on rearguard. Vibes, circle tha area in tha dropship ‘till somethin’ happens. Blue, stick with tha ship an’ give us aerial cover and recon. If tha ship runs low on fuel or Vibes needs ta land, have her drop ya off at a good sniper spot if yah can. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you’re our mechanics for this mission, so don’t pick a fight ‘less you have ta.:: The twins scowled and Jazz flicked his armor at them, “Don’ get snippy wit’ me. If trouble does find us, give ‘em pit. But don’t go lookin’ for trouble.”</p>
<p>Their scowls eased and Sideswipe gave a short laugh, ::Like we ever need to go looking for trouble. It’ll find us.::</p>
<p>Starwish couldn’t really disagree with that. Trouble did have a habit of finding the autobots. Her sparkmate glanced at her from under his visor, ::Star, keep outa sight whenever yah can.:: With one last quick survey of his group, he nodded shortly, ::Alright everybody, transform and roll out!:: They set out for the city limits, the thrum of the dropship fading out as it took off again with their resident sniper.</p>
<p>The walls of Novalek looked even more like ruined flower petals up close. There were seams along their edges, like they were made to fold or unfold, and after finding a gap large enough to creep through in their root modes, Starwish could see rusted out gears and destroyed pulley systems connected to the individual petals. There were no gates that she could see in the nearby walls, and when she looked over her shoulder at the petals, she could see road stripes painted along their interiors in faded colors. <em>They must have folded them out when they were letting someone enter or leave and folded them up tight when they needed defense.</em> Pretty, but not practical in the face of the decepticons’ firepower. She could already see where chunks of buildings had been taken out by falling wall debris, and the sky was visible through the jagged holes punched through the tops and sides of the ruined flower. <em>Still, I wonder where they got the designs for a flower.</em> The designers must had visited an organic world at some point, perhaps even several.</p>
<p>Inside, the city was the same eerie quiet she had come to expect of a bombed out territory. Nothing really lived here anymore, except perhaps the turborats. Grief and desolation hung in the craggy corners and clung to the rubble piles, enforcing a silence that hurt and gnawed on the edges of the mind like an old scar in bad weather. Bumblebee’s yellow frame almost blended in with the trickles of liquid gold as he flitted ahead of them and Mirage had already vanished into the destruction. Starwish flipped onto a slanted piece of building, ghosting up the edge to a ledge formed out of a broken wall.</p>
<p>The city was even more of a maze than it had seemed from above. Even the buildings that weren’t ruined were built strangely, twisting tubes that stretched to the sky, shapes that looked vaguely like letters or numbers. The streets had no organization, all spirals and intersections at random places, zigzags intersected with harshly straight lines and circular city areas that were strangely empty save for one or two buildings. Starwish wondered how anyone could have navigated the city, even before roads have been cut off by fallen rubble and buildings knocked askew by the bombs.</p>
<p>Three joors in and Bumblebee reappeared with a frustrated expression, “I think we’re going in circles.”</p>
<p>Mirage shimmered into existence at the base of Starwish’s latest perch, “More like looping twists, but I concur.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper kicked a piece of scrap metal, “Couldn’t Primus have given more exact coordinates?”</p>
<p>Jazz sighed and leaned against a wall, “He did. It’s just gettin’ there thah’s tha problem. We need ta get ta tha center of tha city.” He tapped his arm in thought, ::Yo, Blue, see any routes to tha center o’ tha city from here?::</p>
<p>::…Nope. Sorry. I mean, I can see a few roads that might get you closer, but the center of the city is the area that took the most damage so I can’t even see the streets there. There are so many buildings fallen over, you might be able to go through them, but the rubble doesn’t look entirely stable, so you’d probably risk a cave-in. Also, I’ve been picking up a weird signal for the past few breems, I don’t think it’s a spark signal, at least I hope not because it’s coming from the center of the city and if it’s a spark signal it would be a really big spark. But it would also be a really weak spark unless the signal’s being dampened, but I still don’t know-::</p>
<p>Bumblebee cut Bluestreak off, ::I’ve been picking it up too. I think its a leftover signal from something, but I can’t figure out what it’s for.::</p>
<p>Mirage tilted his helm to one side, “I cannot pick up any signal.”</p>
<p>“I’m only picking it up with my doorwings. It’s … more of a collection of raw frequencies than a signal. But it doesn’t mean anything as far as I can tell.”</p>
<p>Jazz tilted his helm to listen, but shook it a breem later, “Ah hear it, but only barely. Keep a sensor on it, Bee, let me know if it changes. Righ’ now we gotta figure out a way out o’ here.”</p>
<p>Sideswipe flexed his servos, “We could always start making a new road. I’ve got plenty of explosives in my subspace.”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker swatted his sibling’s helm, “Look around, dumbaft. In a place like this, one wrong explosion will bring tons of scrap down on our helms. Besides, the natives had to navigate somehow without blowing up walls every time they got lost.”</p>
<p>“The lovely question is how?” Mirage gestured around, “There are hardly any signposts anymore, and even the ones that did survive are completely illegible to a normal cybertronian…” His voice trailed off and Mirage blinked contemplatively, “Starwish?”</p>
<p>Starwish flicked an audio amplifier in his direction curiously, “Up here, Mirage.”</p>
<p>The special ops mech motioned for her to jump down, “Your creators were from Novalek, where they not? It’s where you learned Bellakata. Did they teach you to read any alternate languages?”</p>
<p>It had been so long, she’d honestly forgotten about the erroneous theory Jazz had told her the other mechs attributed to her dancing, “I know how to read <b>a</b> foreign language, yes. But I doubt it will do much good here.”</p>
<p>Mirage gestured for her to follow, “Come see if you can read this. I spotted it half a joor ago.” Everyone followed as the Special Ops mech led them off their current street and down a narrow alley they had yet to try. They emerged onto a new street, just as twisting and broken as the previous, and Mirage pointed, “There.”</p>
<p>She stared at the jagged, half-broken street sign, not surprised that the sigils were completely unfamiliar. There were five lines of writing, one right below the other, and it took her a few kliks to realize that each line was a different style of letter. She moved closer, optics narrowed as she examined each line in the vain hope that something would stand out. <em>Those … are five different languages. They all say the same thing, but in a different language.</em> None of which were Cyber-Standard or English. Her foot scuffed against metal that was of a different quality to the street and she looked down. It was the rest of the broken sign, with even more languages she couldn’t read scribbled across it. She examined them without much hope until she reached the bottom line.</p>
<p>And stared.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>That can’t be what I think it is.</em>
</p>
<p>She crouched and ran her fingers over the bottom line, brushing off the debris that coated it to make sure- It was. <em>I don’t understand. How is this possible? </em>She stared at the bottom row of the sign, small and significant and impossible, but still there.</p>
<p><b>English</b>.</p>
<p><em>City Center</em> the first words proclaimed, followed by a small print <em>A440</em>. Next to that was <em>Medical Sector, A3520</em>. The housing sector was touted as being <em>A880</em>, while the visitor’s sector was <em>A55</em>. There was an entire list, each a sector, followed by a letter and a number combination. And while the other combinations were mostly unfamiliar to her mind, she did know A440. Her ballet teacher had been surprisingly strict about her dancers learning musical theory to go along with everything else. She’d believed that the more about music the girls and boys knew, the better they would be able to “feel” the music when they danced. One of the parts she remembered, in an abstract sort of way, was the frequency of the notes. A440 was the pitch standard, the most common pitch used to tune musical instruments.</p>
<p>Starwish straightened up, chin in servo as she thought. Of course, she could be wrong, and A440 might mean something else entirely in this city. But, putting aside the impossibility of there being English text on a cybertronian street sign who knew how many vorns before the invention of English, if she was right… “Bumblebee, can you tune your doorwings to isolate specific frequencies?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee blinked, “Yeah, sure.”</p>
<p>She stared down at the sign for a few more kliks before she turned to the praxian, “Isolate A440. It’s a … hertz notation I think.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee looked unsure, but Jazz straightened up, “Ah know what you’re sayin’. Bee,” Jazz rattled off terms and descriptions about sound frequencies that flew over Starwish’s helm, but Bumblebee seemed to understand.</p>
<p>He pricked his doorwings and there was an expectant silence before his optics lit, “Well frag.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>The scout looked excited and fascinated, “The pulse. It isn’t a meaningless signal, it’s a <b>map</b>. I just needed to isolate the right frequency in the signal.”</p>
<p>Starwish crossed her arms, “That’s the frequency for the city center, I think there are other frequencies on the sign that give a map to the different sectors.”</p>
<p>Mirage looked ever so slightly smug, “So you <b>can</b> read the sign.”</p>
<p>“Just one line, and…” She shook her helm, not wanting to have to explain her thinking —that English shouldn’t exist yet, let alone be used on a street sign of an alien planet— “never mind. Let’s just go.”</p>
<p>Jazz had a knowing impression over their bond as he nodded and diverted attention away from her, “Move out mechs, we got a lotta ground ta cover an’ we don’ know what else we’ll run into.”</p>
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<p>Rising Dawn squinted down at the sign and her doorwings gave incredulous flick, “How <b>did</b> English get all the way here when the Ice Age hasn’t even happened yet in this Sector? Seriously, doesn’t this count as some kind of Breach?”</p>
<p>Seven shook his helm, “Not when it’s tied into its own Sector.”</p>
<p>Dawn gave him a lost look, “Humans haven’t even invented the written language yet.” She blinked, “Have <b>humans</b> even been invented yet?”</p>
<p>Seven gestured for them to continue following Jazz’s group as he explained, “No, they haven’t invented a writing system yet, and … I honestly don’t know. It varies a few centuries depending on what Cluster it is.”</p>
<p>“So how did this <b>get here</b>?” A thought occurred to her and her doorwings flinched, “This isn’t because of the Merge that happened a few vorns back is it?” Because she was still being lectured by Matron Prehnite over that, even if the Matron had admitted that her actions during the crisis had saved both Sectors from Collision. Technically is shouldn’t have even worked, opening that many shadowgates and linking them so that the Sectors merged together rather than clashed and exploded was … well, it had always been theoretically possible. Some Sectors even did it naturally if they were from the same or similar-type Clusters. But to force a Merging of two Sectors that were from radically different Clusters…</p>
<p>Yeah, even Dawn wasn’t sure how she’d pulled that one off. Let alone by herself. And she had no idea what kind of side-effects it might have in the long —or short— term. Like possibly a language that hadn’t been invented yet being used on a street sign of a different planet.</p>
<p>Seven gave her a look of faint amusement, “No. This looks like the aftereffects of a Loop. Most likely from a malfunctioning spacebridge at some point. See the way the energy clings to the letters?” He pointed at another sign they were passing and Dawn examined the faint silver glint the English letters and numbers gave off that only they could see.</p>
<p>“Oh…” She frowned, “Wait, if a Loop happened, how did we not notice?”</p>
<p>“Because it hasn’t happened yet.”</p>
<p>She stared at the side of the older agent’s helm, “…But the letters are <b>right there</b>…?”</p>
<p>Dawn could see his lips twitching —he could be <b>such</b> a troll sometimes—, “Yes, those are aftereffects.”</p>
<p>“Which took place after the Loop?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“The Loop that you just said <b>hasn’t happened yet</b>?”</p>
<p>Seven was definitely smirking now, “Yes.”</p>
<p>Ignoring the mission of keeping an optic on Starwish and her team for the moment, Dawn tried to find the sense in what Seven was saying. She gave up and cradled her helm in her hands, “Explain please.”</p>
<p>“A stable Loop has the unique distinction of never truly existing. Because at any given point in time, it either has not occurred <b>yet</b>, or has <b>already</b> happened. A stable loop can only occur if it takes place between two points of time that are far enough away for the Ripples formed by the dichotomy to smooth out by themselves without interacting, leaving behind only trace evidence of the occurrence scattered between those two points. It’s why we call them aftereffects and not direct effects.”</p>
<p>Dawn rubbed her forehelm with the heel of her servo, “Ugh. That … that sounds like the same kind of screwy logic that makes the A-Clusters so fragging hard to navigate.”</p>
<p>Seven picked his way through the rubble, as unflappable as ever, “It’s the same principle, just much more common in the A-Clusters. Besides, after your little stunt with the shadowgates, this technically <b>does</b> have an A-Cluster classification now.”</p>
<p>Dawn faltered at that, her processor flinging up the vivid memory file of what had happened during Optimus Prime’s second journey to the Core. Someone was supposed to monitor the entire affair, see what Primus said to them —if they could— and report if anything drastically untoward happened … but then they’d gotten an all areas alert of a Flyer moving at dangerously high speeds.</p>
<p>Everyone had abandoned their previous posts to help deal with the Flyer —the older agents’ term for a Sector that somehow broke loose of its Cluster and began to drift without any semblance of control—, trying to keep it from colliding with any other Sectors. At the speed it had been traveling at —for a given definition of travel and speed, Shadowzone physics always made her processor hurt— a Collision would have destroyed both Sectors and everyone inside, possibly even set off a chain reaction that would deconstruct an entire Cluster. But while they’d been able to “steer” it away from most of the more unstable Clusters, that had put it on a straight path to T-MV/P. The bad Ripples already in T-MV/P’s area had dragged the Flyer in like the gravity of a star and Rising Dawn had been so <b>sure</b> that she was about to see an Unravelling…</p>
<p>And then she’d gone and done the stupid and impossible. Taken over the shadowgates and walls of both Sectors and forced the Flyer to slow down until it was at a safe enough speed to drift in and Merge rather than utterly destroy either.</p>
<p>Under her armor, her protoform tingled with phantom sensations of <em>power-will-</em><b><em>pain</em></b><em>-time-space-</em><b><em>yield-YIELD-</em></b> that had burned through her during the process. The sensation of being … nowhere and everywhere. Anchored in two places yet drifting between worlds. She hadn’t felt anything even close to that before, not even when she first came to the Shadowzone.</p>
<p>But what scared her about the memory was how <b>easy</b> it had been. She’d passed out after the fact, and now suffered bad helmaches if she got too close to a shadowgate without bracing for it, but in the middle of the act, in the chaotic frenzy of desperation to <em>save-stop-slow-down-hold-it-</em><b><em>hold-it</em></b> … it had seemed as simple as breathing. Just reach out, grab, twist, <b>will</b> the silver energies of the Shadowzones to do what she demanded of them and then … and then…</p>
<p>She shook herself, doorwings flicking nervously as she brushed away the phantom sensations and hurried after Seven, who was watching her knowingly. She ducked her helm. All the agents were talking about her now, and not all of it good. Nothing mean or intentionally hurtful had been said so far. But after what she’d done —added to all the other weird things her origins and stupid mystery power caused—, there was a lot of gossip going around, debate as to what Matron Prehnite and her sparkmate would ultimately decide to do with her.</p>
<p>It made her grateful that it was Seven she’d been partnered with for the foreseeable future. The mech might have been a massive troll sometimes, but he still treated her as calmly and genially as he ever had. He didn’t look at her differently now that he knew just how badly Rising Dawn could mess up a Sector —or even Cluster— if she lost her helm.</p>
<p>“You aren’t the only one you know.” His words broke her out of her reverie and she glanced at him. Seven wasn’t looking at her, he was walking alongside Bumblebee, silent as ever as he watched the Praxian with a sadly nostalgic look in his optics, “You aren’t the only one they gossip about. Or the only one to have to learn to control something they don’t understand because of how they got here.”</p>
<p>It took a few kliks to realize what he meant, then her doorwings dipped in slight embarrassment, “Right. I keep forgetting that you’re a Sensitive too.”</p>
<p>His voice went dry as earth sand, “Yet another problem to thank the AllSpark for.” He shook his helm and cut her off before she could say anything else, “I’m going to scout ahead, see if there are any other after-effects of the Loop that might cause trouble.”</p>
<p>Dawn hesitated, “It’s not like we’ll be able to warn them if there is.”</p>
<p>She could tell by his voice that he was smirking, “Oh, not for them, for us. Loops have a nasty habit of creating shadow mazes.”</p>
<p>She gaped after him as he darted away into the rubble, “Wait, they create <b>what</b>?” But he was already gone, leaving her to keep an eye on the group of autobots by herself. Dawn growled and kicked at a loose piece of rubble, then flinched and blushed when it actually skittered away, causing the autobots inside the Sector to whirl around nervously. <em>My bad.</em>She shook her helm and tried to concentrate on not causing any more incidents, “Sometimes I swear that mech came from an A-Cluster and not a C-Cluster. Tricky, trolling, little ninja-gremlin…”</p>
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<p>The city center hadn’t been as impressive as Starwish had thought it would be. Granted, that might have been because most of it was submerged under a lake of actual liquid gold. According to Mirage, the lake of gold surrounding the tower that marked the city center was an intentional feature, fully automated with a recycling and heating process that kept the metal liquid and bright. But it was also supposed to have bridges leading across it from every major compass point. And, while the tower was still standing, the bridges were not, which had led to the unique dilemma of how to get into the tower to investigate. Cybertronians couldn’t wade through that much liquid gold, it would fill every crack and joint in their frame and then harden once the gold cooled. It was too far to jump across, and the dropship hadn’t been able to find a way to their location big enough to safely fly through. Plus, there were no doors or platforms high enough on the windowless tower for Vibes to drop them off.</p>
<p>Jazz had ended up pioneering the way using a mix of the nearby ruined buildings they could reach, his alt mode, his energon grapple, and a death-defying leap that had made Starwish’s spark lurch. Once on the tower steps, he had hacked his way into the building and extended the emergency bridge so that everyone else could cross.</p>
<p>That had been six joors ago. Now they were deep inside the tower, trying to figure out why Primus’s coordinates had led them there. Presumably there was a way to the dockyard from the tower, but finding it was far more complicated than it sounded.</p>
<p>The tower was just as twisting and confusing as the city had ever been, but unlike the city, there was no map frequency to discover that would guide them through it. Each level of the tower had directions written in a separate language not shared by the others —which made Starwish wonder how anyone had gotten anything done in this place, had they all memorized thirty plus languages just to know where to fax the paperwork?— and so far none of them had been English.</p>
<p>They had been making their way steadily downward in the assumption that the dockyard was below the city itself, hidden from the destruction and prying optics above that way, but Starwish privately doubted that just heading down would let them find it. Whoever had built the tower seemed obsessed with puzzles and codes that ranged from laughably simple to almost moronically obscure. The tenth level down had required a treasure hunt to find three engravings of famous moments in cybertronian history, which then had to be inserted into a pedestal in the reception room all the way on the first floor, which unlocked four keys which had to be inserted into the correct locks in the correct order just to unlock the emergency stairwell on the tenth. The eleventh level on the other hand, had only required mapping out the words “open door please” by stepping on the correctly lettered tile.</p>
<p>She was beginning to think that it was not her imagination that many of the puzzles were very reminiscent of annoying puzzles in Earth video games. But the “hows” of any cybertronian coming into contact with Earth video games eluded her as much as how English had ended up on the street signs.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s voice broke the silence, ::Found the next stairwell.::</p>
<p>::What pit-spawned puzzle does it require this time?:: Snarled Sunstreaker. He was probably still angry over the puzzle on floor thirty, which had required them to double back and retrieve a little drone that looked oddly like a baby owl —though nobody else knew what she meant by that—, then turn it on long enough for it to hoot into the voice recognition panel for the laser grid that had been blocking the stairwell. The little drone had acted like a wild animal when activated, wiggling free of Sideswipe’s grasp shortly after hooting and scratching up Sunstreaker’s paint before it flew back to its recharging station and went back into stasis.</p>
<p>::…I think it’s another line puzzle.:: Everyone groaned into the quiet. Whoever had designed the tower’s security system seemed to love line puzzles above all else. Especially the ones where there was a time limit and whoever was trying to access the door had to draw a line through a maze of channels from one side of the panel to the other. None of them except Starwish had even known what the first line puzzle was supposed to be, and Starwish really wanted to know how a cybertronian had thought it up at all when it was such a foreign concept to them —apparently it was so simple it was nigh-on incomprehensible to them—. For something that sounded so simple on the surface, it was ridiculously hard and was the puzzle all of the team hated most. Even over the repeating tone puzzles —at least with those Jazz could use his musical expertise to keep all of the rapidly sounded notes straight—.</p>
<p>Jazz gave Starwish an almost pleading impression over the bond and she sighed, ::I’ll take this one.:: She slipped to the front of the group, making her way over to where Bumblebee stood by a closed stairwell door, glaring at a by-now-familiar line puzzle console. It took her two tries to successfully navigate the randomly generated maze, which she considered an improvement over when she’d had to use all five of the allowed attempts to get the door open. There were —thankfully— no puzzles or traps on the stairwells —even the insane creator of the tower seemed to acknowledge that traps in an emergency stairwell was idiocy— and they made it without trial down to the next level.</p>
<p>Which didn’t have any doors.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s wings drooped and he spoke aloud for the first time in joors, “Seriously?”</p>
<p>Sunstreaker’s engine, which had been giving out a continuous low note of anger, grew louder, “If I have to backtrack through this Primus-forsaken tower <b>one more time</b>…”</p>
<p>Jazz stepped forward and rubbed a servo cautiously along a section of wall, “Calm down, mechs. There’s a door, it’s jus’ hidden.”</p>
<p>Mirage tapped a different section of wall, “Two, actually. I believe that this one might be the entrance to a turbolift.”</p>
<p>Cliffjumper fidgeted with his blaster, “So … how do we open them and which one do we go through?”</p>
<p>Starwish examined the walls and nearest stair railing. Never in her life, even after being turned into a cybertronian, would she have ever thought her skills at puzzle games would be so useful. <em>This whole tower is like a nerd’s Fortress of Solitude.</em> “We checked the previous floors thoroughly,” they’d learned to scan every inch and pick up every loose object just in case several joors ago, “so there must be a clue here-” Mirage jerked back as the hidden door he’d been examining glowed energon blue. Blasters were leveled warily as a small spark scanner unsubspaced from the wall and ran a beam up and down their frames. Starwish braced for something to happen. Possibly the floor caving in underneath them or blaster turrets unsubspacing from the ceiling.</p>
<p>The scanner beeped to signify the completion of its scan and a partially glitched automated voice ground out in English, “Identity confirmed. Welcome, Starwish.”</p>
<p>Everyone stared at her, waiting for a translation. Starwish just stared blankly at the scanner. <em>…What? Just … </em><b><em>what</em></b><em>?</em> “Star?”</p>
<p>She could feel her plating flatten against her frame in fear, “It knows my name…” <em>How does it know </em><b><em>my name</em></b><em>?</em> She could hear, in a distant sort of way, the way the rest of the team exploded with questions and theories. She could feel her sparkmate’s confusion, worry, his dawning theories that perhaps whoever had transformed her into a cybertronian had built the tower. But all she could focus on was the automated voice that had known her name and <b>spark signature</b>. Starwish stepped forward in a daze, approaching the hidden door beneath the scanner in a numb kind of shock that refused to let her go. She looked up at the scanner like it was the eye of a living being, “Computer. How do you know my name?”</p>
<p>There was no response save for the door sliding open to reveal an old but intact turbolift. Starwish made to step forward, but her sparkmate grabbed her and pulled her back, “Let ‘Rage go first Star. It might be a trap.” <em>“It’s </em><b><em>probably</em></b><em> a trap.”</em> He added over their bond.</p>
<p>Mirage slid into the turbolift, running tests she could only guess the nature of before stepping out, “It’s functional as far as I can tell, and not boobytrapped. But there are no physical controls. Vocal commands only.”</p>
<p>Starwish finally looked over at her sparkmate. His end of their bond rippled with intense unease and suspicion, but he finally let her enter the turbolift. The rest of the team all filtered in with wary expressions and bristled armor before Starwish looked up at the ceiling where the vocal command register sat. She didn’t know what to say. She was still reeling mentally from the fact that somehow —even more impossibly than the presence of English letters— the scanner had known her name. Gathering her scrambled wits, she finally spoke, “Spaceship dockyard.” Nothing happened, no response. The turbolift doors remained open and the floor unmoving.</p>
<p>Taking a gamble based on the impossible things that had happened already in the city, she repeated her command in English, “Take me to the spaceship dockyard.” The register beeped a confirmation-</p>
<p>The floor suddenly shifted, rippling like water to force the other startled autobots out of the turbolift until Starwish was the only one inside it.</p>
<p>The doors slammed shut to the shouting of the others and her sparkmate’s desperate lunge for the doors despite the treadmill-esque floor pulling him back. Starwish could only watch, helpless and fidgeting nervously with her buzzsaw as the turbolift rapidly sank into the depths with her as its sole passenger.</p>
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<p>“<b>No</b>!” Jazz slammed a fist on the wall next to the now-sealed turbolift doors. Then he whirled into action, mentally clinging to his sparkbond —confirmation that his sparkmate was still alright and the only reason he hadn’t completely lost his mind in those precious few kliks— as he roared out orders, “<b>Sideswipe</b>!” His plating bristled into rigid points as he gestured toward the turbolift doors, “Blow the doors!”</p>
<p>Sideswipe slid forward, Sunstreaker by his side to assist in the explosives setup. Bumblebee’s wings splayed out in alarm then pinned flat, “I thought we didn’t want to risk triggering some kind of lockdown in the tower.”</p>
<p>Jazz kept his focus on the doors as he growled, “That was before we found a turbolift shaft.” And before the Primus-forsaken tower had kidnapped his <b>sparkmate</b>. Sideswipe barked for everyone to get clear and kliks later the stairwell was filled with smoke from the explosion that ripped open the sealed doors. Alarms went off and lights turned red as Jazz attached his grapple to the newly made entrance and began making his way down the shaft, the others following down his grapple at a much more cautious rate.</p>
<p>The turbolift that had taken Starwish was already out of sight, but he could still feel her over their bond as he used his grappling line to control his fall down the shaft, <em>“Star! Where are you? Has the turbolift stopped yet?”</em></p>
<p>A pause filled with confusion and tiny pinpricks of fear from his mate before, <em>“Not yet. The lift is moving fast though, I have to be several stories down from where we were already. But now there are alarms going off.”</em></p>
<p>He huffed, <em>“That would be the rest of us following you down. Let me know when the lift stops.”</em></p>
<p>A weak flare of reassurance trickled across to him, <em>“Of course, Jazz.”</em></p>
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<p>A crash, loud and obnoxious in the previous silence of the tunnels. It was followed by a far-too-loud whisper of, “Oops. My bad.”</p>
<p>There was the distinct ping of a servo smiting a helm and a deep growl of, “Knock it off, Whirl. I’ve had enough of your slag for the cycle.” A scuffle of pedes and another round of muted pings told of the brawl beginning to break out in the back of the group, as it always did when Whirl went too long without violence or random destruction.</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus sighed deep and long in an effort to maintain his failing patience. He wondered for the millionth time what he had done to deserve being reassigned as the commander of such a rabble of loud, disobedient, reckless individuals. True, they were getting better at obeying orders and using actual strategy —some of the time—, but for a group of mechs so skilled in infiltrating and taking out decepticon bases, they were the least subtle mechs in the entire autobot faction. Even over Grimlock and his cohorts.</p>
<p>The sounds of mock fighting grew too noticeable and Ultra Magnus commed without looking over his shoulder, ::Gentlemechs,:: he intoned with all the sarcasm learned from having a sparkchild apprenticed under Ratchet, ::focus on the mission at servo.::</p>
<p>Rack —or was it Ruin, he still had trouble telling them apart— piped up, ::Or what?:: Vorns ago Magnus would have seen that as blatant disrespect, bordering on insubordination that required the brig or a court marshal to solve. Now he knew it was just the way the Wreckers were, always pushing the boundaries, testing the current leader to see if he was still worthy of following. It was like a cyber-wolf pack really.</p>
<p>So instead of threatening the brig, or a court marshal, or even cleaning duty, he replied, ::Someone will end up magnetized to a chair and turned over to Kup for a refresher course on the War with the Quintessons as soon as we return to base.::</p>
<p>The sounds of scuffling behind him stilled like a paused soundtrack and with his sensors he could feel the rowdier members straighten up and fall back into line without a word of protest. They knew by now that he never made threats he wasn’t willing to keep and that while, as an autobot officer, he would not sink to the depths the decepticons did over insubordination, that only meant he got <b>creative</b> when they pushed him. Such as the punishment of sitting through Kup’s endlessly repetitive war stories. For mechs that who bordered on destructively hyper-active by nature, the prospect of being forced to sit still and listen to the old mech drone on for joors, restarting from the very beginning anytime someone dared interrupt him was one of the worst kinds of torture.</p>
<p>Several kliks of blessed silence passed before their newest member, a femme named Assault Star, groaned, ::Are we <b>there yet</b>? I could have been to Iacon and back by now…::</p>
<p>::Hardly,:: dismissed Rotorstorm, ::and we should be almost there. No more than a few breems out if I’m not mistaken. Though I hope you don’t expect it to be very exciting. The entire place is filled with nothing but junk to anyone but Seaspray. The rest of us just try not to get caught in all the boobytraps Whirl sets off.::</p>
<p>Seaspray grumbled from where he and Springer were leading the way just in front of Ultra Magnus, ::You won’t be calling it junk once the <em>WindShear’s</em> left stabilizer gives out if I can’t replace it. Unless you <b>want</b> to make the next trip over the Sea of Rust in your alt mode.::</p>
<p>Assault Star, ever impatient, snapped irritably from the middle of the pack, ::I might as well with how long it takes your tiny ship to ferry everyone.::</p>
<p>Whirl opened his com and Ultra Magnus braced for something awkward and peace-destroying before the mech even finished his first word, ::Yeah well, it didn’t take nearly as long back when Jackie was around to help ferry all you grounders with the<em> Jackhammer</em>.:: And there was the tension Ultra Magnus had been trying to avoid ever since Seaspray brought up his need for a special replacement part for his ship the <em>WindShear</em>.</p>
<p>The desertion of Wheeljack after Ultra Magnus’s assignment was a spark deep wound for all of the Wreckers save Assault Star —who had joined a few orns later and never met the mech—. Que’s lookalike had clashed with Ultra Magnus’s personality and approach to command from the moment he’d arrived, and his abrupt departure —with only a brief resignation letter left on the main base terminal as a goodbye— was a point of contention to this cycle.</p>
<p>While some of them blamed Ultra Magnus for the desertion —he was far stricter than they were used to, and he’d had a lot of trouble conveying that it was only because he was trying to keep them alive—, a surprising majority blamed Wheeljack himself. There were still whispers sometimes, over copious amounts of high grade, about how it was only a matter of time before Wheeljack “left just like the other two”, which led him to believe that there was a deeper story behind why few mechs blamed Ultra Magnus’s hard command approach for the desertion. But no one had ever seen fit to tell the story to him, and Ultra Magnus respected their privacy enough not to pry. He was still a relative newcomer to their ranks, and had only recently begun to truly earn their respect rather than just their grudging obedience.</p>
<p>Another harsh ping of someone smacking Whirl’s helm echoed down the tunnel, ::Fragger. You’re <b>trying</b> to get someone to shoot at you, aren’t you?:: That would be Roadbuster, sounding like he was a half step away from obliging Whirl’s self-destructive urges.</p>
<p>Whirl was, as per usual, unfazed, ::Hey, at least pain isn’t boredom. Now that <b>really </b>hurts!::</p>
<p>::Am I correct in assuming, Whirl,:: Ultra Magnus rumbled, ::that you have developed a sudden fascination about the War with the Quintessons? I am certain that Kup would be willing to accommodate your newfound interest in history.::</p>
<p>::Shutting up.:: <em>If only we were so lucky, </em>Ultra Magnus mused internally.</p>
<p>Springer looked back from where he’d been disengaging the various traps the Wreckers had discovered and mapped out the last time they were here, ::We should be at the entrance any breem now.::</p>
<p>Pryo’s engine growled faintly from behind, ::Well then let’s get on with it. Those ‘cons will be catching up soon and I wanna trash ‘em without having to worry about guarding Seaspray’s aft!::</p>
<p>Springer made a faint noise of triumph as hidden doors opened ahead of them with the grind of ancient gears. Ultra Magnus froze without meaning to as the spark signature shielding he hadn’t known existed in the tunnel turned off and he could suddenly feel- But that was impossible. She was in Iacon, or at the very least on the warfronts much closer to the autobot capital. Not down here, deep in decepticon territory, in a place that the Wreckers had only discovered by sheer happenstance and bad luck. He couldn’t possibly be feeling…</p>
<p>Recognition and astonishment flared from the other side of the bond, and voice far too clear to have come from a distance-strained bond queried, <em>“Opi?”</em></p>
<p>The Wreckers had noticed his freeze and were now badgering him with questions and checking the area in paranoia, but Ultra Magnus … couldn’t really focus on them. He latched onto the bond that had been strained to silence for orns now, <em>“</em><b><em>Starwish</em></b><em>? What is your position? What are you- Are you in Novalek?”</em></p>
<p>His sparkchild felt giddy at talking to him again, but even that couldn’t hide the shaking feeling that was underneath, <em>“It’s … a really long story. But yes, I’m in Novalek right now, I got separated from my team while looking for the dockyard that’s supposed to be underneath the city. I’m alright,”</em> she hurried to reassure him, <em>“I’m just … something very strange is going on in this place, Opi.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus’s pedes came unstuck from the floor and strode for the dockyard with an absentminded bark for the Wreckers to keep up. They followed, still pestering him with questions he had no time to answer as he focused on his sparkchild, <em>“Why look for a hangar of ships now?”</em></p>
<p>Surprise, confusion, regret. None of those were emotions he wanted to feel from Starwish because of his question, <em>“You didn’t get the announcement? It was broadcast on all Autobot channels this past cycle or so.”</em></p>
<p>Dread pooled in his spark, <em>“I have not received any transmissions for the past two cycles. I and the majority of the combat-capable Wreckers have been underground, making our way to Novalek in search of spare parts for Seaspray’s craft. We have often been too deep beneath the surface to receive any broadcasts beyond short range. What has happened?”</em></p>
<p>There was a long pause, Ultra Magnus came to a stop in the corner of the massive cavern hangar, scanning the dormant craft on reflex while he waited for Starwish to answer. Then, with a wave of deep grief and regret that she was the one who had to tell him, <em>“Optimus was summoned down to the Core a few cycles ago to speak with Primus. I was taken along as the team medic- It- Primus is… the War has taken too much. Primus is shutting down.”</em></p>
<p>Ultra Magnus managed to remain upright only because there was a convenient wall to latch onto. The Wreckers stopped their cautious scouting and surrounded him, silent save for their now-frantic demands over the coms to know what was going on. Starwish kept talking, as if in a rush to get it over with, <em>“It’s not forever. Primus himself said that he would reawaken one cycle. But he does not know how long the repairs will take and until he does come back online, there will be no new energon here on Cybertron. It-. We have to leave. I don’t know for how long. Optimus has ordered a faction wide evacuation of Cybertron. That’s why we’re here, to get ships for the evacuation.”</em></p>
<p>Time stood still, and nothing but the cavernous grief shared between in his spark and Starwish’s mattered as she whispered, <em>“I’m so sorry, Opi.”</em></p>
<p>Then a rough servo grabbed his armor and Ultra Magnus jolted back to his surroundings, ::<b>Sir</b>!:: Ultra Magnus managed a dazed blink at Springer. His SiC shook his arm again, worry in every line of his bristling armor, ::Fraggit, talk to me, Magnus! The Pit is going on with you? Do you need a medic? Frag, someone get Medix over here-!.::</p>
<p>Officer training rose to the forefront of his processor and Ultra Magnus mentally clung to it like a lifeline, ::I am … uninjured, Springer.:: He forced his frame to straighten, his armor to settle, ::I received a delayed transmission from another Autobot team in the vicinity. There has been a … dire development in the War.::</p>
<p>::The Prime offlined,:: blurted Whirl as he bounced on his pedes in an agitated frenzy, ::No, wait, the Prime offlined, but then was revived, but he doesn’t remember being a Prime anymore. Or he <b>is</b> offline and the Matrix chose some rookie hotshot that everyone hates to replace him-::</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus cut Whirl off before any of the other Wreckers could take the time to believe the guesses, ::Optimus Prime is alive and well.:: He debated telling them now, or waiting until they were out of enemy territory. But if the Autobot faction needed ships to … evacuate… Further, he knew his Wreckers by now. Blunt and honest was the best —usually only— way to handle them, ::Cybertron … is the casualty.::</p>
<p>Every Wrecker froze in place, optics wide and disbelieving. Ultra Magnus forced himself to continue, ::The War has taken too great a toll on Cybertron. It is shutting down for an indefinite period of time to repair itself. Optimus Prime has ordered a faction wide evacuation from our planet, as instructed by Primus himself, until the cycle our world is able to function once more.::</p>
<p>The Wreckers erupted. Ultra Magnus turned off his com just to keep from having his audios blown out by the sheer volume of the cursing. He swept his gaze over the rioting mechs, saw that Whirl was the only one not shouting and flailing. The usually hyper-active mech had gone eerie still, optic too bright to be healthy as he stared at the wall. Experience in dealing with Whirl made him grab Springer roughly by his armor and shake him to attention, “Restrain Whirl!”</p>
<p>Springer paused, stared at Ultra Magnus with rage and grief and confusion. Ultra Magnus roughly grabbed his subordinate’s helm and forced him to look at the helicopter mech. Springer cursed aloud a klik later and dived for the one-opticed mech just in time to keep the mech from grabbing his rotor blades. Whirl’s vocalizer came online as Springer pinned the helicopter mech’s arms in place, a long, high whine of pure emotion that had no words and carried nothing but anguish. The rioting of the other Wreckers stopped as they converged on Whirl, helping Springer hold the mech still as he struggled and shrieked wordless hate. Medix emerged from the back of the line, a sedative in servo as Rotorstorm forced Whirl’s helm up to expose his neck cables to Medix’s needle.</p>
<p>Whirl’s vocalizer released a burst of static-filled words that made seemed to have no context —words like “Shockwave” and “darkness rising” and “omega lock” all mixed with pleas for everything to <b>stop </b>and curses at either the Wreckers for holding him or Megatron or other beings Ultra Magnus did not recognize the names of—. Medix inserted the needle and Whirl gave one final yell before going limp.</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence as Rotorstorm and Springer carefully lowered the mech to the floor for Medix to look him over. Then Rack’n’Ruin shuddered, “Well, scrud. We knew Whirl was always a few bytes short of a full drive but that…”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus cut the mechs off with a wave of his servo, “Cut that chatter, soldier. There isn’t a mech in this faction who wouldn’t be at risk of having a meltdown over this news. But there will be time for that later, we have a mission to complete, mechs. Pyro, guard Medix while he treats Whirl. Seaspray, get to work recovering what you need, but don’t take more than absolutely necessary. Perceptor, take Rotorstorm and Assault Star and begin inspecting these vessels, catalogue which ones will be salvageable for space travel. The rest of you, there is another Autobot team on the premises, find them and report back.”</p>
<p>“No need,” called a voice from outside their circle. The Wreckers whirled as one, blasters up and ready to fire. Mirage appeared in a shimmer of tech and energy, servos up and empty but his armor relaxed, “Ultra Magnus, sir, it is good to see you again.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus waved the Wreckers down, “Agreed, soldier, despite the … circumstances.” Which he would think about later, when he didn’t have far too much to do to afford a minor meltdown, “Where is Starwish?”</p>
<p>Mirage’s armor rippled, then settled, “We … aren’t certain. She was separated from us en route to this location. The others are looking for a way to rendezvous with her now.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus reached out over the bond, felt Starwish reach back with a fluttering pulse of <em>“I’m fine, I’ll be there soon.”</em></p>
<p>He nodded curtly to Mirage, “Take me to Jazz.”</p>
<p>Mirage saluted, “Of course, sir. This way.”</p>
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<p>The dockyard was as enormous as the map had shown. Filled with ships of different sizes and shapes and conditions, it had to be at least the size of the city above it, if not greater. Everything echoed in the huge, sealed off space. Voices carried and the clatter of metal rang and bounced through every corner, almost making the underground dockyard seem filled with life rather than just temporarily invaded by two small teams of soon-to-be refugees.</p>
<p>Starwish leaned against the rail of the old balcony she’d managed to find her way to and tried to use the awe-inspiring sight to ground herself. Her Opi and her sparkmate were both down there somewhere. Nearby, if she judged her location right and this balcony was attached to the outside of the spire they had spent joors working their way through before she’d gotten separated. They were both concerned for her, and she took a moment to inform them that she was out of the spire and in the dockyard now, that she just had to find a safe way down and she would rejoin them.</p>
<p>She felt their relief, but couldn’t drudge the feeling up within herself. She just felt … tired. Overdrawn. Astonished and vindicated and confused all at once.</p>
<p>She rolled her servo over, stared at the small holo-projector resting innocently in her palm. She flipped the switch and let the recording wash over her again with a blank expression. A small bust of a mech hovered into existence, all neat lines and a busy paint scheme and, of all things, a tiny cartoon martian sticker on one shoulder plate, <em>“Hello, Starwish,” </em>the recording said in perfect English, not accented like her Opi’s or sparkmate’s attempts after her teachings,<em> “if you’re seeing this, then two things must have happened. One, you made it to my private quarters, probably in search of the hidden dockyard, and two …”</em> the mech in the recording smiled, sad and shaky,<em> “I must be offline.”</em></p>
<p>The mech in the recording laughed —why had he laughed? This <b>wasn’t funny</b>—, <em>“Of course, I knew that would be the case after I got back. You never said anything about having met me before after all, even though you clearly recognized me … from this recording probably, now that I think about it and wow does that make my helm hurt just processing that.”</em></p>
<p>The mech shook his helm, <em>“Sorry, getting offtrack and I know it. I also know that I’m being infuriatingly vague right now, and I’m sorry to say I’m going to have to keep being vague, just in case … I don’t know. Just in case. Frag if I know how this sort of thing works. Not a scientist or spacebridge tech, me, just the friend of one who definitely shouldn’t have tried reversing that power-coupling with me so close to the main array- right, vague, got to stay vague, I don’t want to slag this up.”</em></p>
<p>The mech fidgeted, then ran a servo over his helm —she and Hardwire had taught the Autobot’s that gesture, it served no purpose to beings without hair—, <em>“Right. So. You’re here, and you probably have a </em><b><em>lot</em></b><em> to do in a very short timeframe, so I’ll try to keep this short. My name is Novalek, like the city, apparently, though it’s not … not really a city yet. More of a … tower. That I just finished building last cycle. Primus that’s going to look weird for a while- a tower just sticking up in the wilds, waiting for others to come build a city around it. Anyway, you’re here for the spacefaring ships. I’ve built a hidden dockyard for them, under the spire. Built it before I built the spire actually but that’s not the point. The </em><b><em>point</em></b><em> is that I’m going to stockpile every spacefaring ship I can get my servos on and hide it in that dockyard. All of the ways in and out of the dockyard are going to be keyed to vocal commands in English, and all the spark scanners are going to be keyed to your signature. Don’t ask me how I have your spark signature when we haven’t even met yet, that was … well … let’s just say you have a good memory and you think ahead. Or back. Whatever.”</em></p>
<p>The self-proclaimed Novalek clapped his servos together, <em>“I may not be a spacebridge tech, but I am a good architect and security specialist. Nobody is going to take these ships until you get there, that I can promise. How many ships will be in working order … can’t promise much of that, I have no idea how long it will take you to find this. Or need it.”</em></p>
<p>The mech looked frightened for a moment, like he was contemplating something far beyond the scope of his understanding, then he shook his helm, <em>“The override code for any and all of the ships is ‘Homebound’ and the override command for the dockyard doors is ‘Excelsior!’ and yes, I’m a nerd. I blame Mik- ah, um, someone else for that. Anyway, there should also be a stockpile of energon hidden in each ship. I don’t know how much it will amount too in the long run, but I hope it and the ships themselves are helpful to you. Is that everything-? No, wait, there’s one ship that the ‘Homebound’ code won’t work on, it’s the strange one, mid-size, nearest the tower. An alien model that I picked up on my travels. That one is for you, specifically. You and anyone you choose to take with you when you leave. It’s override code is, ‘walk on stormy seas’.”</em></p>
<p>He fluttered his armor and looked sheepish, <em>“I heard it from that song you sang- will sing- Primus! Terminology is so hard. Anyway, I thought it was … poetic. The ship’s name is Sanctum. I thought it fit you.” </em>He smiled briefly, as if he could somehow see her across the years and lifetimes that separated them, <em>“I hope all of this is of use to you and yours, Starwish, tell your sparkmate and little Dulcimer hello for me when you next see them- or in Dulcimer’s case crea- eh- nevermind. Just say hello please. Oh, and Starwish,” </em>His smile warmed into something knowing and sad and serious, <em>“It’s going to be okay. I know you’ll have no reason to believe that from some random holo of a bot you don’t know yet, but it will. I promise it will so long as you just keep believing. In the future, in the Prime, in yourself. Especially yourself. You’re … you’re going to do so many </em><b><em>amazing-</em></b><em>” </em>He cut himself off,<em> “Right, vague- got to stay vague, but I just- never mind. I should- I should sign off I guess. Safe travels, Starwish, I’ll … well, </em><b><em>I</em></b><em> won’t see you again, but you’ll see me again someday, so I suppose that will have to do. Till all are one.”</em></p>
<p>The holo projector winked out, leaving Starwish alone on the balcony with nothing but her own spinning thoughts. She looked out across the dockyard again, at all the ships lurking in the dark —ships stockpiled just for her, for her and her faction centuries before there <b>was</b> a faction— and … wondered. Wondered about the mech who apparently built a city to hide this place until she could go there. Over all the things that she could guess but didn’t <b>know</b> for sure —spacebridges and dimensions, time-travel and happy endings she wasn’t sure existed—. Jazz and Ultra Magnus poked their respective bonds again and Starwish shook herself out of her haze. She would … she would have time to think about it later —maybe—, and she would tell Jazz about it after they returned to Iacon —along with the other things that were probably a long time coming in terms of explaining—.</p>
<p>For now, she had to get down there. There were ships to inspect and fly back to Iacon, preferably before the decepticons realized that there were autobots in their territory.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0086"><h2>86. Twilight of Cybertron Part 12 - Flight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz’s sudden relaxation and Starwish’s pulse of relief were Ultra Magnus’s only warnings for the blur of white that appeared from seeming thin air to wrap a hug around his neck. Startled for only a klik, Ultra Magnus caught his spark-child before she could fall and held her close, relief and happiness at being reunited with Starwish briefly overriding the despair that hovered in the back of his processor, “Starwish,” he murmured softly into her armor.</p>
<p>She held him closer and whispered back, “Opi. Missed you.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus ignored the gaping and surprised cursing of the Wreckers as he hummed, “I missed you as well, Little One. Are you well?”</p>
<p>She pulled away just enough to smile at him, weak and shaky, but genuine, “Now that you’re here? I will be.”</p>
<p>Jazz shifted closer to the two of them, only the faint tension in his armor revealing his desire to interrupt and reclaim his sparkmate, “Ya said ya found something while we were separated?”</p>
<p>She looked down at him, “I- yes. I’ll explain it later, but I found the override codes to the ships and the doors to this place. Assuming they can still fly and we have enough pilots to get them off the ground, we can take them back to autobot territory.”</p>
<p>Seaspray whistled, loud and impressed, “You’ve got to be fragging kidding. I’ve spent <b>vorns</b> trying to crack the override codes. Only thing I ever managed to do was unlock the tunnel entrance back there.”</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus shifted his grip on Starwish, inwardly amused at how easily she perched in the crook of his arm, unashamed of the sparkling-like appearance it gave her with their size differences as she answered, “That’s because you weren’t meant to find this place. These ships are <b>mine</b>.” There was a flicker of unease over the bond with those words, but none in her voice as she smiled down at Seaspray, “You’re Seaspray right? I hear you’re a good pilot.”</p>
<p>Seaspray whistled in pride again and grinned back at her tentatively, “Best in the Wreckers. You’re … you’re really Ultra Magnus’s…?”</p>
<p>A flash of mischief over their bond, “He’s my Opi, yeah. Why? Can’t you tell just by looking at us?” The question was delivered so innocently, complete with an oblivious tilt of her helm, that the Wreckers were all rendered speechless for possibly the first time Ultra Magnus had ever witnessed. Despite the gravity of their circumstances, Ultra Magnus had to struggle to keep his expression sternly blank, not letting out the roaring laughter he knew Starwish could feel over their bond as the mechs he’d seen dismember decepticons and curse worse than a Kaonian dockyard worker all shuffled and mumbled baffled agreements and polite greetings to the child of their commanding officer.</p>
<p>Jazz held out a servo and Ultra Magnus reluctantly let Starwish slide off his arm and back to the floor with her sparkmate. Starwish’s expression sobered and she looked around at the many ships in the darkness before she snapped out something in her native language. All of the mechs present startled when the dockyard suddenly blazed with lights from the ceiling. Ultra Magnus stared at Starwish, <em>“Did you just…?”</em></p>
<p>Starwish’s responding smile was grim, <em>“I was telling the truth when I said that these ships were mine. Someone … someone left them here for me. Long before I ever met them. Don’t ask me how, I don’t really know myself, but this entire dockyard- the city itself- has English written into its very foundations, and it was programmed to know my voice.”</em> She turned back to the stunned mechs and clapped her servos, “Alright everyone! Since you’re here, I would appreciate it if you helped my sparkmate and his team inspect and fly as many of these out of here as we can. I think some of the smaller ones can be stashed in the larger ones or otherwise carried underneath, but we need to take as many of these in one go as we can in case the ‘cons find us! While you do that, I’ll teach you the override codes to the ships and help with any injured you have.”</p>
<p>Springer stepped up to Ultra Magnus’s side, glanced at his commanding officer in silent question, then spoke for the Wreckers once Magnus gave a nod of agreement, “Sounds good, uh, ma’am. But … who’s your sparkmate?”</p>
<p>“Thah,” drawled Jazz, “Would be me.” Jazz waited a moment for the statement to sink in and the horror to pass —because the tiny new femme was both their superior officer’s spark-child and the sparkmate of the head of Special Ops—, then continued, “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, get back ta inspectin’ tha ships, ‘Rage, you’re on lookout. ‘Bee and Cliff’ will be on inventory. What’s tha override, Star?”</p>
<p>“All but one of the ships are keyed to the word ‘<em>Homebound</em>’. Leave the ship that doesn’t respond alone, I’ll handle her.”</p>
<p>Jazz nodded and didn’t press, “A’right then, ya heard her mechs, get going! Star, before ya head off to your own ship ta check it out, Ah want ya ta help out the Wrecker’s medic. They have a mech down.”</p>
<p>Starwish shifted her attention to Ultra Magnus as the Wreckers and Jazz’s team all cautiously scattered to carry out their orders, “Down? Decepticons?</p>
<p>Ultra Magnus shook his helm, “No, Whirl was … overcome by the news of the impending exile and suffered a meltdown. Medix sedated him to prevent any unfortunate events, but the sedative Medix brought along will not last long in his system and we need him mobile if at all possible.”</p>
<p>Starwish nodded, “I’ll take a look and see what I can do.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Little One,” Ultra Magnus murmured. His spark-child gave him another tiny smile before she took off in the direction he indicated to find Medix and Whirl. He watched her go for a moment. She had … grown up a lot since he’d last seen her, even if it didn’t seem that long ago. There was something different about her, something he couldn’t touch or understand or really describe. He wondered if it was because of the news of the impending exile. Something to ask about later, if there was time. Turning to Jazz, he nodded to his fellow officer and they set to work alongside their mechs. Jazz had mentioned that they were originally only supposed to scout out the dockyard, see if there was anything there. But with the Wreckers there to help and Starwish’s override codes, it would be far more tactically advantageous to take as many ships as they could now instead of wait for the decepticons to find the dockyard somehow.</p>
<p>He could only hope it would help in the long run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Starwish found Medix and Whirl in the shadow of a ship. The helicopter mech she assumed to be Whirl was back online, but his optic was dull and his posture vacant. Medix was tentatively scanning and talking and trying to garner a response, but Starwish could see the sedative hidden in one servo and knew the other medic was wary of a violent outburst. Medix looked up, “Ah, you must be Starwish, Ultra Magnus told me you were coming. I’m not sure how much you can help. He just came back online and I don’t want to sedate him again if I can help it, he’s always reacted very poorly to anything but the weakest doses, and as you can see he’s … not responsive.”</p>
<p>Starwish scanned the helicopter mech, carefully put aside the visceral internal reaction she felt at the reports of very old, very <b>precise</b> protoform scars and the lessons on Cybertronian history that told her exactly what his servos signified —experimentation, capital punishment, the list went on and Cybertronians had many ways to inflict fates worse than death on those deemed deserving of it—, “Has he ever had a meltdown like this before?”</p>
<p>“Not as long as I’ve known him. He’s usually the one that isn’t fazed by bad news or horrible events. Drives the other mechs crazy with his temper and random cheer most of the time, honestly.” Medix glanced at Whirl as if expecting something, the mech just continued to stare into space and Medix added in a low voice, “He never lets people talk about him like he isn’t there either. Always inserts himself into the conversation.” Medix gave her a helpless look, “I’m just a field medic with some surgeon training. I know how to patch up and jury-rig anything from a leaking line or a blown off limb to a fragged-up pump, but processors?” He shook his helm, “I’m not a processor surgeon, or a psychiatrist. I don’t know what to do.”</p>
<p>Starwish crouched down in front of Whirl and waved a slow servo in front of his optic, the optic remained dull, but it did track her movements in a belated sort of way, which she took to be a good sign. He wasn’t completely disconnected from his body yet, “Do you know anything about engineering or ships?”</p>
<p>Medix gave her a baffled look, “Uh, a bit. You learn a little bit of most things when you’re the only Wrecker medic to last longer than a vorn.”</p>
<p>“Then go help examine and prep these ships. Ask one of the others for the override code. I’ll handle this.”</p>
<p>Medix made to protest, but Starwish waved him away, “These ships haven’t been touched in Primus knows how long, the others might get injured while inspecting them. I can handle this mech if he turns violent, there’s no sense in tying up both medics with one patient. Go help the others and be ready to treat any damages incurred. Just send me his file and I’ll com if I need you to come back.”</p>
<p>The other medic didn’t like it, but one Look —a mixture of Master Yoketron’s disapproving non-expression and Ratchet’s glower of doom— and he complied. A quick data-burst of a file —just the overview such as Whirl’s medical allergies, date and results of his latest checkup, things Medix had noted down not to do in the mech’s presence— and the other medic was gone, disappeared into the looming shadows of the ships.</p>
<p>Starwish skimmed the file, then settled down in front of Whirl in the meditative position Master Yoketron had grilled into her over the vorns. The blank, faceless optic settled on staring just over her shoulder and Starwish murmured, “Hello Whirl. My name is Starwish. I know you can hear me in there. It’s alright if you don’t want to respond, but if you need, or want, my help, I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me a sign of some kind.”</p>
<p>No response. Not a blink or a vent or a ruffle of armor plating. It was like talking to a toy.</p>
<p>She’d seen autobots like this before. Not many, they usually didn’t survive long enough to be dragged to a medbay if they fell into this kind of state while on the field —and it was always on the field, always some place or time when there was no one to ground them when their sparks retreated so far into themselves that they stopped being able to talk or move on their own—, but enough to recognize the signs. Some of them snapped out of it on their own. Some of them could be coaxed out of their shell, especially by a familiar and trusted face. Some of them never did and just … faded away. Offlined right in front of her even though there was nothing physically wrong with their frames. Sparkbreak, Ratchet called it. A symptom that used to only happen to a sparkmate who had lost their other half or younglings who had just lost their creators. But the longer the War went on, the more some mechs just … broke.</p>
<p>Downside of having a physical manifestation of one’s soul she supposed. Anything that was physical could break, and when it did, sometimes it was just too hard to put the pieces back together. There wasn’t much she could do to help this beyond … talk. Give the mech something to anchor to outside of himself and the emotions that had caused this. Singing worked too, it was still unusual and exotic to cybertronians despite how much it had spread over the vorns and she’d managed to call back a few patients with the sheer novelty of it before.</p>
<p>“It’s going to be okay,” She murmured to him, “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but everything will be alright eventually.” She had to believe that. Even if “alright” didn’t mean coming back to Cybertron for a long, long time —or coming back at all—. As long as there was life, there was hope and as long as there was hope, everything would be alright someday.</p>
<p>Tentatively, she reached out and pulled one of his pincer-like servos into her own and rubbed gentle fingers over the scuffed metal. Physical touch, to help drag his attention back into his body rather than his tortured spark. “My <em>Opi </em>talks about you sometimes. About all of his Wreckers really. We don’t get to talk much, our positions rarely let us see each other anymore. But when we do, he likes to complain about you guys. Well, I say complain, but really I think he just worries. He cares about all of you, you know? He’s terrible at showing it, but that’s what all the orders and regulations are for; to try to keep you safe. He says you give him a helm ache, but he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. He just means you keep him on the alert.” She glanced up at Whirl’s optic, saw that it was looking at her now, but still too dull and vacant. There was no way to tell if he was really paying attention to her or just focused on her general location by accident.</p>
<p>She sighed. Rubbed the mech’s servo a little more as she glanced around. It wasn’t like anyone else would care if she started to sing. Well, the Wreckers might, she didn’t remember singing around them before, but they would hopefully focus on their tasks instead of investigating the oddity of musical words. She wasn’t sure what to sing though. Something hopeful or happy would probably be best, but … she didn’t feel it. The dockyard was too dark and empty for a song that was strictly cheerful.</p>
<p>An old melody drifted through her mind, and there were words she knew that had come from the book that had inspired it, that would make it a little bit longer…</p>
<p>It couldn’t hurt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Still round the corner there may wait…”</p>
<p>“A new road … or a secret gate.”</p>
<p>“And though we pass them by … <em>today</em>…”</p>
<p>“<em>Tomorrow</em> we may come this way.”</p>
<p>“And take the hidden paths that run,”</p>
<p>“Toward the moon … or to the sun…”</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> Her voice echoed in the corners and the shadows. Trailed, soft and lonely, through the old spaces and skimmed over the dusty contours of the ships. She sensed Jazz and Ultra Magnus both pause, felt her sparkmate reach out in silent harmony with the verses even if he didn’t know why she had chosen to sing right now.</p>
<p>English words mingled with Cybertronian, ghosts that did not belong to the setting, yet lived there for a time anyway.</p>
<p>Whirl’s optic brightened a fraction, drifted up to rest on her lips instead of the general direction of her shoulder and she kept singing as she ran her servos over his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Home is behind,”</p>
<p>“The world ahead,”</p>
<p>“And there are many paths to tread…”</p>
<p>“Through shadows, to the edge of <em>night</em>,”</p>
<p>“Until the stars are all alight…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A shift, the barest twitch of the servo in hers. A dull optic tracing her every word in the air as if it was a physical thing. She leaned a little bit forward, catching his optic with hers as she sang, gentle and melancholy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The world is behind, and home … ahead…”</p>
<p>“We’ll wander back, to home and <em>bed</em>…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The servo in hers gripped tentatively, and the faceless helm tilted slowly to one side as he echoed clumsily, “We’ll wander back, to home and <em>bed</em>…”</p>
<p>Starwish leaned back and smiled, “Welcome back, Whirl.”</p>
<p>A flicker of the optic, like a blink but not quite, “I don’t … know you.” His voice was sluggish, but he sounded curious, baffled. Good. Emotions were good. Emotional expression meant reconnection to reality. Now, if she was just lucky enough for it to not turn to anger.</p>
<p>“I’m not a Wrecker, I am called Starwish, I’m a medic from Iacon.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t know you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised,” she shrugged, “Wreckers rarely come to Iacon in the first place-.”</p>
<p>“No…” he drew the word out in an almost drunk slur, his helm tilted the other way, “You don’t- you don’t understand. I know everybody. I have for vorns. Online, offline, autobot, decepticon, predacon, maximal-. I know- I know everybody.”</p>
<p>Starwish went very, very still.</p>
<p>She hadn’t watched much of the Transformers shows beyond Animated, Prime, and the live-action movies. But she had picked up a bit of lore here and there. She knew about maximals. The beast-form descendants of the autobots.</p>
<p>And unless there was a big part of history that Starwish had never been told since coming here, maximals didn’t even <b>exist</b> yet. Might not ever come to exist, depending on what universe she was actually in.</p>
<p>Whirl was looking her up and down, “You aren’t anybody I know.” He sounded overcharged, loopy. Most mechs did right after crawling back from a meltdown and sparkbreak. They also tended to ramble without any kind of processor to vocalizer filter, which had led to her learning quite a few random and intimately private secrets before. But this… “You aren’t a different somebody I know either. Like-. Like Airachnid. Arachnia. Whatever her name is here. She’s part organic you know, or is she just a crazy decepticon hunter? I can’t remember. No, she has to be a hunter, because this Optimus is too old and he has an Elita, doesn’t he? Hmmm…” Whirl focused on a point beyond her shoulder, wrapped up in his own dilemma.</p>
<p><em>He can’t be saying what I think he is.</em> Just when she’d hoped her cycle couldn’t get weirder, “What are you saying?”</p>
<p>The optic refocused on her, intense and oddly childish despite being faceless, “I’m saying I <b>know</b> everybody. Except you. I don’t know any Starwishes. I would remember you if I knew you, you’re too colorful. The ones that Primus gives his Favor to are always too colorful to forget. Like Roddy. Is he Roddy yet? No, can’t be, Optimus is online and Cybertron is-.” Whirl stopped. He went very, very quiet. For a moment she was afraid he had gone straight back into sparkbreak. Then he whispered, “Oh. Oh. That was real wasn’t it? It’s all real. That means … that means everything that happens after is real … doesn’t it? That funny little blue planet, and Optimus offlining and offlining and offlining and coming back only to offline again for autobots or those tiny little people he gets so attached to-”</p>
<p>“Whirl,” Starwish cut him off in a whisper, “You can see the future?”</p>
<p>A blink, “Yes. No. Don’t know. They’re all just pictures and clips. Mechs and femmes I know, mechs and femmes I’ve never met. War, peace, online, offline, autobot, decepticon. Same names, new faces, different fates. I usually ignore it. That’s what I told myself to do a long time ago. ‘Just ignore it and pretend you don’t know’ I said, ‘nobody wants to know that you’ve seen them as a femme or you’ve seen them become a Prime because Optimus is gone or you’ve seen Megatron be a pacifist while Prime is the madmech’. I figured I would know, considering I was talking to myself, and not in the meltdown way Blitzwing does either. I was standing right there. Shook my own servo. It was weird.”</p>
<p>Whirl’s helm bobbed back and forth like he was watching memories go by, “So I did. I didn’t say anything and I pushed the memory files <b>way</b> down where I wouldn’t think about them. I thought maybe it worked. Or maybe I was just, you know, the usual kind of angry meltdown like everyone thinks I am. Then Cybertron died. Which means everything else is true and we’re all gonna…”</p>
<p>His optic flickered and Starwish squeezed Whirl’s servo to get his attention, “We’re going to be fine.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know that. You didn’t see.”</p>
<p>“I have.” Now she had Whirl’s absolute attention, “I <b>have</b>, Whirl. It takes a long, long time, and it’s a hard road, but we do come home. Primus himself said Cybertron would heal, we just have to wait and survive until that cycle comes.”</p>
<p>“Why should I believe you? I don’t know you. I never saw you in that <b>Place</b>.”</p>
<p>Starwish hesitated, “Place?”</p>
<p>“Underground. I was hiding from the mechs that did,” he twitched his pincer servos toward his faceless helm, “this. I got away once, before they were finished. Ran and hid in the Underworld. There are places there that … mechs aren’t supposed to go. Old places and shadowy gates and corners the size of chasms where everything goes sideways and twisty and wrong. Mechs can’t go there, because that’s where all the memories are. Things that are, things that aren’t, things that were, things that might be. All there. You can see everything in those places and it’s enough to drive anyone meltdown. I knew I shouldn’t go, I knew the gate looked wrong and that I wasn’t meant to find it, or go through it, but I was scared and fragged off and everything hurt. So I did. That’s where I met myself. He led me out, but not before I saw … well. Not before I <b>saw</b>.”</p>
<p>Whirl considered her servos on his, “But I never saw you. So how can I trust you?”</p>
<p>She would definitely have to meditate on that later, on top of all the <b>other</b> things that had happened lately, “If you don’t know me,” she aired tentatively, “then that means this is a world you don’t entirely know. If you don’t know it, then you don’t know what happens. It doesn’t have to end in tragedy.” So much tragedy. How many times had she tried so hard not to think about all the ways it could go wrong? All the times she’d seen those close to her offline before she ever knew them —Optimus, Ironhide, Cliffjumper, <b>Jazz</b>—, how many times had she tried not to think about endings like Dark of the Moon, where Cybertron was gone for good? And yet…</p>
<p>Her audio receptors flickered and pinned back as she added, soft and fierce, “As long as I have a spark in my chamber, it <b>won’t</b>. The Exile won’t be forever, and the War <b>will</b> end.” Even if she had to fight Megatron. Even if she had to come face to face with Shockwave all over again. Even if she had to take on <b>Unicron himself</b> to save her family, her people. Primus had said he would awaken someday, and she was going to try, with every bit of strength in her frame and every beat of her spark, to make sure her family would be there to see it happen. It wasn’t going to end like Dark of the Moon —Cybertron gone, all hope destroyed by a betrayer— and it wasn’t going to end like Predacons Rising —home at last, but Optimus gone-gone-gone—.</p>
<p>She didn’t know how yet, couldn’t plan that far ahead when there was so much she didn’t know. But she and Hardwire and the Twinlings weren’t going to stop until everyone —autobots, decepticons, neutrals, and survivors— could go home again, without war, and with Optimus leading the way.</p>
<p>Whirl looked up at her and she got the impression he was <b>looking</b> at her for the first time, not just chatting loopily at someone he was aware of but not, “You know about that. You know about the memories too?”</p>
<p>Starwish weighed her words, “Some of them. I know about Arachnia and Airachnid, I know about Cybertron, and I know about the little blue planet that Optimus grows to love. And I know that there is hope. It’s far away, and it’s small, but I saw everyone get to go home, and as long as I have any strength left to help, I’m going to work to make that hope come true.”</p>
<p>Whirl stared at her, optic bright, before he lunged without warning. Starwish tensed for an assault and instead found herself with a armful of shivering mech, hugging her so tight that if she’d still been human she wouldn’t have been able to breathe while he whispered over and over that he wasn’t alone anymore. Starwish carefully put away the scalpel that had unsubspaced on instinct in favor of gently rubbing the back of Whirl’s helm, “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”</p>
<p>“Can I come see?” He asked, still oddly childish, “Your hope. I never saw it in that Place. Never saw it after either. So can I come see what you saw? … Please?”</p>
<p>Starwish stared at the deep shadows thrown by the old ships and thought on that for a klik. She didn’t know Whirl beyond what her Opi had mentioned and his behavior now was no basis for how he might act when fully in control of himself again. Agreeing would be silly, especially since he was a Wrecker and she wasn’t. But … but whatever had happened to Whirl that had let him see … something —the multiverse maybe, or just the multimedia fiction she knew from Earth—, if he’d been left trying to suppress it for vorns upon vorns all alone…</p>
<p>She sighed, “Alright. You can come along if you really want.”</p>
<p>The hug tightened with something that felt like pure relief, then abruptly eased and Starwish grunted as she struggled not to collapse under the sudden deadweight. After a few kliks of struggle, she rolled him off her and discovered that he’d slipped into a deep recharge. Most mechs recovering from sparkbreak did, but she hadn’t expected him to suddenly drop off like that. Still, upon checking his vitals and running a scan he seemed alright. It was an honest recharge, not stasis or sparkbreak, so she let him be.</p>
<p>::Medix, this is Starwish. I managed to snap him out of it, he’s recharging now. I’ll stay with him for a while to monitor his status.::</p>
<p>::Oh thank Primus. I thought- well, I’m just glad you were there to help. Let me know if you need me to take over monitoring for you.::</p>
<p>Starwish stared out across the dockyard, knowing that somewhere out there was a ship just for her and a million other things that needed to be checked and talked about, then shook her helm, ::It’s fine. I can wait.::</p>
<p>Strange holograms and shadowy futures and English-speaking ancient cities or not, she was a medic first and Whirl was her patient. Besides. She’d promised, and Starwish had long ago learned the importance of keeping promises.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door to the observatory —his hiding place from the world while Bulkhead was on duty and the berth room was too stiflingly small— slid open, then shut again, “Hardwire?”</p>
<p>Hardwire turned in an instant, recognition threading together with the pleased rumble of his predacon instincts, “Arcee. You’re back.”</p>
<p>Arcee nodded as she locked the observatory door behind her and ghosted further into the room, “I’ve been back for a joor or two now. I … had things to deal with. Needed to talk to Ratchet.”</p>
<p>Arcee came within reach and Hardwire traced her cheek with a careful claw, “Are you injured?”</p>
<p>“No. Nothing like that.” She slipped under his arm and leaned against his frame —so small compared to him now, so very, very small—, “Primus … You know how I said Primus gave me a task? It was more like a … blessing. For us. Apparently sparkmating a predacon is a bit different that mating the average cybertronian. But he … he wanted us to be happy. He gave me instructions on where to go to get what I needed. I already talked it over with Ratchet and he’s … well. He’s not happy, but he’s agreed to help as long as you agree to go through with this.”</p>
<p>Hardwire curled an arm around her and tamped down on the thrill of fear in his spark, “Oh?”</p>
<p>Arcee pressed her face against his armor, then whispered, “I’m going to become a predacon too.”</p>
<p>Hardwire’s spark stopped.</p>
<p>Arcee kept talking, soft and oblivious to the slow bristle of horror along his spine, “Alpha Trion had a femme predacon frame hidden away in the Archives, Primus gave me his blessing to retrieve it. There are instructions to follow and- and we wouldn’t be able to bond until at least the second metacycle after, probably not until the end of the orn, but once I have a predacon frame, I’ll be safe to bond with you. Ratchet’s already agreed to do the integration procedure so long as you agree to letting me do this. To-” she vented, shivered “to bonding with me.”</p>
<p>Hardwire pulled away very slowly, sank to his knees so that they were finally optic level, “Arcee- Arcee, no.”</p>
<p>She flinched and there was hurt in every line and Hardwire added hurriedly, “Arcee, I <b>love you</b>. Bonding with you would be the happiest moment of my existence. But I can’t- You don’t know what you are going to do to yourself, Arcee. What becoming a predacon would change in you.”</p>
<p>Arcee’s expression was stubborn and Hardwire took her servos in his as he whispered, “I’m not-. It’s a part of me now Arcee. The programming that we thought was Bāsākā syndrome. It was predacon instincts and now that I have a predacon frame they-. They’re always there. Trying to influence my thoughts, trying to make me … wild. Dangerous. Arcee, if you do this, you’ll have to live with that forever. Live with a voice in your processor that looks at the autobots who are scared of you and says ‘prey’, that watches your enemies and tells you to eat them whole and there will be a part of you that <b>wants to listen</b>. That doesn’t see anything <b>wrong </b>with what the voice is saying.”</p>
<p>He studied her face intently, “I can’t- I can’t ask you to live with that-.” She leaned forward and caught his lips, pursued his head even as he tried to jerk away —because his denta were so <b>sharp</b> now and he could <b>hurt her</b>—. She freed one servo from his and used it to pull his chin around and down for a more comfortable kiss. Deep inside him the predacon rumbled in low satisfaction, spark-deep devotion and the sense of <em>this-is-right-she-is-mine</em> that pleased him as much as it scared him.</p>
<p>Arcee pulled away, but her servo kept his face in place where she could lean in close as she answered, “Isn’t that my choice, ‘Wire?”</p>
<p>He keened softly, because it was her choice, always her choice, but she didn’t <b>understand</b>-, “You don’t understand. You’ll be making yourself an outcast, a <b>monster</b> of legend and terror.” Desperate and guilty, he whispered, “you shouldn’t do that. Not to be with a mech who still has secrets he’s never told you.” About his past, about his origin as an organic. Things he’d never gotten around to sharing because he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, then later their relationship, with the anger and disbelief that had nearly torn apart his friendships with Ratchet and Ironhide and Chromia. His fault. His cowardice that he had let their relationship continue without ever saying-.</p>
<p>“Hardwire, I don’t care.” His vents stuttered as Arcee repeated firmly, “I don’t care. Primus told me the exact same things. That you have secrets you haven’t shared, that bonding with you would change me. I. Don’t. Care. I love you, and I want to be with you, even if we’re exiled from Cybertron until the end of our lives.” She pressed her forehelm against his, “You have your secrets, and I have mine. Who’s are bigger or older doesn’t matter, and whatever steps I have to take to make this happen, I will take willingly.”</p>
<p>She kissed him again, soft and slow, then whispered against his lips, “Let me do this. Let me love you.”</p>
<p>Hardwire wanted to protest more, wanted to make her understand just how big a sacrifice she was making. But he knew his One, she would never stop once she made up her mind. It was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her, and … maybe he was selfish. Maybe he was horrible. But … he didn’t <b>want</b> to say no. He didn’t want to make her leave for the sake of her safety and normalcy. He wanted this. He wanted her as his sparkmate.</p>
<p>Hardwire sighed and pulled away. Arcee watched him with worry in her optics as he shifted to stare out the observatory windows for a moment and gather his thoughts. He turned back to her and folded down onto one knee —one knee, not both, if he was doing this he was doing it right— and reached into his subspace. Arcee watched him with a curious, worried gaze and he explained, “Back in my old town, there was a … tradition. Courting was important, but the … the big deal was supposed to be when a Courted asked the other to sparkmate with them. There was … there are precedents and parts of the tradition I can’t do here, witnesses being one of them. But the rest…”</p>
<p>He carefully pulled out the tiny box that contained a project he’d been working on for vorns in his off cycles. It … probably wasn’t very good. Certainly wasn’t very practical. He hadn’t even intended to make it at first, he’d just been … fiddling. He’d known that the Courting gift was the big deal for cybertronians, which was why he’d commissioned the armor for Arcee. But this was … this was a human thing that he’d started working on without really thinking about it and he … wanted to show how much he loved her. Even if the gesture was nothing compared to what Arcee was prepared to do.</p>
<p>He fidgeted with the box as he explained, “It’s … not practical. Or even useful. But traditionally, when a mech or femme wanted to finally move from Courted to Bonded, they would give one of these. It’s nothing compared to what you- what you plan to do for me. But here. I made this a while ago, out of bits and pieces I’ve picked up during missions.”</p>
<p>Hardwire opened the box and turned it around so she could see the ring. It was a quirky, unprofessional thing. Made of welded together bits of armor and shrapnel and colored metal he’d found along the way, worn smooth by constant handling. It twisted together in a patchwork of different colors and textures. None of the welded pieces were the same size and polish made it twinkle in the light streaming through the windows with a myriad of different colors, “Arcee of Iacon and Praxus, love of my life and spark and bravest femme I have ever had the blessing of knowing, would you be my sparkmate? Despite all the trouble I’ve put you through over the vorns?”</p>
<p>Arcee’s smile was amused and loving and baffled all in one as she gently took the ring out and examined it. She sent him a silent question with her expression and he nodded shyly, then smiled as she slid it onto her finger —not the correct finger, but it fit anyway, so who cared—, “You <em>dork</em>. Of course my answer is yes.” She kissed him gently below his optic and he rumbled, deep and sad and happy all at once. It was nothing compared to what she was prepared to do, nothing to make up for what she was choosing to live with for the rest of her vorns. But.</p>
<p>“I’ll make you happy,” he whispered as he reached out and pulled her close to his frame, “I don’t know how, and I might not always, but I’ll do my best to always make you happy. I will love you until the universe ends and long into whatever comes after. Anything you ask I will give, anything you need I will do my best to provide.”</p>
<p>The instincts in his head tugged and he ran his fangs gently over her neck cables, a tiny jolt of energy running from his denta to her protoform and she shivered even as she pressed closer and whispered hoarsely, “Don’t make it so one-sided ‘Wire. We’re partners. Equals. Always have been. I’ll do whatever it takes to stand beside you, to make you happy. So don’t you dare feel guilty about this. <b>Any</b> of this. Understood?”</p>
<p>He vented, deep and slow, then whispered, “Understood.” This time, when Arcee caught his lips in a kiss, he didn’t try to pull away out of fear. She had made her choice, all he could do was try his hardest to make sure she never regretted it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz’s team and the Wreckers arrived in Iacon with almost a third of the dockyard’s ships a few cycles later, flying the largest ships they could get to function and with as many of the smaller ones they could fit into the holds or magnetize to the bottom of the larger as they could. Two more trips were made before the decepticons picked up on the intrusions and cut off the routes to Novalek and its ships. But by then the autobots had collected almost all of the salvageable ones anyway and stripped the non-functionals for spare parts and energon.</p>
<p>The next orn was a blur of activity and preparation and dealing with rebellious mechs in denial about the impending Exile. Starwish saw more of Yoketron than she had in orns as he slipped discreetly into and out of the medbay for the twinlings’ lessons, then more of her brothers than she’d seen in metacycles when Fast Track was recovered enough to visit Yoketron in his dojo instead. There were supplies to divvy between ships, repairs to make. Arcee’s new frame —Primus chose the strangest blessings— to prep and integrate. Then physical therapy to reteach Arcee how to walk and fight in her altered root mode —not much taller, but … pointier and even more flexible than before, not to mention the <b>tail</b>— as well as her new alternate mode —Hardwire trying to teach Arcee how to fly was a hilarious bright spot in an ever more depressing orn—.</p>
<p>All the ships, even the ones capable of flight, needed to be repaired and updated to accommodate refugees and long-term exile. Some of them didn’t have medical bays, so the medics had to take turns overseeing the gutting of storerooms or cargo holds and the installation of proper medical equipment and databases. First Aid was put in charge of training a rotation of mechs and femmes Optimus had assigned him in basic medical procedures and emergency field care while Starwish picked out the ones with steady servos and taught them the rudimentary dos and don’ts of common surgeries. There weren’t enough proper medics to go around —not even enough to have one registered medic per ship— but at least this way no group of refugees would be completely without medical assistance.</p>
<p>In the midst of everything, Starwish, Hardwire, and the twinlings had held a private meeting with Jazz, Prowl, Elita-1, and Optimus in which they finally told everything they could remember about the shows. Prowl had, understandably, glitched at the prospect of alternate dimensions and stories that described potential futures. Even though Starwish had shown him her memories of the franchise before, Jazz had still needed to sit down for a long time after the full stories came out.</p>
<p>None of them knew if the revelation was a good idea. But the information, the possibilities, were too important to hide forever. Better to let their strategist and leaders and special ops head know about it all so that they could take it into account should one of the storylines start coming true. Starwish wasn’t certain Optimus, Elita-1, or Prowl fully believed the information they’d been given, but at least they took them seriously and didn’t send them off to Ratchet for processor scans. It was all Starwish could ask for without any hard evidence to back up their words.</p>
<p>The Wreckers left to harass the decepticons, keep them from discovering the full scope of the autobot plans or the many agents Jazz had sent out to infiltrate decepticon territory —they needed to know where the Dark Energon had come from, they needed to know what else Megatron had at his disposal even as more and more reports of crazy, purple-opticed mechs came in from the front lines—.</p>
<p>All the Wreckers except Whirl.</p>
<p>Whirl had requested —and somehow gotten— transfer orders out of the Wreckers that made him Starwish’s personal guard. She still didn’t know how he’d convinced her Opi and Optimus to do that, didn’t even really understand why —most mechs didn’t remember conversations held right after a sparkbreak, let alone take any promises given to them during that time seriously—. But then, Whirl wasn’t an ordinary mech by any stretch of the term. So, Starwish had to adjust to a snarky, crazy —angry—, bodyguard at her side ninety percent of every cycle and hauling said bodyguard out of the trouble he always seemed to find —she would only realize later that Whirl’s crazy disasters were a welcome distraction, a moment of laugh-or-cry-so-laugh-instead that kept her from spiraling too far into her own thoughts—.</p>
<p>And so the orn passed, then the next. Optimus recalled all autobots barring the Wreckers —who refused to come— back to Iacon and the nearby Tyger Pax for the evacuation. He was ceding the majority of the planet to Megatron, intending to keep just enough troops to protect Iacon and the secondary launch site in Tyger Pax while the rest fled to the stars with supplies and a few lesser artifacts from the Hall of Records. Those left behind would wait until they finished reconstructing the massive cargo-hauler Sunstreaker had somehow resurrected long enough to fly to Iacon. Estimates said it would take five or more vorns to finish making it truly inhabitable and trustworthy of deep-space flight, but Optimus refused to board one of the earlier ships. He would stay to the last, and his most trusted were staying with him.</p>
<p>The more important artifacts were to be shot into space during the exodus, sent to far-flung corners of the galaxy while their energy signatures were masked by the many ships that would be leaving as well.</p>
<p>Starwish and her family would not be among those evacuated in the first wave. Optimus had offered, but they had all turned him down. They would be staying until Optimus himself left.</p>
<p>Two orns after their trip to Novalek, everything was ready for the first evacuation, all autobots had been recalled and sorted into groups per ship, rationing orders were in place and chains of command established for each vessel. It was time for the evacuation from Cybertron to begin.</p>
<p>Then everything went to Pit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0087"><h2>87. Twilight of Cybertron Part 13 - Trypticon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for some ... Intense Stuff™ happening in this chapter.</p>
<p>It's the Battle of Tyger Pax, among other things. Anyone who watches TF Prime should remember what that means *waggles eyebrows*. For those who don't know or remember and don't want spoilers, I'm throwing up a general warning for gore and torture. I don't think it's ... M-rated? But yeah. You have been warned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Explosions, blaster fire, screaming, “Medic! I need a medic over here!”</p>
<p>Laughter, deep and wrong on a visceral level before it was silenced by the snap of a high-powered rifle, “Primus, they’re everywhere!”</p>
<p>“Contact on the left flank! We need reinforcements over there!”</p>
<p>Somewhere in the chaos, optics glanced upward at the sky, then did a double take, “The <b>frag is that</b>?”</p>
<p>Shoulders pressed against the weak protection of a wall, servos slapping another magazine into an old projectile rifle, “Frag is what?”</p>
<p>“In the sky! <b>That</b>!”</p>
<p>More optics turned upward, armor flattened against protoform as a hundred sparks all whispered variations of the same thing, “Primus save us…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Earlier:</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It started with the first ships lifting off. Like their slow passage into the atmosphere and beyond was a signal of some kind, the proximity alarms of both Tyger Pax and Iacon had gone off, heralding the arrival of what felt like the entire decepticon army. Those chosen —or who had volunteered— to stay behind had scrambled into defensive positions and fought off the first wave, then the second all while more and more of their comrades sailed for the stars.</p>
<p>In the tactical center of Iacon, reports cycled and updated, shouting over coms and not echoed everywhere and control was maintained only by experience and the steady, seemingly-omniscient autobot SiC. Then Jazz had activated an emergency channel, broadcasting to all those on the high command, a desperate report from one of his agents who had only just managed to return kliks before the firefight started, ::You need to get all the ships to change course! That code word that kept coming up in ‘Con transmissions, Trypticon, it’s an old space station with a-!:: Nobody needed to hear the rest of the report after that. All they had to do was look at the view-screens or up into the sky to see the bright lance of violet that ripped through first one ship, then two, then three, destroying them instantly.</p>
<p>The decepticons had a cannon right where they needed one in order to destroy them all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zipline twisted around a piece of debris, then up around a floating husk that used to be a fellow autobot. This was not how he’d pictured his first trip into space. True, he hadn’t pictured anything <b>nice</b> about his first trip into space, exile and all, but this …</p>
<p>A flash of purple and a blaze of corrupted energon on his senses so powerful that might as well have been the sound of a catastrophic explosion even in the soundless vacuum. Silverbolt, leader of the aerialbots and current mission leader, commed, ::Another ship down! Hurry it up mechs!::</p>
<p>::Do we even have a plan to take this thing down?:: Snapped a rare seeker named Air Raid as he slipped back into formation after dodging a piece of debris, ::It’s huge! How did they even hide something that huge?::</p>
<p>::No idea how they hid it, especially since Special Ops and all the long range scanners have been looking since before the evacuation order went out. They might have reduced or shielded the energon emissions so that the scanners thought it was a wayward piece of the asteroid belts. As for how we take it down, that’s not a cannon. The science division said it’s a repurposed Energon Bridge, meant to used to transport supplies between Cybertron and the station. The ‘cons must have altered it to make it a weapon. We’ll follow the beam up to the station and then the Chaos Mechanics will find a way to shut it down.::</p>
<p>::So that’s why we have a grounder on the team. I was wondering.::</p>
<p>From his position grappled to Zipline’s back, Fast Track gave an insulting gesture to the flyer that had spoken, but Zipline could feel the fear in his brother’s spark. They were the only Special Ops team Jazz had available that was comprised of at least one flyer and Zipline <b>needed</b> his brother’s expertise if they were going to improvise their way through shutting down a space station with unfamiliar, old as rust systems. But all the way out here, in the silence and zero-g of space, it something happened and Fast Track got knocked free of Zipline’s back, he’d be a perfect target.</p>
<p>The station came into view quickly —not quickly enough, five ships down already and more no doubt about to be struck despite their breaking formation— and Zipline mentally gaped at the sight of some kind of relay station awash with purple energy. It looked like it’s purpose was to hone and redirect the beam to the next station, which in turn would probably link up with another, all of them refining and magnifying the beam until it was the instant death weapon Megatron was using to destroy the ships.</p>
<p><em>“Death Star</em>,<em>”</em> he muttered to his twin as they swung around it and on toward the main station itself, <em>“Megatron found an old, derelict mini </em><b><em>Death Star</em></b><em>. Some cybertronian in the past </em><b><em>built a mini Death Star</em></b><em>.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Not originally,”</em> retorted Fast Track as he shifted his weight to better accommodate Zipline’s barrel roll —vorns of practice were paying off big time—, <em>“according to the data Jazz sent us, this place used to be some kind of energon refinery and transporter with a side of illegal mad science thrown in. The relay stations were designed to let the main station send down mass shipments of raw energon to multiple locations via Energon Bridges or visa versa. It was definitely not intended for some mad-mech to turn all the beams on the </em><b><em>same</em></b><em> location like a…”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Death Star laser?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yeah. Basically.”</em>
</p>
<p>Joy. That meant their job would either be easier, because messing up systems already being used incorrectly was just a matter of being reckless enough to break stuff in the right places, or harder, because none of the schematics would be able to tell them how to actually shut the cannon off without offlining themselves.</p>
<p>But first they had to get inside.</p>
<p>They were just approaching the station when the welcoming committee arrived. Zipline’s scanners blipped with decepticon signals and Silverbolt snapped out orders, ::Zipline, take your twin and hide out in the debris fields, you’re too important to risk with these guys. Everyone else, turn them to slag!:: Zipline didn’t protest as he swerved into cover. He and his twin could handle themselves, but space was not the place to test out Fast Track’s jet-surfing abilities in combat.</p>
<p>The silence was eerie. His sensors could pick up every movement and victory as the aerialbots tangled with the eradicons that had flown out to meet them, but every explosion and near miss were carried out without a sound. Suddenly that joking phrase about no one being able to hear you scream in space was a lot more terrifying.</p>
<p>Fast Track cursed over their bond when a giant defense cannon emerged and activated, <em>“We have to help with that at least!”</em></p>
<p><em>“Right. Hang on.”</em> Zipline broke from cover, shot past the aerialbots still tangled up in fighting eradicons and sometimes taking wild shots at the missile launchers on either side of the defense cannon’s main array. Silverbolt cursed at them to get back into cover, but Zipline only slipped past the defense cannon’s missiles to looped upside-down over the top of main cannon. Fast Track pushed off from his back just as they passed to float down to the cannon. Zipline stayed close despite the risk, hovering close to the armor of the cannon to avoid missiles and stray blaster bolts. He wasn’t going to leave his twin and risk something knocking him off into space without being there to catch him.</p>
<p>The cannon swiveled back and forth, though whether it was trying to shake Fast Track loose or just trying to get a clear shot at Silverbolt and his mechs, Zipline couldn’t tell. Fast Track ran his servosalong the surface for a moment, scanning and analyzing. Zipline finally managed to destroy the missile launchers with a few well placed shots, the regretted it as the cannon changed shape and unleashed a laser of Dark Energon into space, nearly clipping Aid Raid in the wings. ::Everybody look out!:: Yelped Silverbolt as the aerialbots scattered, ::Don’t let that thing hit you!::</p>
<p>Fast Track made a noise of triumph over his bond with Zipline and scrambled higher up the cannon’s surface, a grenade in one servo. He rode the cannon’s surface as the plating shifted and cycled, venting excess heat in preparation for another blast. A gap opened during the venting process that was just large enough for Fast Track to activate and throw the grenade inside, followed by a small thermal-core detpack. Fast Track pushed off the cannon and Zipline swooped in to catch him, hightailing it to safety with his brother clinging to his wings, ::Everybody get to cover!::</p>
<p>The internals of the cannon exploded in a show of lights and shrapnel that was somehow more impressive from the lack of sound. Plating fell away, and Jetfire inched out from behind the debris he’d used as cover, ::Looks like that did it. We can get into the station through there I’d think.::</p>
<p>::Everybody move, we need to get in there before the ‘cons send reinforcements.::</p>
<p>They jetted inside and experience made their route easy to spot, ::Over there, those exhaust tubes. That’s our entrance.::</p>
<p>::In there?:: Muttered Air Raid as everyone began to line up single file, ::It’ll be awfully tight. You sure you won’t scrape your brother right off your wings?::</p>
<p>Fast Track flattened himself even further against Zipline’s wings and cockpit, ::Don’t worry about me, you just keep your precious paint in tact.::</p>
<p>::Oi-!::</p>
<p>Silverbolt took the lead with a snappy, ::Focus, autobots, we’re on the chrono here!::</p>
<p>Everyone followed Silverbolt into the vents and Zipline struggled to remain stable in the choppy gusts that howled through the ventilation system. Thankfully, they didn’t have to stay in the vents for long and, after a short, jostling dive, Silverbolt blasted out one of the maintenance grates and they all dropped out into the station itself.</p>
<p>Fast Track dropped gratefully to the floor as everyone transformed and landed to get their bearings and adjust to the sudden return of sound. Zipline didn’t need to look around much to identify their location. The sharp stink of coolant reservoirs was telling enough, ::Coolant room.::</p>
<p>Fast Track was already scanning everything in sight, a thoughtful look on his face, ::The beams that make up the weaponized energon bridges have to be incredibly hot. If I had to guess from this and those old schematics Jazz dug up, I’d say this entire area was dedicated to keeping the station at a stable temperature when using the beams.::</p>
<p>Zipline grinned, they both knew what that meant, ::If we frag up the cooling process, the gun won’t be able to fire without taking the entire station with it.::</p>
<p>Air Raid banged his knuckles lightly on some metal, flinched at the resounding echo —and glares from the others— that followed, ::So how do we do <b>that</b>?::</p>
<p>::Well,:: said Fast Track, ::the thorough, meticulous way would be to infiltrate the control room and shut the process down from there.::</p>
<p>::That sounds like it’ll take too long,:: said Silverbolt, ::can’t we just … start blasting stuff?::</p>
<p>Fast Track was already wandering deeper into the station, looking for vulnerable areas to blow up as he went, ::So long as you don’t mind calling every decepticon in the station down on our helms and<b> maybe</b> blowing up right alongside everyone else when this place goes? Absolutely.::</p>
<p>The aerialbots all hesitated for a moment, but then the guards in the coolant room discovered them and everyone was too busy shooting to worry about imminent offlining by explosion. Enemy backup emerged from a previously submerged, liquid-proof chamber and Zipline grinned again as he spotted the terminal inside. Perfect, ::In there! If we can find the coolant pumps, we can shut this entire area down without exception!::</p>
<p>The aerialbots held off the decepticons as Zipline darted in and hacked the terminal. A few kliks and near misses from an enemy’s blaster later, the wall on the far side of the room opened up, allowing access to the next chamber. Zipline raced for it, Fast Track springing onto his back as he transformed and they shot out over the deep pools of coolant for the next terminal. Maybe even a turbolift to the pump room if they were lucky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bumblebee ducked into a corner just in time to avoid attention as a group of decepticons ran past, screaming profanities at the autobots they could see. He shuddered internally at the unnatural grate to their voices that marked them out as members of Megatron’s new super soldiers. The mechs hyped on “Dark Energon” to borrow the phrase that had been floating around the ranks for over an orn now, even if its true name and origin was unconfirmed by the officers.</p>
<p>And to think Tyger Pax was supposed to be the easier site to defend. All the predictions had calculated that Iacon would be the main target of assault once Megatron realized what was going on. Iacon had the Hall of Records and Optimus and a thousand other vital targets to be captured during the evacuation. Tyger Pax was just the site all the other ships got sent to because there were too many to fit the hastily arranged launch platforms in the capital city.</p>
<p>If this was the easier site, Bumblebee really didn’t want to think about what Iacon was like right now, or how Ironhide and Chromia were doing defending the Prime-.</p>
<p>He shook his helm minutely as he slipped out of his corner and kept running. He didn’t dare transform, the area was too tricky to navigate on wheels and remain unnoticed at the same time and his message <b>had</b> to be delivered. Fragging decepticons and their long range jamming. The only things working were the short range coms. To get a message all the way to the other side of city, someone had to physically <b>go there</b> through the constantly shifting battle lines and blaster fire and purple-opticed mechs that wanted to kill everything that moved.</p>
<p><em>Initiate Protocol: Lost. </em>He repeated the phrase endlessly in his helm, just to make sure he wouldn’t forget it somehow —not that he could, but it was one more thing to focus on rather than the explosions that kept lighting the sky and the morbid part that kept wondering which of his friends had offlined in that blast or the other—. He’d never heard of Protocol: Lost, but it had sounded <b>very</b> important. Important enough to risk a messenger in this mess even though the other flank needed whatever reinforcements it could get. Important enough to be related to the massive defenses set up around the area to which Bumblebee was running, like a mini-fortress all its own within the greater defense of Tyger Pax.</p>
<p>Which was probably why the decepticons seemed so keen on getting to it.</p>
<p><em>Initiate Protocol: Lost.</em> That was his message, his duty. He couldn’t stop for anything, not to help the wavering, twisting battle lines, not to hide away from the rubble beginning to fall through the atmosphere that used to be <em>ships-friends-comrades-</em>. He flipped over a barrier, transformed in mid-motion so that his tires were already spinning when they landed on the clear stretch of road. Final stretch and blaster fire was <b>everywhere</b>.</p>
<p><em>Initiate Protocol: Lost.</em> Those were his orders. No matter what else happened that cycle, he was <b>going</b> to deliver that message and see it carried out. He could do no less when everyone was struggling to survive the Exodus. When there was something in his very spark drawing him <em>on-on-on</em> with the knowledge that this was important. Possibly the most important message he had or ever would deliver.</p>
<p>His destination loomed, hastily constructed walls of thick plating and mounted cannons that drummed a beat so deep into his doorwings it felt like his spark would rattle right out of its chamber. The turrets began to track him and he pinged frantically —there were seekers behind him getting ready to strafe, don’t stop don’t-stop-remember-the-Protocol—, ::This is Bumblebee,:: he pinged his identification code so quickly the numbers almost jumbled together, ::I have a message from Command! Open the doors!::</p>
<p>The turrets shifted and began blasting the seekers instead, the blast doors rolled up just enough to him to scrape his way beneath them with a screech of metal and lost paint before slamming shut again in time to block out the rolling fireball that had once been a seeker.</p>
<p>Bumblebee transformed without slowing, his legs carrying him past the shouting soldiers and scouts, down hallways and around corners as he commed for and received directions on where to go every few kliks. Finally he spun the last corner and nearly crashed into a pair of guards who were watching over a pair of lowered blast doors. Ignoring the growing buzz in his doorwings —like energy but not, sparks but not and he couldn’t focus on it right now—, Bumblebee pinged his identification code at them, “I need to speak with Commander Rampart Punch immediately. Priority message from Command!”</p>
<p>The two guards hesitated, “No one is supposed to enter this room-”</p>
<p>“Then bring him out here or something, this is a priority message for his audios only!”</p>
<p>The two guards glanced at each other hesitantly, “Give us a few kliks to contact Commander Rampart Punch-.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have <b>time</b>!” Impulsively, Bumblebee shoved past them to the door. A quick flicker of his fingers over the security panel, a twist of coding —he’d have to thank the twinlings for giving him Special Ops hacking tips in exchange for prank alibis later— and the door was open. Bumblebee ran inside, heedless of the guards yelling at him to stop-. Came to a sharp stop as the buzzing in his doorwings bloomed into <em>life-slumber-life-life-life-</em>.</p>
<p>The guards grabbed his arms roughly even as Commander Rampart Punch turned, “Who-?”</p>
<p>Bumblebee didn’t try to fight the guards, just dug in his heels so they couldn’t drag him out of the room with the- with- <em>that can’t be what I think it is.</em></p>
<p>But it was. He knew it was. Recognized it on a spark deep level that couldn’t be faked. The AllSpark itself —wellspring of life and hope, the impossibly large well of sparks that <b>should have</b> been in its eternal resting place with only the temples of Simfur to surround it— hummed within an impossibly tiny vessel right before his optics, “What is the AllSpark-?”</p>
<p>Commander Rampart Punch shifted to stand between Bumblebee and the AllSpark, his armor bristling, “You’d better have a <b>slagging good reason</b> to bust in here, Scout.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee stared blankly at the other mech’s armor, as if he could see through it to the AllSpark —how was it here, <b>why</b> was it here?—. Then duty kicked his processor back into gear and he flicked his doorwings in a makeshift salute —the guards were still holding his arms, “Priority message from Command, sir. You are to initiate Protocol: Lost immediately.”</p>
<p>Commander Rampart Punch’s armor relaxed just a bit, “Understood, now get out of here, Scout, and tell no one of what you’ve seen-”</p>
<p>The entire base shuddered under their feet as something in the middle distance exploded. The guards had to let go of Bumblebee to keep from falling over instead. Everyone in the base heard the alarm that went out over the coms, ::Breach! They’ve breached the defenses! We have incoming! Primus save us it’s-:: the message cut out as another explosion rocked the area.</p>
<p>The Commander was already wrenching the container holding the AllSpark off its makeshift pedestal, ::All units, hold the decepticons off as long as you can! <b>Do not let them breach the tower</b>! No matter the cost.::</p>
<p>He ran for the door, shouting over his shoulder, “You three, with me!” They fell in step with him as he transformed and hurtled down the halls with a roar of his engine. Bumblebee somehow ended up driving alongside the Commander, close enough to feel the thrum of the AllSpark container in the Commander’s cab. “Hope you can fight, Scout, because you just volunteered for the most important mission in the entire Primus-forsaken war.”</p>
<p>Yeah. Bumblebee kinda got that impression.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fast Track was beginning to think that life had it out for him and his twin. It was a thought that had cropped up once in a while over their various and highly dangerous missions before, but this time it was less a stray thought and more a spark-deep conviction. Because being sent on an impossible mission with very little backup was one thing, breaking in and wreaking havoc on a secret decepticon space station to save the entire autobot faction was one thing, but having to survive wreaking havoc inside a secret <b>decepticon</b> space-station?</p>
<p>As in; a space station that was a <b>fragging decepticon with a super space-station/wannabe death star for an alt mode</b>?</p>
<p>That was something entirely different.</p>
<p>Over the sound of cannon fire and screaming decepticon brutes and eradicons that seemed to swarm from any corner, the entire chamber vibrated with deep, insane laughter. Delight over the carnage taking place both outside and <b>within</b> the titan’s own frame. Fearless and rapidly loyal to Megatron and Megatron alone, it was no <b>wonder</b> their original ploy to destroy the coolant system hadn’t worked. A mech this size had repair systems Fast Track could barely conceive, and a loyalty to Megatron that meant it didn’t matter if he did or not. He would have resumed charging and firing his cannon no matter the damage it could do to his frame —a frame they were <b>inside</b> like tiny, hapless germs- no don’t think like that—.</p>
<p>The only advantage to having an enemy so large they were inside him was that all of Trypticon’s internal com messages were broadcast over loudspeakers throughout the entire station. That meant they knew exactly what he was doing and what Megatron’s newest orders were.</p>
<p>Like the destruction of Iacon and all the ships temporarily grounded to keep them from being destroyed.</p>
<p>Which was where most of the autobots and all of Fast Track’s and Zipline’s family was.</p>
<p><em>Hurry-hurry-hurry-Prime-is-there-your-family-is-down-there-!</em> The mantra spiraled between Fast Track and his twin in a loop that got faster and more desperate each time, spurring them to reckless heights as the aerialbots struggled to keep up and provide covering fire. The sniper rifle Fast Track had ripped from a decepticon corpse cracked loud even in the chaos, finally puncturing the plating of the towering tanker con trying to shoot down Silverbolt.</p>
<p>Zipline hurtled clear of cover with a roar of jet engines that morphed into a rabid snarl as he transformed in midair. Massive jaws snapped shut on the important exposed wiring of the con’s back and <b>tore</b> into it in a way that sent energon —blue, thank Primus— spraying in all directions while the decepticon writhed and screamed and tried to paw Zipline off despite the grapnels the aerialbots were using to restrain his servos. The mech crumbled to the floor, spasming under Zipline as his fangs ripped through the spinal wiring.</p>
<p>Zipline bounded clear, jaws dripping energon right up to the moment he shifting back into his jet form and blazed past Fast Track’s hiding spot. Fast Track leaped aboard, ::Come on, Autobots! We’re almost there!::</p>
<p><b>“Enter freely, Autobots,”</b> laughed their surroundings as metal parted way for them only to grow turrets and crushing gears moments later, <b>“All you will find is your own destruction.”</b></p>
<p>Well. The insane space station probably wasn’t wrong. But this was their only chance to find a way to bring Trypticon down, and being so severely underestimated might be the last edge they needed to win. He hoped. <em>“Now I wish Star was here,” </em>he muttered frantically to Zipline, <em>“She’d know how to kill a giant mech from the inside. She’d be able to pinpoint all the major weak points-.”</em></p>
<p>Wait. Major weak points. That was it. This was a giant mech, which meant he had to have the same parts and major vulnerabilities as any other mech. But what vulnerabilities would they be able to find in time in a mech this big who was in his alternate mode?</p>
<p>Megatron’s voice echoed through the loudspeakers, furious and vicious and sickeningly triumphant, “Trypticon! I have the coordinates for Optimus Prime’s exact location! Target him now!” <em>No!</em></p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Yes, Lord Megatron. Uploading coordinates now.”</b>
</p>
<p> Air Raid gave voice to everyone’s internal panicking, “We need to stop this guy! Now!”</p>
<p>“Chaos Mechanics, a plan would be <b>great</b> right about now!”</p>
<p>Zipline swerved around an outcrop of metal that decided to move, threw Fast Track clear of the crushing gears, transformed in mid-air to his mini-con form so he’d fit through the gap before transforming again. Somewhere in the middle of it all, of watching his twin transform and scrabbling for a plan at the same time, revelation struck, ::T-Cog!::</p>
<p>Fast Track landed on Zipline’s wings, hung tight as they jetted to catch up to the others while Air Raid yelled, ::What about it?::</p>
<p>::This entire station is a mech, this is his <b>alternate mode</b>. If we destroy his T-Cog his frame will automatically transform to his root mode, that will disable the cannon!::</p>
<p>::We don’t even know what his root mode is! What if he has a cannon in that one too?::</p>
<p>Fast Track wanted to throw something at Air Raid but resisted the urge, ::It will at least buy us some time!::</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Lord Megatron, Optimus Prime’s coordinates are uploaded. Powering cannon for maximum destruction.”</b>
</p>
<p>::We don’t have any other options at this point!:: Silverbolt shouted back over the roar of machinery and their own panic, ::Lead the way you two! We’ll cover you!::</p>
<p>They had no schematics to tell them where the T-Cog was, but Fast Track knew enough rudimentary biology to know that they were already on the right track. They were in the piping systems, and the piping systems’ three main destinations were the tank, the pump, and the T-Cog. They couldn’t be headed for the tank, the station’s fuel depot was on the schematics and nowhere near them. They couldn’t be headed for the pump or they’d hear it by now. So, if they continued following the main pipeline, that would lead them to the T-Cog. Hopefully. Because if they got it wrong…</p>
<p>
  
  <b>“Cannon power at sixty-five percent.”</b>
</p>
<p>Optimus wasn’t going to get a second chance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bumblebee’s vents wheezed against the debris as he huddled against the nearest bit of cover, doorwings quivering against his back in terror. There were too many decepticons. Bumblebee had no idea where they’d come from, or why they were there when Iacon was supposed to be the main target —they must have discovered that the AllSpark was at Tiger Pax somehow, they must have—, but they were there. And there was just. Too. Many. To handle. The two original guards that had been with Commander Rampart Punch were already dead, so were the other five autobots that had joined them later on.</p>
<p>It was just him and the commander now.</p>
<p>Bumblebee had no idea where the Commander was leading him as they fled from the increasing onslaught of enemies, the original route to the top of the tower —their apparent destination— had been cut off long ago and with every new wave of Dark Energon riddled decepticons, their hope of keeping the AllSpark out of their servos grew dimmer.</p>
<p>::Scout.:: The Commander’s voice was quiet even over the com, as if that would help them remain unnoticed somehow. Bumblebee twitched, glanced over at the mech pressed against the wall across from him, ::Scout. Your alt mode. Can you make it smaller?::</p>
<p>Bumblebee flinched at the far off explosions —and more importantly the pounding steps coming ever closer to their hiding place—, ::Yes sir.:: He sent a quick list of dimensions. Squeezing his innards and plating together to forcibly resize his alt mode wasn’t the nicest feeling, but Bumblebee had a lot of practice fitting into tiny places and it was a useful ability for a scout.</p>
<p>The Commander glanced around his cover to check that the decepticons were still searching and hadn’t spotted them, gestured Bumblebee to come closer. Bumblebee skittered over to the Commander’s side, felt his vents lock up as the Commander shoved the AllSpark container into his servos, ::I’ll buy you time. There’s hidden passage not far from here, I can’t fit in it, blasted thing was made for minibots. It will take you to the top of the tower. There are pods there, put the AllSpark in one. The activation code is 09-17-84. <b>Get the AllSpark out of here</b>, no matter what it takes. Understood?::</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s servos were shaking, he could barely process anything beyond the AllSpark —source of all Cybertronian life, their future and hope even if Cybertron offlined— sitting in his lap. Rough servos grabbed his shoulders and shook him, ::<b>Do you understand me, Scout</b>?::</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s optics snapped back up, refocused on the monumental task at servo, ::Understood, sir. 09-17-84, I got it.::</p>
<p>Commander Rampart Punch nodded curtly, ::Get moving then, Scout. You’re the last hope we have of keeping that thing out of Megatron’s servos.::</p>
<p><em>No pressure, </em>flitted through Bumblebee’s processors, a phrase the twinlings loved to use in intense situations, completely out of place considering the <b>magnitude </b>of what he had to do. The Commander jumped up from his cover, roared curses as he opened fire on the decepticons to grab their attention while Bumblebee transformed and drove for the hidden passage the Commander had indicated.</p>
<p>He transformed long enough to slam his servo onto the wall panel that hid the passage, then fell back into his alt mode and squeezed his parts together. His tank ground uncomfortably against his secondary pump and his gears groaned slightly at the pressure as he slid into the tiny passage and began driving faster than his frame wanted to go while that compressed. Inside his cab, the AllSpark hummed faintly within its container, an eternal song of <em>life-worry-slumber-life</em> that briefly sang a mournful note as yet more lives rejoined the Well.</p>
<p>Bumblebee tried not to think about the scream of defiant pain that echoed to him just as he began making his assent, the one that sounded a lot like Commander Rampart Punch.</p>
<p>The passage seemed to go on forever and every klik of the steep, twisting assent made his gears hurt worse and more warnings pop onto his screen over straining his frame and risking internal damage. Every breem the building shook around him from the impacts of the attack made him terrified that the building was going to collapse and leave him trapped here, unable to escape, unable to save the AllSpark from Megatron’s servos —who knew what he would do with it, considering what he had done to his soldiers to make them so fierce and <b>wrong</b>—.</p>
<p>Just as he thought his frame wouldn’t be able to take anymore, the walls slid open and Bumblebee skidded to a stop in the open air at the top of the tower. He looked up and around. At the debris falling from the sky like fiery rain, the scream of jet engines as they went by, the roiling cacophony of battle going on below. The ships were taking off again even with the cannon in space, but it didn’t seem to be shooting them out of the sky anymore —maybe an aerialbot team had dealt with it? Primus, he hoped so, especially considering his orders—.</p>
<p>Bumblebee scrambled to the nearest pod, set the AllSpark’s container inside with shaking servos and quivering wings. He shut it, reached for the individual activation panel. Paused.</p>
<p>The decepticons wanted the AllSpark, there was no doubts about that. Hadn’t he just been thinking earlier that they were here in such force because they’d somehow found out about the AllSpark’s new location? If he sent up one pod, all the chaos might distract from it’s existence, but all they would have to do was have Soundwave hack the pod’s launch terminal to track the destination coordinates. He wasn’t Special Ops, he wasn’t good enough to make sure all traces were erased from the system in such short time.</p>
<p>The Commander had counted on him to keep this safe. What could he do?</p>
<p><em>If they can track one … make sure it </em><b><em>isn’t</em></b><em> just one. Launch all of them.</em> Bumblebee ran to the central launch terminal, inwardly gave thanks that the Commander had given him the master override code for all of the pods rather than just one. He put it in, set each pod to launch for a different, totally randomized set of coordinates —so long as those coordinates weren’t stars or near black holes—, stared briefly at the coordinates of the pod in which he’d hidden the AllSpark —that was it, the location of their last hope, their only hope, he couldn’t forget, never forget—. Slammed the launch button.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s doorwings flattened to protect himself from the backwash of the pods as they took to the sky, jetting away into space until they were lost in the crowd of spaceships fleeing Cybertron for worlds unknown. He’d done it. The AllSpark was gone. Out of Megatron’s servos. He looked back down at the terminal, did his best to erase the coordinates from the terminal <b>just in case</b> —there were over forty pods, the chances of Megatron hunting them all down if he got into space was slim, but he couldn’t risk it—.</p>
<p>He finished erasing the data, backed up to begin searching for a way down —no way was he staying here where he’d be a target—, screamed as something clamped down like a vice on his doorwing. The thing jerked him around, swatting his arm aside as he attempted to shoot, clenched his doorwing so tight all Bumblebee could do was writhe in the air and scream at the static sparks of <em>agony-agony-terror-</em><b><em>agony</em></b> shooting through him from the abused appendage. The vice grip disappeared as he was flung back against the terminal hard enough to make his optics glitch. A large pede slammed into his middle, pinning him down without effort and threatening to crush his internals through his armor.</p>
<p>“Hello there, <b>little Scout</b>.” <em>No.</em> Bumblebee knew who was holding him down even before his optics finished rebooting, knew it in a way that made his spark scream in terror over his bonds with Ironhide and Chromia as the presence leaned down —<em>it-hurts-it-hurts-stop-crushing-me-please</em>— and caressed his faceplate with deceptively gentle fingers.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s optics flickered back on, latched onto the deadly-wide sharpness of his captor’s false smile, “I believe you just relocated something that I <b>want</b>.” The pede holding him down pressed harder, Bumblebee’s vents stuttered and whined under the pressure as Megatron leaned down and snarled, “I will only ask nicely once, Autobot Scout. <b>Tell me where you sent the AllSpark</b>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It turned out that there was nothing quite like the very structure around you screaming in pain as you brutally shot, hacked, and set off a payload of explosives on a core piece of its internal anatomy to scar you for life. Fast Track shuddered under the force of the bellows all around —or maybe that was just because his entire was shaking from it— as he huddled tight against Zipline’s back. Where he had been hating the demonic, malicious laughter just moments earlier, the <b>screaming</b> that followed the damage caused by Fast Track’s and Zipline’s remaining explosives, the rapid crunch and screech of gears being forced back into their original positions against their owner’s will, was somehow so much worse. Even if it meant Optimus and Iacon were safe. At least for now.</p>
<p>::Fly-fly-fly-fly-!:: Fast Track wasn’t sure who was chanting it over the com, maybe it was all of them, it was hard to hear anything, internal or not, over the bellows of <em>pain-hate-revenge-pain</em> of what felt like the entire world. Metal shook and energon —dark, dark, don’t-let-it-touch— sprayed from overstrained pipes. The walls, air, <b>world</b> vibrated with the noise and the shriek of metal trying to return to its natural state despite —and simultaneously because of— the destruction of the T-Cog. Zipline spun over a shifting gear, through the gap of two titanic pieces of plating. The exit came into a sight, a gap in the transforming metal that was … getting … wider. And spikier. A spire of razor-sharp metal twice Fast Track’s height slid into place on the outer left side of the intended exit, followed by one on the right, then another and another and-.</p>
<p>“<b><em>Teeth</em></b>!” He shrieked, not caring that the word was in English or that he was supposed to use the internal coms, “Those are fragging <b><em>teeth</em></b>!”</p>
<p>Zipline and the Aerialbots gunned their afterburners, heedless of the warnings of heat damage that must have been popping up in their vision. Shot out into the sudden silence of space just as massive, fang-filled jaws snapped shut. They split up, spiraled out and around and back to take a look at the titanic decepticon. He was huge. So huge it was … staggering. Processor-blowing. Writhing in the debris of destroyed autobot ships, the mech had to be at least at least two hundred and fifty feet tall. Probably over three hundred. Massive jaws snapped at the non-existent air, hate in gleaming purple optics as Trypticon’s massive, building-sized tail thrashed. Then-. Just as Fast Track was comprehending the sheer magnitude of the enemy before them, Trypticon smiled.</p>
<p>An open com started, and everyone could hear the deep voice rattling in their helm as Trypticon flipped over and began intentionally <b>diving</b> for Cybertron’s surface, two massive jets on his back propelling him downward, ::<b>You think you have defeated me, little autobots? You have only ensured your precious Iacon’s total destruction! I will see you all burn for this!</b>::</p>
<p><em>Frag-frag-frag-frag-</em> ::Autobots, we need to stop him!::</p>
<p>::Great idea, Silverbolt, great plan,:: snapped Air Raid more than a touch hysterically, ::<b>how</b>?::</p>
<p>Zipline spiraled between pieces of debris, answering the question before Fast Track could, ::Aim for the jetpacks! Give it everything you have left! If we can knock out him out of his reentry path, the atmosphere will do far more to him than we ever could!::</p>
<p>::And com Optimus!:: Added Fast Track as he unsubspaced a sniper rifle and began adding to the barrage of rockets and blaster fire pummeling the building-sized jetpacks, ::Let him know that he’s going to have company in a few breems, and it’s <b>not</b> the good kind!::</p>
<p>They fired and fired, blasting through spaceship grade plating with what felt like sheer determination, Fast Track began puncturing what fuel lines he could find in the growing chinks with his sniper rifle. All of them screamed soundlessly into space as Trypticon recklessly turned over and began firing a moderately watered-down version of his station laser from massive jaws. The aerialbots split from formation, comming frantic curses and warnings. Not that they needed the warnings. After what the full powered laser had done to the spaceships, everyone knew that if they got caught in that laser. Weakened or not, they wouldn’t just be offline, they would be atomized.</p>
<p>But, for all the terror and utter madcap improvisation, their plan it was working. The longer Trypticon fired at them, the more he drifted out of the safest reentry path. He was forced to turn over and steer back into place with his jetpacks, during which the aerialbots and the twinlings would hammer away at him from behind, steady breaking more and more pieces of armor, exposing the more delicate wiring, systems and heat vents beneath to destroy.</p>
<p>It was like some kind of sick arcade game. Dodge the lasers from decepticon-zilla, shoot frantically at his jetpacks to force him out of safe reentry while his back was too them with whatever weapons they had left —Fast Track had to abandon the sniper rifle and switch to an old rocket launcher he’d forgotten to take out of his subspace—, freak out as decepticon-zilla lost his temper and spun around to fire at them again —with waves of missiles too because <b>why not</b>—. Wash, rinse, repeat with screaming profanities and insults thrown in from decepticon-zilla over an open com channel until the planet loomed too close and they had to pull away or suffer death from reentry themselves.</p>
<p>But it worked. Somewhere in the mad scramble and panic, the jetpacks broke down and Trypticon’s reentry became an unguided, uncontrolled fall. They veered off to get their bearings and find safe routes down to the planet’s surface again while Trypticon plummeted, his screams of furious agony faintly audible through the thin beginnings of atmosphere as his armor caught fire from the heat of his fall.</p>
<p>::Optimus,:: Silverbolt reported, ::Trypticon is falling out of orbit!::</p>
<p>::We’re tracking his descent, Silverbolt,:: rumbled Optimus in their coms, ::We’ll take it from here. Good job, all of you, not get to Tyger Pax, the decepticons are mounting an unexpectedly high offense there and we need everyone we can spare.::</p>
<p>::Yes, sir!::</p>
<p>They adjusted their trajectory, heat licking their frames as they carefully reentered Cybertron’s atmosphere and jetted for Tyger Pax. Something about the name niggled in Fast Track’s memory. Past the high of successfully defeating a literal evil space station, past the fear of heading straight back into battle with low energon and ammo. It came fo him, and Fast Track’s servos went tight against Zipline’s frame, <em>“Zip. </em><b><em>Bumblebee</em></b><em>.”</em></p>
<p>Zipline shivered as realization flickered between them, but he tried to be optimistic, <em>“Optimus knows. He would have assigned Bumblebee to a safe post.”</em></p>
<p>Tyger Pax came into view, fire and battle and ships hastily rising to flee their home-world. They came close enough to access the short-range com channels —jammers were in place, how long had it taken before Iacon realized the extent of the danger to Tyger Pax?— and after mere kliks of listening to the frantic reports and desperate shouting, Fast Track whispered, <em>“I don’t think </em><b><em>anywhere</em></b><em> is safe down there, Zip. Not there, </em><b><em>or</em></b><em> in Iacon.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“We’ll find him if we can. If not…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“If not?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I guess we pray.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything hurt. It hurt <b>so much</b>. So much that he could barely feel the scream of his doorwings under the onslaught of everything else. They’d ripped his plating, yanked at his wires and pinned his left servo to the rooftop with a knife after he’d tried to- do something. He couldn’t think long enough to remember. Maybe he’d tried to stab Megatron? The mech looming over him had a shallow cut on his cheek plating, so maybe Bumblebee had tried to stab him. He’d stopped screaming to Ironhide and Chromia … he didn’t know how long ago —how long had he been here it felt like cycles and kliks and breems and vorns—. They were fighting too, fighting and frantic and the distraction of his agony might have gotten them killed. So he had shut down his end of the bond and locked it tight —just like his first Opi had done for him, just like he’d promised to never do and yet here he was—.</p>
<p>He was alone.</p>
<p>Beneath the pulsing waves of pain, he was so very, very scared.</p>
<p>His optics glitched in and out of focus, Megatron was one, then three, then one again, always furious no matter the number of them as he spat and ranted and <b>kicked</b> with the sharp spikes on his pedes that ripped into Bumblebee’s side and pulled back stained energon blue, “<b>Talk</b> you <b>filthy</b> <b>little scraplet</b>! Which pod had the AllSpark? What were its destination coordinates?<b> Speak</b>!”</p>
<p>Bumblebee didn’t have the strength to shake his helm, all he could do was press his lip plates shut and try —fail— to keep the scream from ripping free of his vocalizer as Megatron kicked his leg with enough force to break something. Everything hurt so, so bad. <em>Don’t speak. </em>He just wanted the pain to <b>stop</b>. <em>Don’t speak.</em> Megatron leaned over him, studied his faceplates with a look of fury that faded slightly to cunning and malice, “You are brave little Scout, I will give you that much. But you give so much, and for what? A Prime who will not save you? A cause that will not win?” The world spun and his frame screamed. Error messages, damage reports, and warnings crowded his vision as Megatron yanked him from the ground —heedless of the knife pinning Bumblebee’s servo that shredded through palm and fingers on its way free it-hurt-oh-Primus-make-it-<b>stop</b>—.</p>
<p>When Bumblebee could see past the static of agony and his own screaming, Megatron dangled him out by his ruined doorwings, forced him to remain upright and <b>look</b> at the ruin below. Tyger Pax was burning, still at war, but not- but-. So much of it was destroyed. On fire. Overrun with the seekers streaking by on their bombing runs and the rubble burning a path from space down to the planet’s surface. Megatron shook him lightly, enough to yank him from his haze, not enough to make him writhe again, “Look around you, little Scout. Do you think anyone is coming for you? Do you think there is any hope for your cause now? I have destroyed your cowardly evacuation, I have <b>burned</b> your last precious strongholds. What is left for you to fight for? For you to <b>suffer</b> for?”</p>
<p>Megatron spun him around, denta glinting as he smiled, shifted his grip so that he was holding Bumblebee up by his chest plating, “Tell me where the AllSpark is, and I will end your suffering, little Scout. Swiftly. Or don’t,” The servo holding him up squeezed, pinching already abused wires and digging into already leaking wounds, “and the pain continues for as long as I wish it. And believe me Scout, that will be a <b>long</b> time.”</p>
<p>The thought of it, the looming future of it made Bumblebee keen. <em>No. Please, please no.</em> He couldn’t take anymore of this. He hurt so much he just wanted it to stop. <em>Don’t speak.</em> But speaking would make the pain stop he just wanted- he just-. <em>Don’t speak.</em></p>
<p>“It’s-” What was he doing? <em>Don’t speak. </em><b><em>Make the pain stop.</em></b><em> Don’t speak. </em>“I sent-” <em>Don’t speak don’t speak </em><b><em>make the pain stop</em></b><em> don’t speak </em><b><em>make the pain stop make it stop</em></b><em>-. </em>“I sent it to…” <em>No no stop </em><b><em>stop the pain make it</em></b><em> stop talking don’t speak don’t </em><b><em>pain no more pain make it stop do</em></b><em>n’t speak-. </em>“I sent it … away … to…” <b><em>make the pain stop make it-</em></b></p>
<p>
  <em>Lie.</em>
</p>
<p>“<em>Wonderland</em>.” The nonsensical foreign word —learned from the twinlings in one of their more random, hyper moments, a crazy legend from their home that made no sense— spilled from his vocalizer and a moment later he rasped out a snicker at the sheer confusion on Megatron’s face.</p>
<p>“…What?”</p>
<p>“<em>Wonderland</em>. The Mad <em>Hatter</em> will take care of it,” he babbled through the agony in his frame, almost high on the sheer illogicality of his own words, “The <em>Jabberwocky</em> invited the AllSpark to <em>tea</em> after all, so I sent it to <em>Wonderland</em>.”</p>
<p>The grip on his chest plates tightened as fury began to trickle back to Megatron through the confusion, “And where is this … <em>wondalond</em>? Give me <b>coordinates</b>, Scout.”</p>
<p>Bumblebee laughed until he was spitting energon and Megatron’s face began folding into a rage, “Don’t know. Ask the <em>Rabbit</em>. He’ll take you there if he’s not already late-”</p>
<p>He was slammed into the ground hard enough to see static and his laughter warped back into a wail of pain as Megatron grabbed his arm and <b>twisted</b> until it broke, flung him down and kicked again-again-again-again until all humor and defiance was gone and Bumblebee was back to mentally begging the pain to stop. Sharp fingers dug past his neck cables and pain sharpened with a visceral, all-encompassing <b>fear</b> as Bumblebee felt the foreign —enemy, terrifying, agonizing— grip wrap tight around his vocalizer. Megatron’s other servo wrapped around his chest plating, lifted him up so that he was crying faceplate to sneering faceplate, “Last chance, <b>Autobot</b>. Tell me the coordinates of the AllSpark, or never speak again. Your choice.”</p>
<p>No. No-no-no-please no. Not this. Not his voice he already hurt so much he’d thought Megatron couldn’t do any worse but this-. This was-. His vocalizer was irreplaceable. Wires could be replaced, plating fixed, everything hurt <b>now</b> but some corner of his spark hoped and prayed it wouldn’t always and that Ratchet or Starwish could come and fix everything like they always did. But nobody could replace vocalizer. Nobody. He couldn’t-.</p>
<p><em>Please … no. Not this. Anything but this I can’t take this I can’t-I-can’t-I-can’t-.</em> His lip plates opened, numbers in the forefront of his processor, defeat and fear driving the numbers toward his glossa because this was too much. It was too much and he wanted it to stop, anything to make it stop-.</p>
<p>He made it two numbers. Two numbers before something inside him saw Megatron’s victorious smile and <b>screamed</b> with a desperate defiance he’d thought Megatron had beaten out of him. Felt revulsion shake his spark with <em>traitor-traitor-</em><b><em>traitor</em></b>- and seize control of every thought with a single command.</p>
<p>
  
  <b><em>Don’t. Speak</em>.</b>
</p>
<p> He wasn’t sure where the strength to lift his one good servo came from. Or where he found the will and speed to unsubspace the knife before Megatron could process it. All he could think of was that he had his orders, he had <b>promised</b>, and he <b>Could</b>.<b> Not</b>.<b> Speak</b>. Could not tell Megatron where the AllSpark was. Could not give him the rest of the numbers that would give away the location of their last hope. No matter what.</p>
<p>The knife rammed home in the gap between wrist and arm, Megatron roared in fury and pain and shock as his servo automatically <b>clenched</b> in pain-.</p>
<p>Yanked clear of Bumblebee’s neck in a futile effort to escape the unexpected attack, Bumblebee’s sparking vocalizer squeezed tight in one energon-soaked fist.</p>
<p>Bumblebee’s mouth opened, but there was no sound to convey his agony as Megatron threw him to the ground in fury, a new, larger warning popping up on his HUD. <b>Vocalizer component not found</b>.</p>
<p>His vocalizer was gone.</p>
<p>He stared up at Megatron, unable to hear the roaring threats and curses past the static in his helm and the single thought looping on end in his brain. Unable to do more than watch as the leader of the decepticons squeezed his servo tight, sneered at the sparks coming from it —from what he was holding, what he had ripped out of Bumblebee’s neck—, and then threw it down next to Bumblebee on the rooftop. Megatron’s arm came around and down, fusion cannon gleaming with power as it was leveled right at Bumblebee’s helm and really that should terrify him but he couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t think on it. Couldn’t process it because…</p>
<p>His vocalizer was gone.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>Don’t speak.</em>
</p>
<p>Something jagged in his processor sniggered and through the agony of his frame and the growing glow of the fusion cannon, Bumblebee felt his lip plates turn upward in a smile. <em>I can’t anymore. The AllSpark is safe. No one will ever know its coordinates.</em></p>
<p>Because his vocalizer was gone.</p>
<p>Energon bubbled out of his neck as his frame shook with laughter that made no sound, the jagged edges of … something … in his processor getting larger-larger-larger in a way that made everything —his pain, his impending destruction, his vocalizer sparking and half crushed on the ground beside him— seem <b>funny</b>-.</p>
<p>Something green flashed in on the edges of Bumblebee’s vision and he felt the floor shudder under the impact of the fusion cannon’s round as it missed him by a mere arm’s length. Megatron staggered back, faceplates twisted as he almost buckled under the weight and momentum of the sudden attack. Bumblebee watched the massive green cyber-wolf ravage Megatron’s arm, trying to reach past that to something more vital only to get belatedly thrown aside by Megatron while blaster shots from on high sent the other decepticons on the rooftop scattering. He felt like he should be happy about this. Like he should know the name of the cyber-wolf whirling back and forth across the roof, bared teeth dripping energon and plating bristled while Megatron tried and failed to offline it. But his processor was beginning to falter and his thoughts were getting hazy.</p>
<p>Red drew his attention away from the fight between Megatron and the cyber-wolf —were those Aerialbots strafing Megatron from the air? Where had they come from?— and Bumblebee let his helm be pulled to face the source of the red. … <em>Fast Track.</em> The name came to him far too slowly and he watched the mech’s lips move with a bemused sort of static, able to hear the words falling but not make any sense of them. What was Fast Track doing here? Fast Track started to drag him away and Bumblebee shuddered under the pain of it —but didn’t scream, couldn’t scream because his vocalizer was gone-gone-gone—, one servo snatching up Bumblebee’s sparking vocalizer from the ground as he moved.</p>
<p>By the time Megatron noticed their retreat and made to chase them, Fast Track had dragged Bumblebee all the way to the edge of the roof. He had one last moment to see the fury of the mech who had ripped out his vocalizer, dimly feel the shot of the fusion cannon miss them by a servo’s length as the cyber-wolf shouldered Megatron aside, and then the horizon tilted backward and they were falling.</p>
<p><em>Oh.</em> Bumblebee blinked sluggishly at the sky, at the cyber-wolf leaping clear of the edge and plummeting down toward them as it transformed into a jet that caught them mid-air with a jarring thud. <em>Hi, Zipline.</em> The jet beneath them wavered, struggled under their weight for a moment before stabilizing and fleeing. Fast Track was half draped overtop him, holding him tight to the top of the jet with his frame while his servos frantically worked on Bumblebee’s frame and the many places it was leaking energon. Megatron didn’t follow —or maybe he did and Zipline was too fast, maybe he did and the Aerialbots distracted him enough for Zipline to escape, Bumblebee didn’t know— and Bumblebee’s last memory before being pulled into stasis was Fast Track’s voice over the roar of jet engines and the wind, repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m so <b>sorry</b>-.” Over and over again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0088"><h2>88. Twilight of Cybertron - Climax</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright! Finally all caught up! These are all the chapters posted on Fanfiction. Now I can finally get resume working on the next chapter without guilt.</p>
<p>Also, one more arc before we're officially headed for Earth!! (I think, barring the muses getting any ideas about having an arc in space).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trypticon fell from the sky like a meteor, a blaze of fire and metal and a howling roar that shook the city with fury and brought every other battle to a sharp stop. Decepticons and autobots alike turned terrified optics to the sky, screamed and fled from the massive, plummeting form on the primal fear that they would be caught in the crash zone. Formations crumbled and fortifications were abandoned without a thought, buildings evacuated in a flood of mechs and femmes so equally terrified it became impossible to tell whether the mech running next to any other given mech was on the same side. Sides did not matter. Orders did not matter. All that mattered was <b>getting away</b>.</p>
<p>The entire city felt the impact, saw the explosion of fire and rubble and the frames of the unlucky as Trypticon hit the spires of the city without slowing, plummeted through them and into the first level of Iacon, then the next, and the next, and the next. Those on the top level, even on the far side of the city, felt the crash vibrate through their frames and the ground beneath their pedes shake like it was going to crumble away. The ground slowly stabilized as Trypticon blazed a path of destruction and screaming through almost twenty levels of city, coming to a stop in a place where no other fighting had occurred —the decepticons had breached the walls, but not anything deeper than the third level, definitely not all the way down to the nineteenth—.</p>
<p>The autobots slowly came to a halt as stillness rested on Iacon, but the decepticons kept going. Seekers fled Iacon’s airspace, grounders clambered over rubble and offline frames in their mad rush to escape. Even the mechs with purple optics turned and retreated without so much as a taunt, something terrified in their crazed gazes, insatiable aggression turned to fear in the presence of a far greater predator. Four breems of silence reined with nothing but the fire licking along trail of Trypticon’s crash and the scramble of retreating decepticons to break it.</p>
<p>Then came the roar.</p>
<p>Rising from the nineteenth level of Iacon, a howl of fury and pain that shattered glass and drove mechs to their knees with the volume and unnatural, grating <b>wrong</b> it contained. So furious and crazed it could barely be understood as words.</p>
<p>“<b>OPTIMUS PRIME</b>!”</p>
<p>Optimus held perfectly still where he was, ramrod straight and expressionless even as most of his mechs crumbled around him with their servos over already muted audios in an effort to stave off the sound burned into their processors. He could <b>feel</b> the malice of the bellow, a physical presence that drove his mechs to their knees, clawing at their audios in a meltdown attempt to get the sound out of their processors while his femmes only curled into defensive, shuddering piles of metal. The tiny, soft-spoken part of his spark that was still Orion Pax wanted to do the same, curl up or hide or scream to get away from the evil imbedded in the sound.</p>
<p>But the Matrix sheltered his sanity, curled around his spark like a shield and guardian, and he had been Optimus Prime for far too long to give into the little urges of Orion Pax. Beside him, Ironhide swayed on his pedes before forcing himself to steady, “Frag. That’s … What <b>is </b>that?”</p>
<p>“Trypticon.” Ironhide shot Optimus a sour —frightened— look and he elaborated, “Trypticon was the source of the Dark Energon Megatron has been using. He has contained every known ounce of the material for untold vorns. I suspect that his infection runs far deeper and more powerfully than anything we have yet faced.” Even more than the Tunneler, and that was not a thought Optimus wanted to ever contemplate.</p>
<p>Jazz skidded up to them with a screech of tires, transforming back to his root mode before he had even come to a full stop, “What’s tha plan O.P.? We can’t jus’ leave him down there, he’ll drive every autobot in tha city meltdown. If he doesn’t offline us all first!”</p>
<p>Another bellow shook Iacon, this one so warped with rage that if it was Optimus’s name, he could not distinguish it. Ironhide rocked on his pedes again, but did not crumble like the majority of the mechs around them —a side effect of meeting Primus, Optimus suspected—. Optimus tilted his helm to the sky, “Where are Hardwire and Arcee?”</p>
<p>“On their way back from backing up Tyger Pax,” Jazz reported, “scrap really wen’ down over there.”</p>
<p>Ironhide’s armor flared in barely suppressed desperation at the mention of the city, “Any word on Bumblebee?”</p>
<p>Jazz braced himself as the ground shook under their pedes from some stirring of Trypticon they could not yet see, “Not thah Ah know of, but there are so many reports flooding tha channels tha Ah don’t even think Prowl is up to date on sortin’ ‘em. Sorry, ‘Hide.”</p>
<p>Ironhide’s faceplates twisted in worried fury and Optimus laid a servo on his friend’s shoulder plate. He had been there when Ironhide doubled over from the sheer agony and terror radiating over his bond with Bumblebee and defended him until Bumblebee had blocked off the bond so Ironhide could not feel it anymore. He did not want to think about what was happening, but in the back of his processor, he remembered Hardwire’s and Starwish’s solemn report on the things they recalled. Such as Bumblebee losing his vocalizer.</p>
<p>He kept that to himself for now, he had larger things to focus on than the guilt pulling at his spark —he had tried to keep Bumblebee safe, but he could not personally oversee every single assignment of the army and Bumblebee’s superior had redirected him to Tyger Pax before Optimus had been aware of it, then the battle had started and it had been too late to recall the order—. Right now he could not worry about that, he had a literal mad titan in his city and no one strong enough to fight him save for a select few.</p>
<p>Jazz shifted his focus back to Optimus, “O.P.? Tha plan?”</p>
<p>Optimus gathered himself and moved to help the nearest mech back to his pedes, “Evacuate as much of the surrounding area as possible, pull back all defenses to the medical bays and tactical centers. No one is to attempt to battle Trypticon save Hardwire and Arcee when they arrive.”</p>
<p>“Relying a little heavily on them, isn’t it?” Ironhide protested as he pulled two more mechs to their pedes and sent them on their way, “Why not send in the aerialbots? Or the artillery?”</p>
<p>“We do not have any functional artillery on that level, and-” Another roar that sent several of the less recovered mechs to their knees again. The autobots around them appeared to be acclimating to the malice that blanketed the area, but even those that could still move looked dazed. Some were too unsteady to even risk transforming. Optimus gestured for the mechs to retreat even as he continued, “Most of the autobots will not be able to withstand Trypticon’s presence for some time, and our aerialbots cannot be risked under such circumstances.”</p>
<p>Ironhide scowled, but he could see as well as Optimus that the autobots now retreating were barely able to keep their legs upright, most of them weren’t even able to transform. None of them were combat ready and they were on one of the higher levels. Sending aerialbots into weapon’s range of Trypticon’s presence all the way on the nineteenth level would be an offlining sentence.</p>
<p>Over the coms, Prowl had begun organizing the retreat, leaving Optimus, Jazz, and Ironhide free to cautiously approach the deep tear in Iacon’s surface that Trypticon had left behind while the others in the area fled. Jazz dropped a piece of debris down the chasm and tilted his helm while Ironhide grunted, “Then why are we alright?”</p>
<p>“We have already come into contact with large amounts of Dark Energon when we battled for the Core. We have also come into contact with Primus. It will take more than Trypticon’s presence at this distance to unbalance our sparks.” There were a great many nuances to that explanation that Optimus had neither the time nor patience for at the moment, but Ironhide did not ask for any of them, so there was no need.</p>
<p>They peered down the deep, smoldering chasm. The damage to the city was catastrophic. The damage to Trypticon’s frame had to be even more so. If he had not been corrupted with Dark Energon, Optimus suspected the mech would have offlined on impact. Jazz gave a low whistle —a habit he had picked up from Hardwire—, “Thah’s gonna take a long time ta clean up. Surprised he survived thah fall ta be honest.”</p>
<p>Ironhide began to retort something, but then the ground was shaking and groaning. What few mechs were still stumbling away from the area screamed and Optimus had a single moment to register the metal beneath his pedes shaking before Ironhide and Jazz had grabbed his arms and bodily hauled him away. They lurched apart as the ground began to rupture upwards, transformed and drove as fast as they could from the widening crevice as a bellow echoed above the sound of building-sized rockets rising from below, <b>“Optimus Prime!”</b></p>
<p>Trypticon emerged in a shriek of abused metal and a thunder of his engine, Dark Energon leaking from a host of wounds, optics too bright with a crazed glow as the titan pushed his way back onto the surface level of Iacon using his faltering rockets, clawing the rest of the way with fingers the width of multiple road lanes. Optimus felt the ground beneath his tires threaten to destabilize and swerved, skidding up and over an outcropping that launched him over the ruined speedway and to a slightly less damaged one-.</p>
<p>A massive limb crashed down on the speedway he had just left, shattering it like glass and sending the autobots who had not been quite fast enough screaming into the depths. Ironhide cursed fervently as he, Optimus, and Jazz skidded down the nearest offramp and into a building. It would not provide protection from attack, but it would provide cover from Trypticon’s sight, and going unnoticed was all they could hope for at this current juncture. They transformed and hid behind the nearest objects as Trypticon howled his hatred to the sky, a cannon blast ripping free of his jaws as he did so.</p>
<p>Jazz pressed closer to Optimus’s frame and he felt the faint buzz of his Special Ops head’s equipment spreading to cover him as well, ::Well, thah’s not what Ah was hopin’ would happen. Ah was sure he was gonna be stuck down there.::</p>
<p>::How the frag are his legs even functional? And where are Hardwire and Arcee?::</p>
<p>Prowl tapped into their com frequency with impeccable timing, ::Prime, I recommend that you, Ironhide, and Jazz vacate the area immediately. Evacuations are still in progress throughout the city, they should cover your retreat.::</p>
<p>::Where are Hardwire and Arcee?:: Fumed Ironhide, ::We can’t just let that fragger run wild in Iacon! He’ll destroy everything!::</p>
<p>::You misunderstand my recommendation.:: Despite their grave circumstances, Optimus was certain he heard a hint of dark humor in Prowl’s voice, ::It is not a recommendation to retreat from Trypticon’s weaponry, but rather the potential damage radius of his fall.::</p>
<p>A high shriek, far louder and more feral than any that could be produced by a normal vocalizer echoed from over their helms, followed kliks later by a familiar, spark-shaking roar.</p>
<p>::Oh frag.::</p>
<p>All three of them fled for the nearest exit in time to hear the explosion of fire lighting up leaking wounds of Dark Energon and feel the world convulse under the force of impact as Trypticon overbalanced and fell.</p>
<p>Hardwire and Arcee had arrived.</p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arcee spun in the air as she pulled up from her first attack dive. Below them, <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon thrashed on his back, destroying buildings and rending the ground as he struggled to right himself from the explosions that had knocked him over. Arcee hissed, high and furious to <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire as he began looping back around toward their enemy, <em>“Enemy-prey-is-alive-dead-still-moving-angry-dangerous-I-am-angry-</em><b><em>angry</em></b><em>!”</em></p>
<p> <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire hovered briefly, helm turning from side to side to better assess the enemy-prey on the ground, <em>“We-must-be-wary-watchful-prey-is-dangerous. Kill-him-burn-him-don’t-let-him-strike-feed-corrupt.”</em> They paused to gather a plan even though their united instincts shrieked to just <em>attack-attack-destroy</em> the towering, living <b>taint</b> that had crashed into their territory.</p>
<p>Somewhere in the far back of Arcee’s processor, the part of her that was cybertronian first and foremost panicked over the situation. A tiny little two-wheeler was no match for the being struggling to recover his pedes, a normal cybertronian was no match for the physical aura of malice in the air leaking from <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s smoldering wounds. The newer part of her, the wild part that she had gained when she sparkmated <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire, the part that had known to set the Dark Energon leaking from <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s wounds on fire to create the biggest explosion possible even without memories of her journey to the Core, had no such doubts. This thing, this Turned, was in <b>her territory</b>, attacking <b>her Autobot-Pride</b> and for that it would <em>burn-burn-scream-burn</em>.</p>
<p><em>“Keep-it-down-helpless-flailing-fire,”</em> concluded <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire with a rattle of back spines, <em>“Watch-wary-jaws-cannon-weapons-tail. Take-turns-burn-and-flee-taunt-and-distract-and-burn.”</em> Arcee could feel viruses humming in her jaws, ready to bite and tear and infect even though she knew she couldn’t dare as she snapped her teeth at the air in assent.</p>
<p>They separated, Arcee spinning high into the air for another attack while <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire swooped fearlessly around the top of <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s helm as a distraction, breathing spurts of fire at the Turned mech’s optics as he whipped by. Still unbalanced and on his back, <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon snapped at the air with a roar, servos waving at the air as <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire passed, trying to strike him down. <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire screamed insults as he dodged and curved around the massive servos, setting fire to any piece of metal that came too close.</p>
<p>Arcee reached the apex of her climb, folded her wings and fell over into a screaming dive. <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon, too busy flailing at her mate, failed to notice her presence until it was too late and her fireball had crashed into the weeping wound on his side. Dark Energon exploded, bright and hot beneath her as she pulled up and away. <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s tail lashed into the air and Arcee spiraled, paws bunching beneath her to springboard off the appendage and leap away. The impact jarred her anyway and she snarled in pain as she struggled to recover and dodge the next blow.</p>
<p>The tail swiped at her again, aiming right for her wings and <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire dropped from the sky to collide with the tail-tip with enough force to redirect it just enough to let her dodge. White-hot fire blasted the tail as <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire rebounded off it and spun away with a barely controlled dive and recover.</p>
<p>Briefly but fiercely, Arcee wished there were more predacons in the Autobot-Pride. That would have made their task a lot easier.</p>
<p>Both of them flitted away behind leaning, smoking buildings when <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon unleashed another cannon blast of Dark Energon, searing the skyline and sending shivers up Arcee’s plating. They barely waited for the blast to peter out before they had looped around again to resume their attacks and harassment.</p>
<p>Arcee wasn’t sure how many breems went by like that. Taking turns with her mate in distracting or lighting leaking wounds on fire, gradually widening the gaping holes in the giant Turned’s armor, knocking him over whenever he attempted to stand once more. But it felt like far too long. Every blow that missed them did more damage to their city, every blast of Dark Energon spread more of its taint across their territory and no doubt offlined more of their Autobot-Pride. The evacuation ships —if any were left at this point— had not been too far away from the site of their battle and the thought of what might happen to them if <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon was not defeated soon made her instincts writhe.</p>
<p>Then a lucky, glancing blow from <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s servo sent her mate crashing into a far building and Arcee screamed in <em>fury-worry-grief</em> before diving after him.</p>
<p>She skidded to a stop next to her mate’s crash sight, <em>“Mate-mine-answer-speak-hurt-scared-answer-me!”</em></p>
<p><em>“Alive-ow-angry-alive-ow.”</em> Rasped <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire as he sluggishly uncurled from the wreckage of his crash and limped out of the crater. He shook his helm a few times, ruffled his armor and snapped irritably at the dents running up his right hip plating, <em>“Again-annoyed-transformation-is-gone-</em><b><em>annoyed</em></b><em>.”</em></p>
<p>Arcee swatted him with the flat of her tail blade, <em>“Lucky-grateful-</em><b><em>alive</em></b><em>-idiot-reckless!”</em> Her mate growled at her screech, but there was no real anger behind it.</p>
<p>He shook out his armor and flared his spikes, <em>“Frustration-not-working-not-fast-enough.”</em></p>
<p>
  
  <em>“New-idea-reckless-moron-better-plan?”</em>
</p>
<p>He gave her a dry look, worked his bottom jaw as he thought, flexing the splitting seam that let him make larger fire blasts. They both looked through the hole in the buildings <em>Steadfast-Fury-Mate-</em>Hardwire had made on his way down, listening to their enemy rage. She could feel him thinking, see half-formed strategies and memories and ideas over their bond that were all examined and then abandoned. There was a flicker of an idea involving a well-timed fireblast right as <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon fired his own blast, but Arcee smacked him with the flat of her tail blade again and snarled a sharp, <em>“Don’t-you-dare-too-reckless-not-a-</em><b><em>movie</em></b><em>-Hardwire,” </em>that made him abandon it.</p>
<p>Finally, his armor settled and his helm shifted in the direction of his new idea. He shared it in a quick pulse over their bond, questioning and unhappy with it, but unable to think of anything else. Arcee bared her teeth and sidestepped in agitation as she considered it, tail lashing the air at the recklessness and damage it would cause. They heard <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon shout in insane triumph, felt the ground tremble under their pedes and realized they were out of time.</p>
<p><em>“Fine-do-it-careful-promise-me,”</em> snapped Arcee as they turned and smashed their way out the other side of the building, keeping out of <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s sight for the moment.</p>
<p>Her mate nuzzled her in the air before pulling away and taking a different turn, <em>“Promise-careful-if-you-are.”</em> Well, that was cheating. Only promising to be careful if she was careful too. Arcee yipped agreement anyway and dived low.</p>
<p>Time to see if their new plan would work.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
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<p>“You don’t think he <b>got them</b>, do you?” Jazz didn’t look away from Trypticon’s form as Ironhide grumbled worriedly. Despite being repeatedly set on fire and subjected to explosions in his open wounds by Hardwire and Arcee, Trypticon was still going. Worse, he had recovered his pedes and was slowly limp-dragging himself through the city, smashing anything that got in his way and screaming out Optimus’s name in between general howls of wordless hate and rage. It would have been impressive if it hadn’t been on behalf of the enemy. Not to mention terrifying. Jazz was sparkmate to a medic and had done more than a few assassinations. He knew how much damage it took to bring a mech down and even taking his huge size into account, Trypticon was <b>well</b> past that point.</p>
<p>Jazz shook his helm, “It’ll take more than a swat ta take either o’ them down.” He hoped. Because Jazz had no backup plan for if the two predacons failed. It would take an army to have a chance at bringing Trypticon down in their place, and the autobots had just <b>evacuated</b> most of theirs.</p>
<p>“They are online.” Prowl didn’t look away from the host of screens and reports flashing across the air in front of his command station, but his doorwings were tilted fractionally in their direction, indicating that he was paying attention to their conversation as they watched Trypticon rampage from afar.</p>
<p>If Ironhide’s armor bristled any more, Jazz thought his plating just might get stuck that way, “And how would you know that?”</p>
<p>Prowl sent them a copy of a transmission burst that he had just received. It was comprised of nothing but a com channel pinging online and then offline in a set of sequences. A few pings would sound, then there would be silence for two kliks, then another round of pings. Jazz listened to the entire transmission twice before it clicked into place and he relaxed a fraction, “Clever. Reckless as Pit, but clever.”</p>
<p>“Explanation please?”</p>
<p>Jazz tapped the ping rhythm out on his own armor in demonstration as he answered on the distracted Prowl’s behalf, “It’s a code thah tha twinlings created, based off a concept from <em>Earth</em>. They taught Prowler and me, guess they passed it on ta Arcee an’ Hardwire too. No words required, just a sequence o’ some kind of sound thah translates ta words. They can’t talk in their predacon forms, so rather than transform and be vulnerable, Hardwire sent Prowler a message by turning his com off and on in a coded sequence.”</p>
<p>Optimus finally looked away from the window through which he had been observing Trypticon’s rampage, “What was the message, Jazz?”</p>
<p>Jazz crossed his arms over his chest plates, “Jus’ fire blasts is takin’ too long. They’re gonna lure him somewhere thah they can do more damage.” Jazz pointed off into the distance as Hardwire and Arcee reappeared, mere specks compared to Trypticon’s size, swooping in and out and luring him in the desired direction, “All the ships on tha lower docks better be gone, OP. ‘Cause those docks ain’t gonna exist much longer.”</p>
<p>Ironhide gaped as he understood the plan and Optimus looked sharply at Prowl, who dipped a doorwing in acknowledgment, “Those ships were among the first launched and I have already issued evacuation orders. The area will be as clear as possible.”</p>
<p>Optimus nodded and turned back to the window, “Very well, Prowl. Let us hope this idea succeeds.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Medic! We need a medic over here!” It was the same cry she had already heard a hundred times this cycle, the same cry emitting from a dozen different vocalizers as what few medics there were rushed around in a frantic effort to answer them all —and maybe, if they were lucky, succeed in answering half—. But this was different. She knew that voice, knew the priority codes that voice was now shouting in order to gain medical assistance <b>faster</b>.</p>
<p>She pulled away from the patient she had been helping First Aid with —one of many she was juggling all at the same time even as the building shook faintly under Trypticon’s rampage half a city away—, craned her helm to locate the source as she pushed her way through the crowded central medbay, “Fast Track!”</p>
<p>It was hard to hear anything over the barely organized chaos of the medbay, but the com lines were so choked with different channels she did not dare try to open another. Shouting was, for once, more effective. She ended up lightly spring-boarding off a startled Jolt’s shoulders in order to reach her two brothers, who were pushing their way inside with a reckless sort of desperation she hadn’t seen since the mission Doubletake had nearly bled out from a lost leg.</p>
<p>Her prosthetics were already out, one of them frantically wiping off the others with a disinfectant wipe as she approached, “Twinlings, status!”</p>
<p>Zipline shook his helm, his gaze wild with desperation, “Not us, him!” Starwish looked down, scanning and cataloging damages, prioritizing which ones needed to be repaired first before her mind actually registered <b>who</b> she was seeing.</p>
<p>A split klik later and she had grabbed that realization and <b>hurled</b> it to the back of her processor. Locked it tightly away like a meditation exercise gone wrong because if she stopped to process that, if she <b>registered</b> who the twinlings were carrying she would freeze or start crying and if she did either of those things then her new patient was going to offline. He might offline anyway —<em>please no, Primus no, not him, don’t let this be a consequence of their existence in this dimension</em>— even if she operated. But at least this way he would have a better chance.</p>
<p>She was rattling off priority codes and securing a private surgical room —most were empty, there was no time to move individual patients to locked rooms when more kept flooding in and being able to multitask between multiple ones was a gruesome necessity— before she had even turned around. She led the twinlings through the chaos to a private room without waiting for Ratchet or Cogwheel to arrive —they were both busy with three or more cases, there was no <b>time</b> to wait for them even if canon from a lifetime and a dimension ago said Ratchet would have <b>made</b> time—. She dismissed them without taking time to comfort them or look at their spark-broken expressions —she knew what they were thinking but she couldn’t register it or she would lose her composure and the patient both—.</p>
<p>Starwish locked the room with a surgeons-only code, sent a text alert to Ratchet’s emergency frequency —just in case he could make time, just in case she wasn’t enough to do this— but received no response —she doubted he had the time to even read it beyond its priority code and location, doubted he had the time to read the single word, the name, attached to the transmission—. She didn’t wait for him, just set to work prying up crumpled plating —yellow and black and blue from spilled energon <em>don’t-think-don’t-think</em>— and clamping down the many lines that had been punctured —stabbed, kicked, ripped open with bare servos, torn by the very plating meant to protect it as it was hammered inward beyond the breaking point—.</p>
<p>The patient was already in stasis, but Starwish powered down all nerve centers as a precaution anyway as she worked on five different critical priority injuries at once using her servos and her prosthetics. There was a nicked critical fuel line in the neck that had to be patched rather than clamped to preserve processor function —even in stasis there were still processor functions at work, if only the ones that kept the spark alive—. The main energon pump was undergoing catastrophic failure from damage stress and had to be detached entirely to prevent further damage to the surrounding systems if it exploded from the strain. The <b>secondary</b> energon pump was beginning to malfunction from stress and lack of proper energon flow, which required her to clamp multiple lines and reroute the energon through the temporary ones she was pulling out of subspace every few kliks —she was going to run out at this rate, she submitted a priority ping for a medical intern to grab more from the storeroom and deliver it to her location <em>don’t-think-don’t-wait</em>—. Finally, both doorwings —what was left of them— had to be removed from the primary nervous system because even in stasis they were sending out frantic damage alerts that only added to the overall stress of the frame —not to mention sparking with enough electrical current to offline the patient if anything <b>else</b> decided to fail—.</p>
<p>The vocalizer, half-crushed and still occasionally sparking, sat untouched on a nearby surgical tray. The only attention she paid it was the small timer she had started up in the corner of her HUD, steadily counting down how much time she had left before it hit the point of critical degradation and became irreparable. Bio-mechanisms could not survive outside of a frame or special storage units for long. They suffered from natural degradation when removed from either of those two environments even when in perfect condition. Damaged bio-mechanisms had an even shorter time before becoming irreparable. Bio-mechanisms bonded to the spark that inhabited their frame, which was why they were transferred with the spark during upgrades and emergency spark transferals —if possible—. Blank bio-mechanisms, ones that had never bonded to a spark or had only been used for a short time, existed, but were rare and hard to store.</p>
<p>There were no “blank” bio-mechanisms currently available in storage and bio-mechanisms taken out of an offlined frame and introduced to a frame that had a new spark had only a thirty percent successful integration rate. If the vocalizer on the tray hit the critical degradation point, the chances of the patient ever having a vocalizer again were thirty percent or lower, and even if a transplant was successful, the voice would sound nothing like the patient’s original one.</p>
<p>But if she worried about that, she would lose the patient entirely. So she ignored it in favor of the main pump she had just detached, the secondary pump through which she was rerouting medical energon, the doorwings she had started to physically remove because the sparks were getting too dangerous to leave alone, the shredded neck cables all tangled around the essential fuel line she had just patched.</p>
<p>The back of her processor hurt —yellow and black and bloody-bloody blue <em>when had blood come to mean </em><b><em>blue</em></b><em> to her senses when had it ever been any color </em><b><em>but</em></b><em> blue she didn’t remember—</em> but she ignored it and kept working. The building trembled faintly from outside forces —war, evacuation, exile, Earth<em>, humans-and-their-cars-and-their-friendship-and-Mission-City-</em><b><em>I-wish to stay with the boy</em></b>—, she ignored that too. Nothing mattered but the energon lines under her servos and the systems sparking beneath her prosthetics. Nothing mattered but the spark faltering-faltering-failing-<b>failing</b> before her optics as she detected the minor but ongoing spark leak and frantically patched that too —<em>don’t-go-don’t-go-don’t-go</em>—.</p>
<p>The world outside didn’t matter. The surgical room didn’t matter. The patient mattered. The repairs mattered. The spark she could hear <em>singing-singing-fading-fading</em> mattered —minor spark leak but even those were fatal if they were ongoing and this had been done early on in the <em>damage-attack-</em><b><em>torture</em></b>—.</p>
<p>She was losing the patient —<em>patch another ruptured line, add stimulant to the medical energon because even a minor electrical shock would break the system rather than reboot it at this point</em>—. She couldn’t afford to lose the patient —<em>reroute essential nervous system functions to the secondary network, secondary is failing so unsubspace and connect artificial tertiary network instead</em>—. The frame was stabilizing.</p>
<p>The spark was still fading —<em>shock was still impossible and the stimulants weren’t working, add emergency mixture of a different kind that wouldn’t conflict with the first</em>—. The vocalizer was still degrading —<em>forty breems to critical degradation and counting</em>—.</p>
<p>She was losing the patient —<em>cycle emergency systems to reboot, reboot failed, try again, spark isn’t responding why-why-why</em>—.</p>
<p>She was losing the patient —yellow and black and <em>blue-optics-blue-eyes-blue-world-important-world</em>—.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
  <em>Helicopters and cables and flashing lights and, “No! Stop! He’s not fighting back! Stop! Stop </em>
  <b>
    <em>hurting him</em>
  </b>
  <em>!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Quiet and stillness, a reprieve amidst looming dread, a small voice admitting, “This is my family. Very </em>
  <b>
    <em>large</em>
  </b>
  <em>. Sometimes I can shout and no one hears me … but Bumblebee always listens. And I can understand </em>
  <b>
    <em>him</em>
  </b>
  <em>. Not sure why … but I do.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
  <em>Smoke and rubble and ruined leg struts and reverent silence for a voice long thought lost, “I wish to stay … with the boy.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Black optics and ripped open chest places, water-not-water-life-not-life swallowing yellow-black-blue whole until it didn’t and silence ended with a stubborn, “</em>
  <b>
    <em>Megatron</em>
  </b>
  <em>! You took my voice. You will never rob </em>
  <b>
    <em>anyone</em>
  </b>
  <em>, of </em>
  <b>
    <em>anything</em>
  </b>
  <em>, </em>
  <b>
    <em>ever again</em>
  </b>
  <em>.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bumblebee.</p>
<p>The realization snapped out of its locked corner and slotted into place, dug into her spark and joints like knives —<em>she was treating Bumblebee, she had Bumblebee’s energon all over her servos she was </em><b><em>losing Bumblebee</em></b>—. Her audio amplifiers rang with the shock of it, with the fading-fading-lingering-fading spark song only she could hear-.</p>
<p><em>No.</em> She had lost patients before. She had fretted over what changes the presence of herself and her family would wreak on the timeline of this dimension for vorns. But Bumblebee was not going to be one of those lost patients. He was not going to be one of the changes. She <b>wouldn’t let him</b>.</p>
<p>Something calm and familiar intruded on her processor. The same calm that had once existed only in her forced medical mode, the calm that Master Yoketron had given her the keys to unlocking herself. It wasn’t her program, it was just her. Her and her training and her stubborn determination and her human mind that rejected the boundaries of possible and went straight for the first impossible idea that came into her helm. The last time she had been losing a cherished friend from spark drain it had been Jazz. She had saved him by spark bonding. She couldn’t spark bond with Bumblebee, couldn’t link their energies and share life with him. But his spark levels weren’t below the regeneration threshold <b>yet</b> and she could hear his spark, like a song on her senses, a rhythm she couldn’t bond with …</p>
<p>But perhaps one she could still touch. Like Primus had touched her in the Core, spoken to her through life-force alone, spoken and interacted with and <b>blessed</b> in exchange for her vow, —<em>“I would ask you to take care of my children-”</em>—. Like she had already once touched Master Yoketron’s spark vorns ago when she won that game of hide and seek and he gave her an upgrading gift.</p>
<p>Her optics shut and her amplifiers tilted forward to catch the fading notes of a foreign melody, heedless of the faint tremors of the building or the timer counting down in her HUD. Her servos folded to rest over the patched spark chamber —no physical damage to cause the fading, not anymore, this was something medical tools couldn’t fix—. The world narrowed, froze for just a moment as she mentally reached out and tangled her fingers in the flow of the song-.</p>
<p>And spoke.</p>
<p>“Bumblebee. Stop.”</p>
<p>Her sensors still pinged with status alerts to her patient’s fading spark, the song still tried to slip from her mental fingers, heedless of her words or grasp or plea. She shut down her HUD and the alerts. The world narrowed further as she tangled her fingers in the song again and tugged, “Bumblebee. Bumblebee stop.”</p>
<p>The tiniest hesitation, the most minute flicker in the flow, like a beat before the next stanza, a moment where she had a chance to insert herself into the rhythm and bring it <b>back</b>.</p>
<p>“<b>Bumblebee</b>.”</p>
<p>Her closed optics burned with the briefest sight of endless blue and her servos tingled with the cool sensation of <em>water-not-water-but-</em><b><em>life</em></b> as Bumblebee’s melody stopped fading —<em>stopped retreating, stopped running away from pain that had long stopped physically but tormented still on a much deeper level</em>— and she was-.</p>
<p>Elsewhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. Hurtling through space with her pedes planted firmly on the ground. Walking through <em>time-space-life-memory</em> while standing absolutely still in a private medical room. Her optics were tight shut as she stared in gentle, sad awe at the fragile <em>star-spark-song-given-form</em> cringing away from her in fear that warbled and hitched and dimmed golden light.</p>
<p><em>“It’s okay,” </em>she sang without ever saying a word, <em>“you’re safe now. Come back with me,”</em> she cradled the living song in servos that still rested on a spark chamber.</p>
<p><em>“Starwish?”</em> The song in her servos<em> sang-asked-recognized-disbelieved</em>.</p>
<p>
  
  <em>“It’s me.”</em>
</p>
<p>A flicker, like vibrato on strings, <em>“It hurts. I’m scared.”</em></p>
<p>She smiled sadly, pulled the song closer and let her own notes drift along its surface in reassurance —not a bond, it wasn’t her place to bond with this spark, just to welcome and reassure that he was not alone—, <em>“I know. It’s alright, Bumblebee. Come back now…”</em></p>
<p>A ripple, a sudden end to the <em>moment-eternity-nanoklik-aeon</em> and Starwish opened her optics in the medical room with her servos resting lightly over a closed spark chamber and her lips mouthing the promise that reverberated through songs, “You’re safe with me.”</p>
<p>Starwish blinked once, blinked twice, tried not to spasm under the rush of <em>feeling-sensation-sound-data-too-much-data-</em> that threatened to make her crash as she became hyper aware of <b>everything</b> —the feel of every cable in her frame and movement of air over her armor, the clamor of every sound leaking past the supposedly sound-proof walls and the hiss of her own vents—. She looked blankly at the world around her and didn’t recognize it as seeing, unattached and unused to her own frame like everything around her was a first time experience.</p>
<p>Then all the sharp edges of her vision settled and her perception of sound and sensations shrank back to normal levels and she flung up her HUD in time to read … stable spark levels. Bumblebee’s spark levels were still dangerously low, but they were <b>stable</b> and rising very slowly. He was okay. He wasn’t giving up anymore, he was going … to … recover. Starwish listed dangerously far to one side and gripped the operating table to keep from falling over just as Ratchet unlocked the door and stormed in, his optics wild with terror over the thought of what he might be too late to save.</p>
<p>Ratchet caught her elbow to keep her from falling over and his touch was like fire —too-much, too much-life-was-too-bright-and-loud-and-hot—, “Starwish!”</p>
<p><em>“Star? Melody!”</em> Demanded Jazz over their sparkbond in the same moment as Ratchet’s shout, <em>“What just happened?”</em></p>
<p><em>“Saved Bumblebee,”</em> she thought back at Jazz dizzily before pulling away from Ratchet to lean against the wall instead —out of the way, not a distraction—, “His spark is … stabilizing. Stable. I…” she vented harshly to focus her thoughts and quickly rattled off everything she had done —barring … whatever it was she had just done with Bee’s spark— and what still needed doing as Ratchet turned away from her and began running scans and patches of his own. She had stabilized all the major things, and even though Bumblebee was on the equivalent of life support —would need to be <b>on</b> life support for at least ten cycles if her estimations were right— he would … he would survive.</p>
<p>She focused on her HUD past the numbness spreading through her limbs —she had probably just done something stupidly risky, using her spark and cyber-ninja abilities like that but she didn’t regret it—, gave a strangled noise as she slid down to the floor, “Ratchet.”</p>
<p>He half turned to her, then turned all the way around when he spotted her on the floor, “Starwish, you-!”</p>
<p>She waved him off and pointed desperately as the medical tray next to Bumblebee, “Ratchet, his <b>vocalizer</b>-.” Ratchet turned, spotted the sparking, half crushed organ for the first time and started cursing as he practically dived for it. Starwish closed her optics and focused on her own sparkbeat. She was … exhausted. Exhausted like staying up without any recharge for ten consecutive cycles, exhausted like from sparring with Master Yoketron for joors and joors without pause. She … she had to get up and see to the other patients. Pings were coming in every other klik and there weren’t enough medics for her to stop now but … Bumblebee was alive. Bumblebee was going to survive and Ratchet was there to work on the vocalizer —he had only twenty-five breems left before it became unviable, she should have been faster—. She could … take three breems to rest. Just three. No more, no less. Then she would get up and go back to the rest of the medical bay. Just three breems to put herself back together from whatever it was she had done.</p>
<p>Three breems passed and Starwish forced herself to her pedes, feeling just as drained and terrible as before. But she was needed. She still had patients to see to. She could collapse later —<b>would</b> collapse later, she could feel it in the deep, dragging feeling in her frame and the way she could have sworn she saw a familiar-unfamiliar-fictional-real-offline-online mech out of the corner of her optics in the tail-end of every blink, watching them from the far corner of the surgical room. She paused for just a klik to stare at the corner, blinked and saw —<em>gold and black plating, blue visor and shaking servos as he held his helm in relief for Bumblebee’s survival</em>— nothing, then turned and left the room. She had more patients to save —more friends to lose no matter how she tried because she couldn’t do … whatever that was with all of them—.</p>
<p>Around her, the building shook again from far off battle.</p>
<p>She prayed that Hardwire and Arcee would survive whatever was happening, <b>without</b> having to become her next patients.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon was up for a chase, that was certain. Though Hardwire wasn’t certain <b>how</b> considering the mech’s legs looked like literal flaming junkyard scrap. He snarled low as he folded over into a spinning dive to avoid a cannon blast. The blasts were getting fewer too —running out of fuel? He hoped so—, making it easier to flit around the massive helm of the Turned with impunity.</p>
<p>They were almost there. Almost to the location of his and <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee’s plan —sort of plan, more like desperate scheme—.</p>
<p><em>“Ready-brace-ready-fly!”</em> Hardwire roared to her as she knifed over his back, armor color rippling into a furious pitch black before it resettled to blue and silver again.</p>
<p><em>“No-really? Not-a-moron-not-blind-mate-mine!”</em> He chuffed at her sarcasm, glanced over his shoulder one more time, then took a deep vent-.</p>
<p>Dived into the gaping, jagged hole in the cityscape that had been cleared for the evacuating ships. Launch platforms stuck out at random intervals like stubby denta, old tools and parts and abandoned supplies still left there on some of them when the ships had been forced to launch before they were scheduled —before they could grab everything—. Hardwire winged over and cut sideways, skimming over one of the platforms until the world turned dark from the metal plating above his helm. The air shuddered with every massive step Trypticon took, still distracted by <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee, heedless of the gaping hole he was getting closer to or the fact that Hardwire was beneath where <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon would be in just a few massive steps-.</p>
<p>Hardwire didn’t give himself time to second-guess his plan, just veered toward the first support strut and <b>roared</b> flame. Metal bubbled like overheated clay, turning bright orange under his fire as he shot by. He didn’t melt clear through the support strut, but his blast turned part of it to liquid and severely weakened the rest. He kept flying, swerved closer to the next strut and blasted fire again, and again, and again. Over and over, strut after strut, ever closer to the shuddering of <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s pedesteps. At the last moment he twisted around and began to retrace his flight path just ahead of the steps, still blasting fire whenever he came close to a support strut.</p>
<p>Behind him, the massive Turned took a step and metal <b>screamed</b> as the flame-weakened parts of it broke beneath the weight. Sparks flew as plating ruptured and destabilized, a chain reaction rapidly outpacing Hardwire’s flight speed as all the struts began to crack and break apart under <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s weight. <em>Fly-faster-faster-don’t-end-here-fly-</em><b><em>fly-</em></b> An entire chunk of the level above him crashed down and <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon gave a startled roar as his footing began to fail beneath him, tipping him over and down toward the gaping hole in Iacon’s levels. Hardwire caught a glimpse of the sky overhelm, rapidly overshadowed by the burning, writhing plating of his much larger enemy and made a split klik choice to dive instead of pull up.</p>
<p>He folded his wings and plummeted down just in front of the falling Turned as <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon howled and toppled down-down-down, already shredded plating being further ripped open by the platforms he was crashing through, <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee following along behind, blasting fire at every opportunity. Hardwire caught a glimpse of another platform below him, barely registered the glint of blue and the fleeting impression of his own stupidity before he forced his wings open, jerking him up and away as he roared fire one more time.</p>
<p>He missed colliding with <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon by mere finger length, was sent nearly spinning off course by the turbulence as the massive mech fell straight into the blue explosion of the energon pallets Hardwire had spotted, left abandoned in the rush to get all the ships launched in time. Blue collided with already burning purple and Hardwire’s world turned into a multi-colored inferno as he flew frantically up-up-up, ignoring the pain crawling up his tail from searing, screaming heat, ignoring the way his audios buzzed with static from the volume of <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon’s hateful, agonized howls. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee was at his wing, struggling to keep up, struggling to stay ahead of the inferno clawing its way up after them, driven onward by the writhing collision of Energon with its dark counterpart.</p>
<p>They cleared the lip of the hole as the inferno caught up with them, Hardwire reached out with his talons and snatched his mate to his chest plates, wrapping himself around her smaller frame as the blast sent them spinning out of the air and skidding uncontrollably across the ruined surface of Iacon’s uppermost level. Pain and silver and metal and sky and <b>pain</b> and-. An abrupt halt, momentum finally bled out by the many buildings and pieces of debris he had been sent hurtling through.</p>
<p>Everything hurt. Primus it hurt. He shuddered around his sparkmate before forcing himself to uncurl. She squirmed free of his grasp, hissing and fluttering in concern, heedless of her own heat-pealed paint as she sniffed at his transformation seams and dent-riddled back. Hardwire snorted softly at her, reassurance flooding their bond beneath his pain as he lifted his head to look at their handiwork.</p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p>He didn’t think even a mech as huge and corrupted as <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon was going to come back from <b>that</b>.</p>
<p>The horizon writhed with blue and purple fire, the colors of the sky above all smudged over with tinted smoke that stank of burnt Energon and Dark Energon and death. After all the roaring and stomping and destruction of battle, the silence was oddly loud. Still, despite all reason and logic and hope, the two stayed frozen in place for several long breems. Waiting in dread for <em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon to emerge somehow from the sparking, seething inferno.</p>
<p>But nothing moved. Nothing screamed. The world maintained it’s oddly loud quiet.</p>
<p><em>Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-</em>Trypticon was well and truly offline.</p>
<p>Hardwire let his chin flop down onto the ground with a relieved gust of his vents, exhaustion overriding the urge to howl his victory to the skies. <em>Fierce-Kind-Mate-</em>Arcee transformed with a grind of abused gears and several tired curses. In her much smaller femme form, she patted his cheek plating, “Stuck that way again?”</p>
<p>Hardwire groaned in response, not even bothering to try. She laughed a little hysterically and leaned against his helm, “I’m sure the medics will see to it once they have some time.” Raising one servo to her audio, she pinged her external com so Hardwire could hear her say, “Command? This is Arcee. We did it. Trypticon is neutralized.” He was too tired to fully catch Prowl’s response, but Arcee gave another tiny hysterical laugh as she leaned a little more heavily against his helm, “We’re going to need a spare landing platform and a medic, Hardwire fragged up his transformation seams again.” <em>Hey. That isn’t my fault.</em></p>
<p>She lowered her servo and he grumbled in amusement as she clambered onto his back rather than transforming, “Come on, Prowl says the platform you landed on the first time is open, we can wait for the medics there.”</p>
<p><em>“We don’t need to be redeployed?”</em> He asked through their bond with a groan as he stood up.</p>
<p>“No. The Decepticons are in full retreat from Iacon and are pulling back from Tyger Pax. All evacuations are complete. We did it, Hardwire,” her vents hitched and he felt grief echo between them, “the Exile has begun.”</p>
<p>He nuzzled her gently before taking off, <em>“We’ll be okay, Arcee. Just one cycle at a time.”</em></p>
<p>He felt her hunch against his plating as he laboriously took off and she echoed, “One cycle at a time.”</p>
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